Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 7 - Placing Bets

Battle Ground, Indiana

Claire spent a great deal of time laying in bed the following morning. It was hard to believe only a single day had passed in Cyrus's company. The events of the last twenty-four hours blurred together in her mind like soggy soup, leaving her exhausted.

When she finally got up, she cooked Cyrus breakfast as she had the day before. He didn't eat nearly as much. Afterward, she insisted he show her his wound. He needed fresh bandages and she told him so. "I do not wish for you to see it," he said, backing away.

"It doesn't matter what you wish," she said. "I am your caregiver, and I say it must be done."

He sighed, frowning, before lifting his shirt. She set to work. She removed the bandages and stifled a gasp. The blackness staining his skin was spreading at an alarming rate.

"Now you understand..."

She looked up at him, failing to disguise her shock. He clenched his jaw, his gaze locked on the wall. Once more she set about evaluating the wound, checking that the stitches held. As she touched the surrounding skin, his breathing turned ragged. He even winced when she gently pushed against an inflamed section. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him further. Working quickly, she gathered up fresh bandages and applied them.

She had never seen a wound behave this way. "When you told me that Vodar swords were infused with poison..." The realization sank in. The blackened skin wasn't any kind of infection. It was a result of the poison, killing everything it touched.

"Yes, now you see." He winced. "I can feel it attacking my body, taking every bit of living flesh and tissue."

Her eyes went wide. "What are we going to do?"

"We aren't going to do anything." He backed away from her just as she secured the final bandage.

"But Cyrus...you need help. Some kind of medicine. Probably the hospital. I...I can't treat poison."

"Hos-pidal? I know not of what you speak, nor will I have any part in it." He pursed his lips.

She scowled, hoping he might change his mind. He didn't speak. "At least let me give you something for the pain," she said at last. "My dad has some pretty powerful stuff. I'll go get it." She took a single step and his hand latched onto her arm, his grip firmer than expected.

He sighed and released her almost immediately. "Claire, no. Only magic can help me now."

She opened her mouth—

"You must trust me. Nothing you possess can help me now. This poison is powerful beyond belief—more powerful than anything our own Magoi can brew. Every bit of magic I possess is holding back its darkness. Were I human, I would have died the night you rescued me. Alas, I must suffer a slow death."

"But, you can't just give up!" she insisted. Heat flushed her face. Why was he so eager to accept death? "There's got to be something we can—"

"Wake up, girl!" he growled. "Only the strongest magic can heal me now. Even the Society's best would struggle with a wound like this. And still, I might not awake once they purge the blackness from my body."

His tone stung. She set her jaw, narrowing her gaze. "Cyrus, if there is a small chance they can heal you, you've got to take it."

"And how do you suppose I do that?"

"I..."

"The Society resides within Kastali Dun. I have to get there first, before they can help me."