Page 82 of The Witch and His Crow

I tore Arwyn from the demons’ grasp as they retreated behind the conjured shield of pure-gold light. They fought against it, bashing their bodies into the light and writhing in agony, corpses pilling beyond it, shadow and smoke hissing.

It wouldn’t last. I couldn’t explain how I knew that, but the feeling was overwhelming. As though my subconscious was somehow linked with the bubble of light.

‘Leave me. Leave me.’ Arwyn continued to repeat, each of his arms slumped over mine and Romy’s shoulder. His blood seeped into my clothing, soaking me with its warmth. Arwyn didn’t open his eyes again, not even when we burst out of the stairs, dragged him over the vault and ran out into the graveyard beyond. Romy carefully slumped him into my hold as she ran back, shut the door and began threading the iron chains around the handles.

I looked down at Arwyn, his head resting on my lap. Blood was everywhere. My hands, his body, my clothes. His eyes fluttered rapidly beneath closed lids, his mouth mumbling words whilst his lips turned a strange blue colour. I ran my fingers over his cheek, clearing the damp, cold sweat that builtover his skin. Nothing I did woke him. It was as if Arwyn was trapped in a lucid dream, sobbing and moaning softly to himself.

My heart continued to hammer in my chest. I couldn’t begin to piece together what had happened. Not as my entire focus was on the man in my hold, bleeding out from hundreds of cuts into his skin. They were up to his neck, where the demons had managed to reach. It was so destructive, I couldn’t see his tattoos beneath the wounds.

Arwyn’s arm hung awkwardly over his stomach, dislocated from my desperate attempt to hold onto him with my Gift.

‘We need to get him back to the room,’ Romy said, suddenly beside me, paling as she looked down at the damage. There was no ignoring it beneath the dull light of afternoon. ‘Clean his wounds and prevent infection...’

‘Too late for that,’ I answered, heart hammering in my chest, ribs threatening to crack against the pressure.

I knew the state Arwyn was in. This fever, the reaction to a demon’s poison. He had saved me from it during the Enduring, and it was my time to repay the favour. But Arwyn was heavier than I was, there was no way we could carry his dead weight all the way back to the room. Not only was the distance an issue, but the witches out for blood stood between us and safety.

Although after what we had just faced, I dared another to stand in my way.

I encased Arwyn’s limp body in my Gift and hoisted him into the air. Arwyn floated beside me, steady as a board of wood. I felt the trickle of blood leave my nose, but I didn’t care. Nor did I try to clear it away. I fought against the exhaustion and weakness, promising myself just a couple more minutes, then I would let myself rest. My focus was on getting Arwyn to safety, before the poison took over.

Before it took him from me.

And with every step we took towards the castle, and through it, my mind repeated with a single word I had screamed at the shadows. It narrowed my focus, making time pass in a blur.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Arwyn’s skin had taken on a bruised hue in the days that followed the demonic attack. Five days and I’d hardly moved a muscle. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the seat I sat in had an imprint of my body, something time wouldn’t be able to remove. I slept in the chair at his beside, ate in it, and only got up to relieve myself when Romy reminded me. Then I would rush back to my seat, take hold of his still hands, and hold them in mine. Although Romy had tried to heal the cuts and gouges the creatures had made on his skin, her attempts were useless. Even against the poison riddled in his body, she was powerless to help him.

Veins of black, like rivers of ink, marked Arwyn’s skin like a cartographer drew maps. I was never one for geography, but by day five of his hell, I knew Arwyn’s body from the intricacies of his form, to the divots his muscles made in his shoulders. I was desperate to see his tattoos again, but every time we changed the bandages around his torso, the ink was gone, leaving only the sliced marks the demons had gouged in him.

Arwyn was laid out across the four-poster bed. The white sheets around him drew out the little colour his flesh had left. His skin had taken on an ashen hue, matched by hauntingshadows beneath his closed eyes. He’d lost weight in his face, as well as other places. It was only a small difference, but I noticed. Most of the times he was quiet, unmoving, like a corpse. Other times he would moan, crying out through cracked lips, hands trembling as I held them firm in my hand. The nightmares which haunted him were a blessing, because they at least made him react, reminding me that he wasn’t dead—at least not yet.

His last episode had just finished. Romy had returned from retrieving more food from the Great Hall to find me clutching Arwyn’s shoulders, forcing his thrashing body to the bed. Even now, as he fell back into his deathly silence, his words rung throughout our room.

‘Forgive me. Forgive me. Please. Forgive me.’

I wished I could do something to help him. But we were beyond waiting for this demonic fever to pass. This was no normal flu or sickness. What was happening to Arwyn was something neither of us could understand enough to fix. Demons. Old magic.

Everything was changing around me, like a raging river, and yet I was stuck in the middle as stationary as a rock whilst everything rushed past me.

‘Here’s some fresh water,’ Romy said, offering me a ceramic bowl she’d brought with her.

I mumbled my thanks, taking the bowl from Romy. I was careful not to spill any as I laid it on the bed. Inside the bowl was a sodden white cloth that was soaked through. I lifted it out, dripping water into Arwyn’s parted lips. Slowly, I rang out the cloth. It was a tedious process, but our ensuring Arwyn drank was likely the only thing keeping him alive.

‘Any news from the outside world?’ I asked, refusing to take my eyes off Arwyn.

Romy shuffled around the room, feeling as helpless as I did. I couldn’t place why I felt so responsible for Arwyn. Was it simplyrepaying the favour because he had done the same for me during the last Trial? Maybe it was because he’d almost died searching for somethingIwanted. I should’ve refused his aid. I should’ve said no and gone alone.

Regret was a hateful fucking emotion, but it was the benefit of hindsight that truly punished me.

‘I saw no one today,’ Romy said. She knew I didn’t mean the outside world beyond the castle, but those witches still hiding in the shadows of this place. Jaz and the others, the remaining contestants. ‘Nor have there been any more recorded deaths. It seems we’re all waiting for the next Trial.’

The next Trial. Just thinking about it made me sick. I continued wringing the cloth into Arwyn’s mouth, knowing that if the Trial began when he was in this state, he would die. As much as I told myself I wouldn’t let that happen, I was helpless to change the outcome. The bell could toll at any moment, and seal Arwyn’s fate.

I pinched my eyes closed, trying to regain control of my thoughts. Changing the conversation slightly, I asked Romy the same question I had every day since the attack. ‘Did you check the?—’

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