Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(93)

Breathe in, breathe out.

Tybalt coughed.

I pulled back, heart hammering in my chest, and watched wide-eyed as he coughed again, before taking a deep, half-choked breath. The pit in his chest seemed to be getting shallower by the second, displacing the blood pooled there. Siwan was still chanting, her hands pressed to the base of his ribs—as close as she’d been able to get to the wound before without actually reaching inside of him. He was healing. He was getting better.

He was healing. I stiffened. My body was designed for that sort of magically accelerated recovery, and it still left me dazed and dizzy from the calories it burned. I looked frantically at the circle of people that had formed around us, seizing on Arden as the one who would need the least explanation.

“I need a gallon of cream and a bowl of raw salmon,” I called, struggling to keep my words clear and concise enough that she would be able to understand them. Then I gave up, and shrieked “Now!” so loudly that the effort hurt my throat again, if only for a moment.

Arden looked surprised. Then she raised her hand and swept a circle in the air, disappearing through it. The scent of redwood sap attempted to overwhelm the smell of blood, but failed, disappearing completely into the red.

That brief distraction had been long enough for the hole in Tybalt’s chest to become a shallow divot. New skin was forming over the wound, healing by the second. It was going slower now. The magic Siwan had been able to coax from my blood was running out fast—maybe too fast. There was internal damage as well, and I wasn’t sure there had been time for all of it to heal before the surface started closing. I turned to her, pleading mutely.

She shook her head. “Our bodies aren’t like yours. We’re not made to do this. I can’t treat him twice in quick succession; he wouldn’t survive.”

“Arden is bringing meat, cream—”

“And that would be the answer, if he were like you. He’d be able to rebuild what he’s lost, and keep healing. He’s not you. He needs to recover on his own.”

I turned back to Tybalt. He was still breathing, but he seemed to be having trouble; his breath kept catching, and the pain in his expression was obvious. I reached out with one shaking, blood-smeared hand, smoothing the hair back from his face. He opened his eyes. Not all the way, but enough that I could see him looking at me. I forced myself to smile.

“Hey,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“’Tis not as deep as a well or as wide as a church door, but it will do,” he whispered, voice rasping.

I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t do that. Don’t quote Shakespeare at me when you think you’re going to die.”

“He was a lovely man. You would have liked him.” Tybalt winced, but didn’t close his eyes. “Little fish, what did you do?”

I would normally have objected to him using that name for me twice in quick succession, but he hadn’t used it the first time: the memories stored in his blood had done that. It was a name born of aggravation and affection, and I’d never been so glad to hear it. “Just a little blood,” I said, letting my bloody fingers rest against his cheek. “You were hurt. We helped.”

“I hate to disillusion you, but I’m still hurt.” He grimaced. “Quite badly. I feel as if some things have been knocked askew. I am . . . afraid I won’t be able to make it to the wedding.”

“Over my dead body.” The smell of blackberry flowers intruded. I looked up. Arden was pushing through the crowd, a tray in her hands. I shifted so I could prop Tybalt’s head up on my leg. “I need you to try and drink as much of this milk as you can. If you can eat, do that too, but you’re going to drink.”

“October—”

“Drink it.” I shook my head. I was shivering uncontrollably. Finding a way to make it stop would have been too much trouble. Instead, I waited for Arden to come closer, and reached up to take the bowl of milk from her tray. It was unpasteurized, thick, with cream hanging heavy at the top. I lowered it to Tybalt’s lips.

He gave me a dubious look. Breathing was clearly getting harder for him.

“Please.”

He drank.

He drank all the milk, and when I took the plate, he managed to force down a few mouthfuls of fatty salmon, chewing thoroughly before he swallowed. Finally, he sagged against me.

“As last meals go, I could have been offered worse, but I beg you, no more,” he whispered. “Something is broken. Toby . . .”

“You need time to heal. We need access to better magic. We need to find Jin and get her to put you back together.” I looked up at Arden, the plate of salmon still clutched in my hand. It should have seemed comic, but under the circumstances, it was just sad. “Arden. He needs time.”

She blinked at me, clearly not understanding. Tybalt took a sharp breath. He clearly did.

“Please,” I said. “He needs time.”

“He needs time that won’t kill him,” said the Luidaeg, and pushed past Arden to kneel at Tybalt’s other side. She moved her hand in the air in a quick but complicated movement. When she was done, an arrow rested in her palm. It was short, no more than five inches in length, with a shaft of black wood too warped and riddled with thorns to have ever flown. The fletching was owl feather and dried leaves, and the tip was obsidian black, gleaming with oily rainbows.