Darker, it became.
Disorientation licked at the edge of his consciousness. The thunderous rhythm of his heart beating within his chest became all-consuming. Drawing him further from the living, ignoring his futile attempts and demands. The swish of blood in his ears scorned his weakness as what was once a soothing sound turned vicious, a cacophony of mockery in tune with his heart.
The burn that had suffused him earlier turned chilly. Death’s whisper beneath his flesh.
It weakened his will to fight. Soon enough, he simplysank, allowing the darkness to swallow him whole as one thought clung to his mind.
Those cursed cross-breeds.
This is all their fault.
Groan.
A scratchy sound. A vibration that resonated inside his throat and echoed in his ears. A response he could feel and hear in parts of his body that had been absent. Alas, he felt his throat, felt his limbs, felt his chest and the heart beating beneath his sternum. Testing his consciousness, he commanded his fingers to move. To stretch. The joints resisted the motion at first, stiff from disuse, butmoved. The pads of his fingers scraped over cold, rough stone.
“Thaddeus? Can you hear me?”
No longer did he swim in languid darkness. No longer was he unable to control his own body.
He groaned again. That sound. That blessed sound!
“Thaddeus?”
“Aye.” Naught more than a raspy breath, but that single word assured him he was alive, despite whatever ailed him. That, he’d learn soon enough.
Slowly, he tried a single eyelid and found it peeled open upon his will. He commanded the other to open as well, only to find himself staring into darkness overhead.
“How do you fare?”
“Fare?” He blinked several times. “Truly?”
At last, the darkness began to subside. It melted away, exposing flickers of warm oranges and yellows. Light danced against jagged walls, unable to completely banish the shadows that swelled in obvious crevices.
With a stifled grimace, he found strength in his pitiful mortal-like body to press onto his elbows, then upright into a sitting position. The world around him tilted and spun. The throb of his heart dulled his hearing as blood rushed to his head. He didn’t feel himself sway or pitch until steely hands gripped his shoulders as he toppled to the side, and eased him to his back.
“Easy. You’ve been unconscious for several days. Your body’s been fighting poison.”
Thaddeus bit back a stubborn retort. A shadow crossed over him. It took a brief moment to recognize the High Fae hovering uncomfortably close to his face, narrowed eyes observing him like he was an insect. The flickering lights illuminating the room shimmered on the fine gold-threaded robe and white-blond hair. Eyes so light they might make one look twice at their unnatural white-silver coloring.
“Grison will arrive in a moment’s time. He’s been anticipating your awakening.” Cecir prodded at his chest, igniting a dull ache through his left pectoral. Thaddeus growled, knocking his hand away.
“Stop…that.”
“Do you have pain in your chest?” He prodded again, this time unleashing a sharp sting when he pressed a tender area.
“Bloody bastard!” Thaddeus barked, shoving Cecir’s hand away and jerking upright against Cecir’s hovering body. He smacked the heel of his palm to his forehead as a fierce wave of dizziness threatened to knock him onto his back. Again. “Aye, it hurts.”
“A residual reaction to the iron cores of the Talaenian shafts.”
Iron cores?
Aye, right.
He was shot through by twin arrows. Left for dead on the battlefield. A sacrificial lamb.
“Where am I? What’s happened?” Taking a steadying breath, Thaddeus lowered his hand from his forehead, found Cecir standing beside him, and focused on the Fae’s gaze, a struggle to maintain if he’d ever experienced such a thing. “How long have I been unconscious?”
Hinges creaked from somewhere behind him, echoing through the small, cavernous room. The distinct sound of steady bootsteps followed, the weight of a familiar animus pressing heavily between his shoulder blades. Cecir’s gaze lingered on Thaddeus—was the man nervous?—but finally lifted and settled on the approaching presence. His brow quirked, an energy of concern stifling the air around them.
