Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 67: Time is of the essence

Note: change of Pov after the dotted line near the end of the chapter

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"I cannot thank you enough for what you've done," Ella said, looking around the infirmary, as the wounded men were carted in and settled into the cots. "Your bravery is unparalleled."

Sir Gawain dipped his head. "Nothing but duty, your Highness. We are glad to be of service to our realm."

Ella looked at the man, biting back a chagrined smile. Sir Gawain was covered in filth, his blond hair matted against his skull with a mixture of muck and blood, his leg taped up haphazardly with a splint. It was likely he hadn't slept in days either, constantly battling, but the man was damn near giddy.

After consulting Callan on what could be done to help Cereas covertly, Ella had still been hesitant to approach the knight with the idea. It had seemed like too big of an imposition.

Ella had assured him he was free to refuse, as it was a request, not an order, but Ser Gawain had agreed before she'd even finished speaking. Had practically leapt at the chance of seeing some action.

"You did well, Ser Gawain. You and your men shall be rewarded," she assured him, looking around the infirmary, at the soldiers laid out in beds.

They'd prepared the infirmary in advance, stocking up medicine and calling in more healers to assist Sulimona. And they'd certainly needed it—all of the wounded soldiers were in dire need of attention.

Ella grimaced as a healer cleansed the festering wound on a man's thigh. It leaked blood, a watery yellow liquid, and a small trickle of something silvery.

Ella bit her cheek to fight back a wave of nausea. It stunk inside the infirmary; blood, filth, guts and pus. But the stench of iron was what almost threatened to overwhelm her.

Taking a small step to the side, she lowered her tone. "They aren't healing on their own," she said, more than asked.

Sir Gawain mimicked her expression, sombrely shaking his head. "Iron-wounded," he confirmed her suspicions, motioning at the silvery liquid the healer was cleaning out.

"All the men that were pierced by iron arrows are not healing. They've been secreting that substance for days now. The healers say it'll be a few more days until they can take it all out. Then they can heal on their own. But even then, their bodies shall be weakened."

"It is the strangest thing," he frowned, looking down at his bandaged hand. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a long, open wound. It looked fresh, as if it had been recent.

"I was fortunate to be merely grazed by those arrows. It was not a deep cut by any means. Yet it seems my body absorbed the liquid. This cut will not scar—it happened two days ago."

So it was even worse than before. She remembered cleaning Aedion's wound of that thick, goopy iron substance. It had been difficult but somewhat manageable due to its viscous consistency.

It seemed that in the following months, they'd perfected the formula. It was now more liquid, and thus, it absorbed better. Despite the fae's ability to drain out venom and neutralise its properties, it seemed this formula was built to bypass that. It now took days for the liquid to drain, days in which the victim was practically strengthless—that was, if it didn't kill them first.

Ella looked over at Sulimona, who was setting a man's dislocated shoulder in place. The man hissed under his breath, pale, but kept stoic.

Sulimona and Zella had been analysing the substance and working on a way to counteract it. Surely Sulimona was taking samples to further inspect it. She hoped they might find a way to counteract it soon.