Sawyer led our party deeper into the trenches of the town. I tried to remain vigilant, watching him for cues, but my gaze kept wandering, appalled by the squalor surrounding us. He stopped abruptly and held up a fist, signaling us to halt. With a quick flick of his head, he darted into a narrow alleyway, and we followed close behind.
Nico’s hand closed firmly around mine, anchoring me to his side as we sprinted for cover. The world blurred past until the shadows swallowed us, and he spun me into his arms, pulling me tightly against his chest—a silent promise of protection in the dark.
The streets became unusually quiet for a heartbeat. People scattered like rats before a storm. The heavy tread of marching soldiers echoed off the walls. A detachment of the crown’s army passed by our hiding place, their armor clinking softly. We pressed ourselves against the wall and held our breath until the last soldier disappeared.
“Hurry, please. My place is just down the street,” Luella whispered, frantic to get back to her son. She led us to a dilapidated building and down a long hallway. Several scantily clad females stood in open doorways.
“Looking for a good time?” they cooed as we passed. This was no place for a mother and child, but just as that thought entered my mind, two scruffy children slipped out of an apartment and disappeared down the street, no parents in sight.
Luella brought us into a cramped room at the end of the hall. The smell hit me first. It was different from the reek of the streets—stale and cloying, a blend of sour sweat and moldy bread. I inhaled through my mouth, but the taste still coated my tongue. It felt like the walls had absorbed the boy’s illness, amplifying its presence.
He lay in the corner on a sagging mattress. A colorful patchwork quilt was tucked beneath his chin, a bright splash in an otherwise muted space. Though his body trembled with chills, his cheeks were flushed, and beads of sweat dotted his brow. Moans slipped past his chapped lips, though his eyes remained closed. He couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. My heart sank, knowing there was nothing I could do.
A female sat on the edge of the bed, soaking a rag in a chipped basin and swabbing his forehead.
“This is my sister, Laurel. And this”—Luella rushed to the child’s side—“this is Mica.”
Laurel rose to greet us, offering a tired but warm smile. “My place is across the hall. I can take some of you over there to rest. We don’t have much food, but?—”
“No need,” Sawyer interrupted. “We brought our own. We’re here to help, not to be a burden. Let me take a look at him.” He strode to the bed, placing one hand on Mica’s forehead and the other over his chest. “How long has he been getting headaches when he shifts?”
“It’s hard to say. They were so mild. His weren’t as bad as the others, he?—”
“How long?” Sawyer demanded and Luella jumped.
“It’ll be three full moon cycles in two days,” she answered, her whole body sagging with the admission.
Sawyer sighed, then turned to Nico. “We’ll settle in and wait. It won’t be long now.”
“It begins with headaches after every shift. No one has lived past three moon phases once those start. We’ll know it’s time when he bleeds from his eyes, ears, and nose—a final offering to his beast. And then he’ll be gone. I’d say within the day. Will you wait with me, or return to Thornwyn?”
“She mentioned a healer. Do you know where I can find him? I have things of value. I could barter for the boy’s treatment,” Nico offered.
“There is a healer. A damn good one, too. But there are some things even his magic can’t fix. There is no cure for this. It’s a death sentence.”
We satin silence through the night. Death had taken up residence in the room—I could feel it in my bones. Mica’s mother never left his side, doing whatever she could to ease his suffering. At dawn, she began to falter, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
I stood and stretched my stiff joints. Nico’s gaze tracked my every movement as I pulled out my bedroll. I laid it beside the bed and knelt beside Luella, gently resting my hand on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you get a bit of sleep? I’ve set something up beside Mica. I’ll sit with him and wake you if anything changes.”
“Only an hour. That’s all I need. Not a minute more,” she mumbled, too tired to argue.
I settled beside the boy, studying his face, wondering if this was what I looked like each time death came for me. Themattress dipped, and I looked up to see Nico sitting across from me.
He offered a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but I saw the intention behind it, and I was grateful for his presence.
I grabbed the water basin and gingerly wiped the boy’s brow, careful not to touch his skin. For some irrational reason, I was afraid to touch him. I’d cheated death too many times and I feared that touching him might siphon off what little time he had left. Like I was some kind of leech, draining life from those around me. Tears welled in my eyes, and for a moment, I wished I could trade places with him.
“Mic, are you alright?” Nico asked quietly.
“No, actually. I don’t think I am.” I let my head fall forward, hiding my tears behind a curtain of hair. “None of this is fair. I should be the one in that bed, and yet somehow I’m still here. Why doesn’t he get a second chance? How can your Divine be so cruel?”
“I try to remind myself in times like these that the Divine has a greater plan and that we’re not meant to know all the details. Life would lose its meaning if we did.”
“I feel so helpless. When I knew I was dying, my sister fought so fiercely. Even after I gave up, she held onto hope with everything she had. I wish I had that kind of passion so I could give it to this boy.” The words felt like grit in my throat, coated in grief as I spoke them. I knew I’d regret being so raw in front of him, this king-to-be, but it felt cathartic.
“We all have a purpose. Sometimes it’s small. Sometimes it’s fleeting. But I know his mother would tell you his life had meaning. And I know there’s a reason you’re still here, Mic.” He brushed a tear from my cheek, gently tucking my hair behind my ear.
