Well, apparently, it had been more like a solid wall.
Vail had turned on Rosalind and had come dangerously close to hurting her. She had been forced to use a spell on him to contain him and that had only made things worse. Guilt flickered in Vail’s purple eyes and his mouth opened, and then closed.
Rosalind stood, tiptoed and curled her hand around his nape. She drew her mate down to her, hugged him tightly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He buried his face in her neck and seized hold of her, dragged her against him and clutched her.
“Take a walk. Find out what this spell Fuery mentioned is… for me.” She dropped a kiss on his throat.
Vail nodded stiffly, released her and stepped back. He moved past her without looking at her, his shoulders tight beneath his jumper, and Fuery lingered, staring at Hartt.
“Go with him.” Hartt didn’t want Fuery talking about the spell, but it would do both males good to be alone for a while.
Because Hartt had the feeling this was going to hurt and that seeing him in pain would tip Fuery over the edge.
He locked his senses on Fuery when he lost sight of him, tracked him as far as he could manage while he was weak, and looked at Rosalind when he moved beyond the limited sphere of his senses.
She sighed, looked him over and shook her head. “Care to tell me who did this to you?”
He shook his head.
She smiled, but it wasn’t soft, or gentle, or warm. It was sinister in a way.
“Indulge me,” she said, and he had the feeling he wasn’t being given a choice. “Whoever sliced and diced you had a weapon made of the same material as your armour. Should I be worried about my mate?”
He was quick to shake his head again. “It was not Fuery.”
He grimaced as he tried to move. Rosalind pressed her hand to his chest.
“It’s best you keep still while I do this. Healing spells tend to have a mind of their own and it’ll go batshit crazy if I lose my connection to you.”
Before he could ask whether it would hurt, his entire body lit up as if someone had hit him with fifty bolts of lightning rolled into one. He gritted his teeth so hard they creaked and tipped his head back into the arm of the chaise longue, every muscle in his body clamping down on his bones. His heart laboured as pain ricocheted through him, condensed wherever his wounds were and made them throb and burn.
“So, who did you piss off to end up like this?” Rosalind’s voice was far too bright for someone who was torturing another person.
He grunted and clenched his jaw again, the only answer he could give her as he struggled to remain conscious.
“Oh, this one is a nasty one. Hang on tight, bub.”
He managed to get his eyes open a crack, enough that he saw her grinning down at him, strange, twisted delight in her blue eyes as they swam with stars.
Pain roared through him.
Hartt threw his head back and roared with it.
He screamed until his throat was raw, until he had used all the breath in his lungs and black spots winked across his vision.
And then he sank into the chair and just lay there, depleted, all of his strength gone. Not a shred of it remained, not even enough to move his head or open his eyes. Voices swam around him, loud at first, but then they softened and calmed.
A warm hand pressed softly to his forehead and one to his chest.
Light flooded him like beams of the sun cutting through tiny chinks in clouds.
Heat followed it.
The muscles that had felt liquid filled with strength again, the ache in his bones fading as the light washed over him, as he felt as if it was lifting him up by his chest, so he was suspended in the air.
The gentle hands disappeared and he sank back onto the seat, his body feeling heavy again, but there was no pain, and no fatigue. It wasn’t magic that had restored his strength. A spell had healed him, but magic of a different sort had been the one to do this.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Vail where he towered over him, his brow furrowed.
“Are you well?” Vail didn’t take his eyes from Hartt’s.
Hartt nodded, couldn’t find his voice to thank his prince for what he had done, was too awestruck by the fact Vail had used his connection to nature to heal him, to draw him back to the light and banish the darkness.
For now.
Chapter 8
Vail helped Hartt up into a sitting position on the worn leather chaise longue in Rosalind’s cottage living room. Hartt sagged forwards, exhaling hard. When Vail had summoned his connection to nature to help complete his healing process, Hartt had figured he was good to go. A wave of fatigue rolled over him as he stared at the flames leaping and dancing in the fireplace, so heavy he had to fight to remain upright and keep his eyes open.
Fuery came to sit beside him, placed a hand in the centre of Hartt’s back and leaned forwards with him. “Are you unwell?”
“I’ll get you all something to drink,” Rosalind said with a brightness that he couldn’t feel in her. She was up to something.
Rather than following his mate, Vail pulled the second green armchair to face him, scraping the feet of it across the worn wooden floor. He sank into it and watched Hartt closely as if expecting something terrible to happen to him.
Rosalind bustled back into the room, her short black dress swaying around her knees with each hurried step. She clutched a silver tray in her hands. On it sat three tall glasses of orange-coloured liquid, a pot of tea with a woollen stripey cosy on it, and several cups that rattled as she moved.
Vail was quick to stand and take the tray from her, relieving her of its weight as he gave her a chastising look. “You should have called for me.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not some wilting little flower. I think I can handle a tray of drinks.”
He frowned at her. She huffed and stomped past him, muttering about him being overbearing.
“Court females gave you a seriously wrong impression of women,” she groused as she sank back into her own armchair.
Vail arched a single black eyebrow at her for that one, but set the tray down on the rickety wooden coffee table without saying whatever had crossed his mind.
“Where were we?” She beamed at Hartt.
Vail growled at her.
“Oh, hush.” She leaned over and patted his knee. “You know I love you. I’m just being polite.”
Or she was trying to get him and Fuery killed.
“Hartt had a spell done, one to strengthen our bond. Shaia told me that Hartt spoke words that triggered this spell and allowed him to take some of the darkness from me.” Fuery refused to look at him when Hartt scowled at him, kept his noble profile to him and his focus locked on Rosalind.
“And how is your lovely mate?” The witch’s smile brightened further, reaching her eyes.
There was mischief lurking there.
Fuery had brought Shaia with him on a few of his visits with Vail, and had complained about how Rosalind had taken a shine to Shaia and was intent on bringing her up to speed on modern times. It had put ideas into Shaia’s head, desires that Fuery didn’t like.
Such as wanting to join the guild as an assassin in training.
“She is well. About this spell…” Fuery trailed off as Rosalind lifted a glass towards Hartt. He seized Hartt’s arm as he reached for it, holding him fast. “I would not.”