The Raven Flame [The Crown Saga III] (First Draft)

A Swayed Truce

Cold sweat trickled down my spine, pooling along the groove of my back.

I knew I should never have trusted him. He’d poisoned me, tricked me. I’d naïvely let him, desperate to heal and recover.

The seconds felt like eternities as another wave of bone-wrenching agony rippled through my cramping arms. I parted my trembling lips, raising my chin to draw air for another scream when fingers folded across my mouth and an arm wrapped around my body, pressing me into a silken-dressed chest.

“Just hang on,” Tarkan whispered, dragging me into his lap. “A few more minutes.” I tried to wriggle out of his embrace. I tried to snap after his fingers, but my teeth refused to unclench.

“Stop it, Wildcard. Your screams will attract the darkness.” I cracked one eye open to glare venomously at him, my vision slightly blurry from the blood pulsing violently behind my eyes.

He sighed but didn’t remotely loosen his grip. “Spirits… I’ve not poisoned you. The sludge is an ancient concoction made by the Timber Villagers long before they accepted healers into their society. A touch of Earth Magic and—” He grunted as I dug my nails into his arm. “Feisty today, are we?” he said, attempting to chuckle. I didn’t find it funny. “Your wounds are healing, but, as opposed to the endearing powers of the natural Healers, this method is a bit grislier and likely banned in most corners of Heliac. The concoction is weaving into your wounds, forcing them to close up. It’ll be over soon, so just… endure.”

He would wish he’d poisoned me when I was through with him.

Another biting surge of thrashing agony made my muscles cramp and my bones sing. It crawled along my nerves as a bubble of air rose from my lungs, mixing and manifesting as another blood-curdling scream.

Tarkan’s hand slipped off my lips, and I could almost taste the sweet relief of letting the wail tear all the way through me when he pressed my face into the soft hollow of his shoulder.

The fabric muffled my scream, stealing the sounds before it could escape our sound bubble of chaos. “Scream all you want, Wildcard. I’ll lend you my shoulder. I might even let you hit me once you’ve healed if you’ll stop fighting me so hard.”

A monstrous tear gathered in the corner of my eye, trailing down the curve of my nose before being absorbed by Tarkan’s blood-strained shirt.

Cursed blood… He smelled like Caiden. This bastard smelled just like him—like home. For a brief, torturous moment, the pain shrouding my torn heart like a lingering shadow had actually eased a bit. But Tarkan wasn’t Caiden, and he never would be, no matter their physical similarities.

Tarkan wasn’t Caiden, and Caiden wasn’t safe, no matter how many times Tarkan claimed Pangea would never harm him.

A strangling lump settled in my throat, catching my pained screams and turning them into anguished sobs and whimpers.

It felt as if knives were digging into my soul, slowly tearing it apart as the world around me crumbled.

If only I’d never helped Caiden that day. I would never have become part of the Crown Trials, Caiden and Piper would’ve been happy and safe, Calla would be alive, and I would never have had the chance to acknowledge my powers—never seen it turn into the shade of molten gold and never found the cave.

Pangea would never have had my blood nor tasted the lingering aroma of hope to see her deranged plans through.

Heliac would’ve been safe if only I’d stayed put and never left our ramshackle house in the outskirts of the Bronze Region.

It was all me.

The next ripple of pain biting through my arms settled like a nauseating string around my insides, making my mouth flood as my stomach threatened to churn. The pained whimper came out all stranger, and Tarkan pressed my lips harder against his shoulder.