I’d healed Tyrrik. Ryn was my aunt, so I could totally do this. Couldn’t I? I pushed my healing-mojo into her. I imagined the edges of her skin knitting together, the Phaetyn poison burning away like Drae fire, her blood multiplying, replacing what she’d lost, and her heart pumping her power back through her. I watched the mossy green, turquoise, and lapis lazuli dance and tangle and play like old friends.
When I felt her stir beneath my hand, I opened my eyes wide and shook my head as I pressed one hand to her mouth and the other to my own, indicating we couldn’t talk. I pulled my Phaetyn net over her energy and whispered in her ear, “Don’t move.”
I pulled her body toward the ledge, doing my best to pretend to be sobbing while I huffed for air. Turning her so her feet dangled over the edge, I knelt down and focused on the bubble in my mind, whispering to her again. “I’m going to push you off the edge. I’ve got your body invisible right now, so as soon as you fall, shift and fly to Azule. Find Tyrrik.”
Her eyes widened, and she mouthed, “I can’t.”
“You have to or you’ll die. Give Tyrrik information. He knows.”
She swallowed, pain-filled eyes set on my face, a flicker of regret in their midst.
“I’ll hold the veil as long as I can,” I breathed into her bloodied, torn ear. “Please live.”
And then I shoved my aunt off the ledge of Draedyn’s palace.
34
Istumbled back into the dining room, my hands bloodied and mind still reeling with the acute memories of my aunt’s shredded body. The Druman lined the interior walls of the dining room they waited in to ensure the job was done.
“I pushed her body off the side, like Draedyn did. Is that good enough?” Unless they sent someone to check if my aunt’s body had landed below, my subterfuge would work. I glared at the mules, and when no one answered, I wondered if they were mute like in Irdelron’s castle. “Do you animals speak?”
“Done yet?” one asked, his voice rough.
I don’t know why I found it creepier that Draedyn left his Druman with their tongues, but somehow I did.
I narrowed my eyes, disturbed by how normal he looked. They all wore tunics like mine only bigger, but most of the bastards were filthy and grimy, their long hair matted with unkempt beards and broken nails. But the one who spoke had his hair pulled back, and his clean-shaven face set him apart from the others. That and his apparent language skills. “Yes,” I replied. “All done.”
“Wait,” he said and then ducked out of the door.
Was he kidding? Wait for