Page 66 of A Flame of the Phoenix

“We don’t need to go for me,” Tarly protested.

“You won’t last many more weeks if we don’t.”

“Then I won’t even last the journey,” he snapped.

Faythe winced, understanding his sharpness, but Nerida’s falling expression was sad to witness. The healer’s care for him was deep.

“You don’t get to be a self-pitying hero now. You’re going,” Nik said, his tone firm and irritated.

“As if you’d care if I took my last breath right in front of you.”

Nik’s jaw flexed, and Faythe knew him. Hedidcare about Tarly. She didn’t know why they’d grown up with this distaste toward each other, but it didn’t mean Nik wouldn’t mourn the Prince of Olmstone.

Nik ignored him to ask Faythe, “Do you think you could command Atherius to take them? Would save weeks of travel, and the stubborn bastard isn’t getting his wish to die this way.”

“Yes, I think I can do that.”

Kyleer said, “If Marvellas sees the Firebird, she’ll think it’s you. Best fly around the coast and land somewhere inconspicuous, if possible, but be vigilant nonetheless.”

Nerida nodded, a new giddiness twinkling in her eyes.

So, come morning, everyone had a destination. Faythe couldn’t think of the road ahead. She couldn’t think of anything but a familiar set of blue eyes that wouldn’t leave the forefront of her thoughts.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tarly

His right arm had begun to suffer a tingling sensation most days. Tarly was weighted with despair that he could soon lose the ability to use a bow. His skin was often clammy and his breaths short. He knew his ailment was becoming serious and his time precious.

Tarly had his own small tent in the camp. Each night, he longed to watch over Nerida even though he knew she was safe surrounded by warriors. As much as he was somewhat impaired, he felt at ease by her side, knowing he would protect her until his very last arrow.

He couldn’t sleep with the thoughts of traveling to Lakelaria in the sunrise. Not knowing the dangers they could face. Tarly couldn’t explain how this path felt like a coward’s last desperate hope when Nerida thought Lakelarian healers could help him. He wasn’t so certain he would even last the weeks of travel across Rhyenelle and then across the Black Sea. While everyone made themselves active players toward triumphing in this war, he was offering nothing.

When he heard Nerida’s quiet voice outside his tent, for the first time he battled a will to feign sleep or cast her away. He took so long to decide that she dipped her head through the tent opening carefully and found him awake. Her small smile at seeing him sat up lit a beacon in his dark mind.

“I thought you might be asleep,” she said, welcoming herself inside. Nerida carried a small wooden bowl and some new bandages, her satchel of tonics and medicines slung over her body.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

“We skipped changing your bandages yesterday, and when we got back from collecting the wood, you were gone.”

Inside the bowl wasn’t a salve like he expected—it was leftover rabbit and some bread he’d passed up before the meat had finished cooking. He’d needed time alone to think.

“I’m fine,” he said. She didn’t deserve his cold reception, but he was finding it harder to muster any emotions as the days passed by and death gripped him tighter.

He’d washed by the stream in the woods earlier and left his wound unbandaged. He didn’t think the salves and cover-ups were doing anything anyway. Even the pain had stopped being a throbbing, constant ache. He didn’t have long left.

“Can I look?” she asked anyway.

She didn’t have to since he was shirtless despite the bitter cold, which was hardly kept away by his single lantern. He might have a fever. It came and went.

He didn’t answer, but she was bold enough to approach anyway and pull down his blanket. Tarly enjoyed the sound of her gentle voice. If kindness had a face and light had a sound, she was the picture and the feeling of both.

Nerida inspected his ghastly shoulder. The entirety of his tan skin there had turned a sickly gray, which had expanded acrosshalf his chest and down most of his arm now. He couldn’t feel her touch there, and that was another pang of desolation.

“Before we go to Lakelaria, I have something we can try,” she whispered.

Tarly looked at her then in confusion. Nerida unhooked the satchel from her body, and he saw the new vial immediately when he’d subconsciously memorized the organization of every bottle and herb she kept. He knew what it was—had seen it before—the moment she pulled it from the tie.

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