From the Ashes

Chapter 39 ~ Healing Waters

    He'd thought he was hallucinating when Morana suddenly appeared over him, wreathed in flame like a warrior from Hel and wielding a weapon that seemed to be made of pure darkness.

    He'd seen the Corrupted Fae's sword shatter into pieces as though it were little more than glass. Had watched as Morana severed her head from her body with a lethal grace that could only be owed to her bloodline and heritage.

    But now he knew he was hallucinating, because there was no other explanation for what was happening around him. They were teleporting. Moving through the very fabric of reality faster than lightning. He caught glimpses of the world outside of the rift they traveled within and they shouldn't be where they already were.

    He had no idea what Morana was going to do when he told her to take him to Oriana's Pavilion. He just assumed she'd try to drag him there and he'd die on the way, but they were teleporting! Such things shouldn't be possible. Not for Fae like them, yet here they were.

    Tarion lifted his gaze to Morana's face. Her features were screwed in concentration and worry, her eyes sealed shut as she focused on delivering them safely to the Pavilion. Radiant light flickered beneath her skin and Noxbane was glowing with crimson flames.

    This was her. This was the Phoenix, her power now complete with the weapon of her ancestors. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.

    The wind roaring around them went silent as suddenly as it had begun. Tarion let out a groan at the hard impact which jolted his body. He scented fresh air and roses, and heard the soft rippling of water. Morana shook him by the shoulder and he cracked an eye open.

    She sat back on her heels, gaze darting across the tiny island they'd landed on. She tossed Noxbane aside and darted out of sight. Tarion snorted at that. She had tossed, tossed, a legendary and immortal weapon forged by a god like a stick.

    He rolled onto his side in an effort to regain sight of her and cried out at the fresh burst of pain that splintered through him. Blood gushed from the wound across his stomach and his vision blurred.

    "Fuck," Tarion rasped, dragging an arm over his waist.

    His messy cauterizing job had been ripped through again when he was fighting the two remaining Fae. Tarion reached for his magic to reseal the wound, but it guttered out before he could even touch it. He was too exhausted, had lost too much blood.

    "Fuck," he groaned again.

    "Hold on," Morana called from across the island.

    It was even smaller than he remembered. She was still the size of his thumb, despite being at the complete opposite end of the island. A gazebo of ivory wood and gleaming white stone stood in between them, and a well made of the same stone was next to Morana. She was dipping her waterskin into it.

    He laughed at that too. Oriana's priestesses would've been screaming at the indignance of using a mere waterskin instead of the ceremonial chalices they had always provided.

    He could still remember his parents' coronation, held here when he was only six, and his own little ceremony afterwards when he'd been proclaimed his father's heir. They had all drank the blessed water from golden chalices encrusted with gems shaped like the white roses that decorated the island year round.

    Morana came running back to him and dropped to her knees at his side. "My mother would love you," Tarion grunted, managing a hoarse chuckle. "The priestesses would be so upset right now."

    Morana furrowed her brows but slipped a hand beneath his head and tilted it up. "Well, I'm glad your mother would approve of me at least."

    She held the waterskin to his lips and he managed to take a few sips. The water was cool and sweet, tasting of summer's sunlight and budding rose blossoms. Morana set the leather canteen aside and leveled her hands over his stomach wound, her fingers tracing it as she summoned her healing magic.