CHAPTER 20

Lyric moved cautiously through the underbrush, her heart hammering against her ribs as she clutched a sturdy branch in one hand. She’d fled through the tunnel as she’d promised, but she wasn’t about to leave Egon on his own to face five warriors. She’d been following the sound of fighting, but her breath suddenly caught in her throat when she realized that the fighting had stopped.

“Egon?” she whispered.

There was no answer and she stopped worrying about concealment, pushing through the underbrush as fast as she could, ignoring the branches that clawed at her skin.

When she reached the clearing, Egon was alone, one knee sunk into the dirt, his big body hunched forward.

“Egon?” Her voice caught as she raced over to him.

He turned, amber eyes finding hers through the pain. Dark blood soaked through his tunic, spreading across his side where Khorrek’s blade had found purchase. The earth beneath him had grown dark with it.

“It’s nothing,” he grunted, trying to stand but faltering, and she quickly slipped her shoulder under his arm for support.

“Don’t you dare lie to me.” Her fingers pressed against the wound, coming away slick with blood. “This isn’t nothing.”

He leaned heavily against her, but she managed to brace herself, helping him a short way down the trail to a clearing by a small stream. Each labored breath he took sent a spike of fear through her.

“What happened?” she demanded, trying to distract herself from her fears.

“Khorrek recognized me.” He winced as they moved. “From before. When I fought in the pits.”

Her stomach twisted. The pits. The brutal fighting rings where people were forced to battle for sport and coin. She’d heard whispers of such places, but never imagined Egon there.

“He hesitated,” he continued. “Just for a moment. That’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?” She guided him into the clearing and easing him down to a seat on a fallen log.

“That even Lasseran’s most loyal can doubt.” His hand covered hers, blood seeping between their fingers. “There’s hope, Lyric.”

At the moment all she was concerned about was the spreading crimson stain that demanded her immediate attention.

“Hope can wait,” she said, tearing strips from her underskirt. “First, we need to stop this bleeding.”

Her hands trembled as she pressed the torn fabric against his wound. Blood soaked through almost immediately, the sight of itmaking her stomach lurch. She’d dealt with injuries before—cuts from farm tools, burns from the kitchen—but nothing like this, nothing so potentially fatal.

“Hold still,” she whispered, her voice steadier than she felt.

He grunted in response, his jaw clenched tight against the pain. Sweat beaded across his forehead, glistening in the fading light. His normally vibrant amber eyes had dulled, and that frightened her more than the blood.

“Just… need a moment,” he managed, his breathing labored.

As the bleeding began to slow, she carefully peeled back the makeshift bandage to examine the wound. The gash ran along his ribs, deep but clean. She exhaled with relief—no signs of poison, at least. She tore more strips from her underskirt, using one to wipe it clean before layering the others over the wound and binding it tightly with a longer piece of cloth.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, watching her work.

“Serena—the woman who taught me about the bees—was also a healer,” she said softly. “I picked up a few things.”

She worked methodically, doing her best to remember what Serena had done. After she secured the bandage, she rested her palm against his chest, feeling the strong, steady rhythm of his heart beneath her touch. For a moment, she allowed herself to be comforted by that beat, by the warmth of his skin, by the simple fact that he was still alive.

“There,” she said, her voice barely audible. “That should hold until we reach help.”

He covered her hand with his own, the gesture so tender it made her throat tighten.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes clearer now, focused entirely on her. “But you don’t need to worry—I heal very quickly.”

She managed a shaky smile. “Good, because there isn’t much left of my skirt.”