Page 19 of The Warlord's Wildflower
Tears blur my vision, but I don’t stop. I rock him gently, praying to the Gods.
O Bovina, gentle mother of milk and mercy. You give life to the smallest Calf. Give him just one more breath. Please.
O Theros, Great Horned One, keeper of strength, take my voice, my breath, if it means he keeps his.
O Yelna, Goddess of the earth, let your herbs do your will. Let them breathe life into him.
“Please!” I beg them out loud now. “Please don’t take him!”
I’m crying so hard I can barely see. His chest rises, just barely. The tiny breath is a miracle.
Another wheeze. Another shallow breath. I keep pressing the pulpy mixture into his mouth and over his chest like it’s magic, because maybe it is. Maybe love makes it magic.
Please, let it be enough.
Please.
Chapter Twelve
Fenric
The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is that I'm not dead. Which is a relief, considering how deeply humiliating it would have been to perish from a bee.
I blink against firelight flickering in the chamber. My throat feels like I’ve gargled gravel, and my chest aches like I’ve been trampled by the entire horde.
“…Is he awake?” I hear someone whisper.
I groan and lift my hand. Well, more like flop it dramatically.
“He lives,” someone responds dryly. I’d recognize that old crone's voice anywhere.
I crack an eye open and see Elda sitting beside the bed with that look she always has when she’s patching up warriors: one part relief, two parts exasperation. Across from her stands Dakar, arms crossed, thunder on his brow. Next to him, Maeve is gripping his arm and whispering something that is likely keeping him from exploding.
And there, perched on a stool like she’s trying to fold herself into the wall, is Annie.
My Annie.
My throat tightens again, but this time it’s not from death-by-insect. Her eyes are wide and glassy, cheeks blotchy, andshe’s wringing her hands. I want to say something charming that will make her smile, but Elda beats me to the punch.
“If she hadn’t remembered what I taught her about elecampane,” she says, nodding toward Annie, “you’d be in the fields of the afterlife, Fenric.”
I push myself up on one elbow and wince. “So, I was finally bested… by a bee.”
Dakar growls and steps forward, eyes blazing. “You’re lucky the bee got to you before I did. I haven’t decided whether I’m relieved you’re alive or furious I didn’t get to throttle you first.”
I grin, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. “Glad to see I’m loved.”
“You’ve nearly started a war with the Northern Clans!”
“I don’tcare, she’smine!”
Everyone looks at me in shock at my outburst. Annie makes a strangled sound. When I glance her way, she’s looking at the floor like she wants to be buried under it.
Elda clicks her tongue. “Enough shouting! The boy needs rest, and maybe a healthy fear of pollinators.”
Maeve squeezes her mate’s arm tighter. “Dakar. He almost died…”
“Almost,” Dakar snaps. “And if he pulls something that reckless again, I’ll finish the job. Maybe shove an entire beehive on his head and let the Gods sort it out.”
