“Which means…” she whispered.
“I’ve never seen a toxin get into the blood system so fast. At base, this is a designer, next-level Eldritch killer. She has internal bleeding and her organs are failing. We can make her comfortable, but it’s unlikely she’ll awaken. I’m sorry. You should begin the death watch and prepare for the worst.”
“Steady,” Raff murmured, as Thalia sagged into his arms.
She would’ve hit the floor if he hadn’t been holding onto her, and that would’ve strained the marriage knot beyond what it could bear. It might look like superstition to an outsider, but this was already the shittiest wedding day ever. They didn’t need a bad omen on top of an assassination attempt.
“There’s truly no hope?” she asked, all desperate eyes and tissue-thin voice.
The doctor shifted, hesitating, but he finally shook his head. “Even if we could identify the final agent, we couldn’t synthesize an antidote fast enough to save her.”
Thalia straightened, likely trying to compose herself, though her grief was palpable. “Bring in two chairs and make sure she feels no pain. We’ll stay until the end.”
“It’s fine if I’m here too?” Raff expected an argument over stupid wolf customs, a queenly demand for solitude.
“You’re my husband,” she said simply.
Hearing that, it pulled a cord within him, as if she’d twined her fingers in silver strands and tugged them taut. “Would you like to talk?”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
Sighing softly, she shook her head. “I’d rather you did, if you have something that will fill the silence.”
Before he could respond, the medical aide, a burly sort, considering most Eldritch were lanky and lean, brought in the seats she’d requested. “Will these do, Your Highness?”
“Fine, thank you.” Blank words, blank eyes.
She was like a piece of paper devoid of ink. Raff sat first and pulled her with him, or she might’ve hovered beside the chair for hours. They still hadn’t eaten, and he was hungry as fuck, but it would be an asshole move to demand a meal delivered to a death watch. Mentally, he snarled a warning at his cavernous stomach.
“Would you like a personal anecdote or something that will teach you more about Pine Ridge?” Mentally he sifted through his stories. Nothing too dirty or outrageous; it wouldn’t fit the mood. Maybe I could just talk about—
“I don’t care. I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just…” She trailed off, her voice wispy and broken.
Watching Lileth die was practically killing her too; he could see her pain and despair, smell it on her skin. “Got it. I wish I wasn’t witnessing such a sorrowful occasion, but you’re not alone, Lady Silver.”
“Thalia.”
“That’s your name,” he agreed.
“Call me by it. I’m giving you permission, which is significant among my people. We’re bound at the wrist for the next day, so it seems silly to insist on a title.”
“Ah. It’s pretty. What does it mean?”
“To bloom.”
“Well, sure enough, you’re a flower tightly furled.” In other circumstances, he would’ve added some flirtatious nonsense about petals and dew, but this wasn’t the time. Even he could see that she needed solace, not seduction.
She reached out and took the older woman’s hand, pressing her two over those pale, limp fingers. By virtue of their wedding knot, his hand went with hers, offering comfort to two women, both of whom he barely knew.
“Weren’t you going to tell a story? Lileth even said you have a silver tongue.”
The hell of it was, he couldn’t think of anything to say. “I…think I’m having performance anxiety.”
Thalia tilted her head; she was so out of place in the bare infirmary in her wedding gown with a formal cascade of hair, blue gems glittering amid silver tresses. “There’s a joke to be made, but I don’t have the heart. Not when she’s dying for me.”
“You said she’s like a mother to you. If you feel that way, she does too. Which is why she’ll go to the afterworld happy she could protect you until the very end.” He was trying to console her, so panic rippled over him when her eyes welled up.
“Faith and fire, why did you have to put it like that?”
“Because that’s how it is.”
She didn’t make a sound, but tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. In his life, Raff had made a few women cry, but never like this. They were usually throwing things at him and cursing as they did. Slowly, hesitantly, he took her hand and laced their fingers together. It seemed like a juvenile attempt, not a move that would help in this situation, but she stared at that point of contact with puzzled, blurry eyes.
“Nobody’s ever just…held my hand,” she said faintly.
She’s been fighting alone for longer than you can imagine. Gavriel clearly knew what he was talking about in regard to Princess Thalia. Raff wished like hell that the Noxblade hadn’t already left. From what he’d seen at Ash Valley, the bastard was good at getting answers. Plus, he’d taken Mags with him; she would’ve been such an asset.
“I guess that’s my job now. No escape from the big, bad wolf.”
The IC machine shrieked then, an alarm so shrill that it made Raff flinch. Vitals dropping, it intoned, and the whole medical team came running. He pulled Thalia out of the way, but he knew—and she must too—that even if they won this fight, they couldn’t win the war. She started crying in earnest, something he couldn’t even have imagined. Her face was wet and splotched red, her painstakingly perfect cosmetics smeared down her face as if she were the sad clown everyone avoided at carnivals.
The life line dropped lower as Thalia wept. Raff pulled her to him as their bound wrists allowed, and silently cursed whoever had murdered Lileth. If he hadn’t understood the stakes before, he did now. Sure, they had talked a lot about loss of land and forces arrayed against them, but that was all abstract, theoretical harm. Real damage was the blood slowly trickling out of Lileth’s eyes, her mouth, her
