Underlord (Cradle #6)(58)

He had foolishly thought they were on even footing.

With her Blood Shadow, she had fought two Underlords to a standstill. Her image, spinning and dancing in sync with her Shadow, had haunted him all night. It was the most extraordinary thing he'd ever seen from her.

And they were at the same stage of advancement. He’d known he was neglecting real combat training, and now he'd dropped the entire burden on her.

Yerin's madra spiked, and his dark thoughts were cut off. She was awake.

The Brightcrown stood in front of the tent flap, bowing to him. “Pardon me, Truegold, but I couldn't possibly allow—”

Lindon pushed him aside.

He passed an open-sided tent, filled with bleeding and groaning figures as well as exhausted healers mixing concoctions or forcing out their madra. The area beneath the tent was packed solid, so there was barely room for them to walk between the beds. The steady rain soaked the feet of those on the edge, who couldn't entirely fit under the covering.

The Brightcrown man stumbled after Lindon, who marched straight for Yerin. Some of the other Brightcrowns and their assistants—each bearing the crest of a crowned oak tree—hurriedly bowed as soon as they saw him. He even saw a few servants in the dark blue Arelius uniform dragging bloody laundry.

Lindon's healer tried his best to stop him without touching him. “Please, this will ruin my reputation. I beg you to return to your tent.”

“Put someone else in my tent,” Lindon commanded. It was easier to assert himself, he found, when he was focused on something else. “Take three or four people out of the rain.”

“Your tent has to be empty and waiting for you when you return.”

Lindon still didn't look at the man. He was concentrating on a tent that looked identical to his, but which held slowly cycling Endless Sword madra.

“If I return and I find that tent empty, I will find whoever is in charge and demand that you be punished,” Lindon said. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, “Apologies.”

The man sputtered something, but he ended up leaving Lindon alone.

Lindon would have to get used to the new truth about himself. He wasn't the same person he'd been before. He was a Truegold now, and a highly ranked one at that. He could go wherever he wanted.

A young woman in the brown robes of a servant stood in front of Yerin's tent, her hair tied back in a rag, damp from the rain. She held her hands up for Lindon to wait, but Lindon brushed past her. He felt a little uncomfortable doing it, but he had to adjust to his new status. He decided where he could go, not her.

He ducked into the tent and froze.

Yerin sat on the bed, staring to one side. The tent was crowded with three more Brightcrowns, all sporting the glowing Goldsign, all of them women. Lindon was looking between them, so he saw Yerin in glimpses. Her tattered black robes were folded on a chair next to the bed, and her armor sat in a pile.

She had blankets pulled up to her waist, but otherwise she was completely bare. Her body was slender, her skin pale in the light of all the golden crowns, thin scars glistening in the light.

Lindon took one glance and immediately pushed back out of the tent.

Lesson learned. He couldn't go anywhere he wanted.

The Lowgold servant woman outside the tent gave him an icy stare. She couldn't say anything to a Truegold, but she clearly wanted to.

“Apologies,” he said, bowing to cover his burning face. “I, ah, should have listened.”

[Why?] Dross asked curiously.

Lindon did not answer.

Only a minute or two later, the other three healers emerged. They were led by an older woman, a Truegold with her gray hair tied up in a bun. She turned to Lindon with a serious expression.

“Lindon Arelius?” she asked. Lindon wasn't sure when that name had become commonly known, but he nodded.

“Her lifeline is severely damaged,” she said in a low voice. “We have stabilized her, so it will not be extinguished tonight, but we cannot fully repair the life-force she has lost. With regular elixirs and infusions of life aura, she can live her remaining time normally, even return to the battlefield if she must.”

“How much...” Lindon began, but his voice caught, and he had to start over. “How much time?”

“Two months,” the woman said. “Maybe a little more or less. Then her life will be exhausted. It will be painless.”

Lindon stared at the healer's face. He kept staring at the same spot even when the woman said something to comfort him, told him a treatment plan, and walked off. And when the Lowgold Brightcrown asked if he needed anything. He meant to respond, but somehow he didn't.

There was a question he wanted to ask, but he couldn't bring his thoughts together.

Dross, he said, and the spirit filled in the blanks.

[I know,] Dross answered, his voice uncharacteristically grave. [Yes, this is exactly what the Life Well was meant for. It would heal her. It could even take that blood spirit of hers up a notch.]

How much would she have needed? Lindon asked.

It didn't matter. He hadn't saved any. But he wanted to know.

[One spoonful.]

Every question he asked sharpened the pain, but he pressed on. How much did I drink?

[Fifty or sixty times as much, but your lifeline was healthy. Most of it went to waste, but the rest of it did reinforce you.]

Mercy had commented on his lifeline already. He had known.