Angelique dug her fingers into the snow as she tried to hold on—as if she could forcibly repel the nausea that ebbed through her.
She was shocked when she felt Themerysaldi place a hand on her back. “Angelique needs help as well! Do we have any healing tonics or draughts?”
“I’ll be fine.” Angelique clutched her stomach, groaned, then retched again, her throat burning as it felt like something gnawed on her innards.
“That’s hardly convincing,” Lady Alastryn drawled as she crouched next to Angelique.
Angelique squeezed her eyes shut. “My price,” she got out. “It’ll go away. Check Quinn.”
“Should we move them?” Themerysaldi asked, his voice crusty with worry. “Is it safe?” He sounded so unsure, Angelique peeled an eye open to confirm it really was Themerysaldi—the smug, rude king of the elves—and not an illusion that didn’t know the Elf King’s personality.
“Apply pressure to Quinn’s wound,” Alastryn instructed as she pressed a bundle of cloth to Quinn’s shoulder, then forcibly moved Themerysaldi’s hands to push against it. The sharp-eyed elf woman glanced at Angelique. “How are you, Lady Enchantress?”
Angelique dimly watched groups of elves scout through the fallen goblin forces as her skin turned clammy. “Dying, I think.”
“What?” Themerysaldi yelped.
Angelique raised her eyebrows in disgust. “I was kidding, obviously. Idiot. Though I must say I’m touched you’re at all concerned.” She bit off the rest of her response and deeply regretted her sarcasm when her stomach rolled.
“Is she feverish?” Themerysaldi asked, his annoying voice able to pierce the haze of Angelique’s nausea. “Alastryn, check and see if Angelique is feverish.”
“Just focus on Quinn,” Angelique snarled.
Alastryn ignored Themerysaldi and set her cool hand against Angelique’s forehead as she shouted. “Who has any magic? There must be someone!”
“I used everything I had when we healed Quinn the first time,” someone replied.
“I did as well,” said another worried voice.
The pain dulled enough that Angelique was able to unhunch her shoulders and glance at Quinn.
The soldier was white as the fallen snow and cradled in Themerysaldi’s lap as the Elf King pressed the cloth to her shoulder.
She looks terrible.
Sweat dripped down the back of Angelique’s neck, and she could feel the uncomfortable stretching sensation in her stomach that hinted another round of retching would soon be on her.
Angelique hastily threw together the most slap-dash healing spell she’d ever made and slapped it on Quinn.
“Slow-burn healing spell,” Angelique panted. “Should help—”
She broke off in another retch, choking as she had nothing more in her stomach to bring up.
“Thank you.” The relief in Themerysaldi’s voice was stark. “Thank you,” he repeated.
Angelique grunted and considered shoveling a handful of snow into her mouth.
“Lady Enchantress, how long will you be sick?” Lady Alastryn asked.
“Varies,” Angelique managed to say as she started shivering. The pain in her guts was almost gone, and the shaky feeling her price usually left behind was starting to invade her bones—which was a little confusing.
The first time Angelique had used her war magic, she’d been bedridden for days. But since then, it seemed like every time she used enough of her powers to set off her price, the amount of time she’d been sick had rapidly decreased.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Her stomach rolled again, and a whimper escaped her throat. “I just want to sleep,” she muttered.
“What is—oh.” Alastryn’s hand disappeared from Angelique’s back, and for one horrible moment, Angelique felt only cold and miserable.
And then a warm, comfortable, and familiar presence settled at her side.
Pegasus.
Angelique didn’t even have to open her eyes. She inched her way over to the constellation like a worm and wriggled onto his back.
When Pegasus started to stand, Alastryn again placed a hand on Angelique’s back. “Rest, Lady Enchantress. We will accompany you back to Sideralis and see you to your quarters.”
One last retch rocked through Angelique’s body, making her curl on Pegasus’ back. When it left, Angelique pressed her cheek against Pegasus’ neck, her teeth chattering as she tried to soak up his warmth.
“Thank you, Pegasus,” she whispered.
Pegasus snorted, a movement that made all the muscles in his body ripple, then started to walk.
Angelique opened her eyes and almost smiled at him—until her eyes landed on the carnage she and her magic had wreaked upon the goblins.
The metallic scent of blood combined with the regular rot-like scent of goblins was enough to make Angelique’s innards clench again.
She moaned, then turned and pressed her face into Pegasus’ mane.
But as the constellation left the battlefield, one shining thought crept through Angelique’s mind.
I thought slaying an entire army—spilling blood like this—would ruin my soul…but I don’t feel any different. Is that because I’m already so twisted I can’t sense the change, or because I’ll just slowly lose myself more and more as I come to use my magic? Or…maybe…was I wrong?
By the time Angelique and the elves made their way back to Sideralis, Angelique was feeling better.
Her stomach was still rolling, but the gnawing ache of her intestines had faded entirely, and she was fairly certain she no longer had to fear being sick.
Angelique slipped off Pegasus’ back, staggering when she hit the ground.
“Hold her.” Themerysaldi’s voice was tight with strain as he passed Quinn down to two elves, who cradled her while the king dismounted.
Despite Angelique’s slow-burn healing spell, Quinn was still deadly pale, and she hadn’t stirred on the ride back.
“I have a craftmage potion!” Alastryn—elegant and always poised—grabbed her skirts with one hand and hitched them up past her ankles as she ran across the snowy courtyard, clutching two bottles of colorful liquid.
Themerysaldi took Quinn back as Alastryn unscrewed one of the potion bottles and poured some of the liquid on the soldier’s shoulder.
Elves flocked around Quinn and King Themerysaldi—their concern apparent.
They still don’t have magic, Angelique realized as she watched the king carefully start walking across the courtyard, heading for his castle. Or they would have used healing magic—even if they had just a spark of it.
Angelique pressed her lips in a grim line.
The elves being freed from their curse was still the best event the continent could have hoped for, but she was coming to realize that they were still paying a terrible price for their curse, and it was going to be a while before they were in fighting condition.
“Lady Enchantress?”
Angelique blinked and rested her hand on Pegasus’ neck as the kind elf maiden that had served her tea—the one she’d seen on the battlefield—trotted through the swirling chaos of the courtyard, carrying a corked glass bottle that contained an amber liquid. She dodged a group of returning elves that clattered into the castle courtyard on horseback, ducked around an elf carrying bandages that was scurrying after Themerysaldi, and flitted past a pair of elves that were carefully refilling empty arrow quivers.