Wither Thorn (The Crest of Blackthorn Book 1) by Joy Lewis

Author:Joy Lewis [Lewis, Joy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joy Lewis
Published: 2020-09-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tremors traveled through Galen’s fingers as they located each injury on his body, some on the surface and others signified by a sharp pain inside him. He rested two fingers near his vertebral ribs, locating the source of the pain in his abdomen.

Galen winced as a stream of magic flowed to the spot, and a sheen of sweat covered him. The smell of wine filled his nostrils then as he remembered the stains on his clothes.

Dizziness already hitting him, he turned to address Rigel who was somewhere in their room. “Just a warning, I don’t know how much magic I’ll have left to heal you after this.”

When he received no response, he made the decision to spend most of his energy healing himself. He rested his head back against a pillow and tried to focus on his fractured rib.

Rigel hadn’t spoken since their conversation in the ballroom. Galen understood why perfectly well—in order to do what Rigel had done, he had to shut off certain parts of himself.

Nevertheless, he needed him fully cognitive for the hours ahead of them.

His eyes lifted to a plate of fruit that been left from their last meal, and hunger clawed at him. As the last of his dispensable magic sapped from him, he staggered to his feet. He downed the remaining pieces, their juices running down his strained throat.

He coughed and flinched at a twinge of pain still buried in his side. I need to send more purification magic there soon.

“Rigel.” He saw him then, on the floor and head bent over his saber. “Are you hurt?”

The ex-soldier didn’t move or otherwise indicate he’d heard him.

Wishing he had learned how to heal mental wounds from the apothecary in Cenhelm, Galen’s shoulders slumped forward.

“Rigel,” he tried with more force this time, “we can’t stay here.”

At the sound, his hand flew to the handle of his weapon, and Galen backed away a step. Rigel’s head flicked up as his weapon flew between them. The skin under his eyes was ringed from exhaustion.

“Rigel. It’s okay,” Galen said, careful not to make sudden movements. “Put the weapon down.”

A flicker of recognition appeared in his eyes, and his muscles slumped, bringing the blade to a clatter on the floor.

“I think we have to leave,” Galen said in a whisper. He wasn’t giving up on Caia—no, he couldn’t think about her now. The wounds were too fresh. He continued, “They might have followed us.”

A deep sigh originated from Rigel. Galen couldn’t see his face anymore, but he was relieved to see that he seemed responsive. “Undoubtedly,” he said.

Galen finished the thought for him, “So we need to leave.”

For a span of time, he was quiet again. Galen could feel the energy from the food replacing a small amount of his magic, and he observed with a wince that a trickle of it went of its own accord to the injury in his ribs. He exhaled. That’s better.

Rigel croaked the words. “Did you kill those soldiers?”

“No, I, uh,” he stopped, searching for the appropriate word, “drugged them.

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