The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 32 - Part 1

"No. I refuse to believe that."

Sam's voice drifted through the door, broken. Crynia's heart squeezed, and she almost turned to go back into the basement. Her legs wouldn't obey her.

"I wish it were any other way, Sam, but it's not." That was Lillian. Crynia didn't want to think about the heartbreak in her tone. "I don't know how much longer he'll hold out. He's not—he's not going to make it."

Nyle. They were talking about Nyle. Crynia sucked in a sharp breath.

"He can't just...die," Sam protested. His voice cracked. "You're a doctor, Lil. You have to do something."

"I can't, Sam," Lillian said, her words defeated and soft with sorrow. "Yes, I'm a doctor, but I'm not magic."

Crynia dropped the mug she'd been carrying. It shattered at her feet. She didn't hear it.

Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that earlier?

The door edged open, and Sam's head poked through, expression wiped clean of any emotion. Smart. He was keeping it from her.

When his eyes flicked from the broken mug at her feet and up to her face, his eyebrow arching, Crynia flushed from embarrassment. "I'll, uh, I'll clean that up later," she stammered, turning away and beelining for the counter.

The soles of her boots crunched broken clay from the mug as she took the undependable stairs two at a time, stopping to scan the basement for the person she sought.

Her eyes fell on him. "Chad." He glanced up from where he sat cross-legged on a cot, idly carving away at a hunk of wood. "Drop the knife and come with me." The way she gave her command left no room for argument. "Now."

Quietly, Chad dropped his project on the wadded blanket beside him and got up. The stairs creaked as he followed her through the kitchen and out into the tavern. Crynia released a long breath and turned to face him.

"You can save him," Crynia said, watching the innkeeper clean the tables with a wet rag. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms before turning back to Chad. His eyes looked green in the low light.

His brows drew together. "Who?"

"Nyle." Crynia closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "He's dying, Chad. But if you use your magic, you can save him. Mum used to heal scratches and things that I got, with hers."

"Okay." Chad leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, his expression troubled and thoughtful. "Let's say I agree. What happened to Nyle is a hell of a lot worse than a scratch or a scrape, Crynia. Even if I knew how to heal him—which I don't, by the way—aren't his injuries too drastic?"

Crynia shook her head, eyeing the windows. The guards' torches danced like fireflies outside the hazy glass, going from door to door, searching for a secret they wouldn't find. "My dad crippled his hand once, in the smithy. Knocked over a tray of swords and tripped halfway into the forge. His whole arm was a mess of melted steel and these awful burns, and for a while, I didn't know if he'd make it, much less be able to work again." Her mouth edged up in a sad smile as her mother's face, always smiling, flashed in her memory. "When Mum got there, she told me to leave the room for a minute, and said that Dad would be fine, but I watched from the doorway. And she healed him. It was bizarre, and I didn't understand it until I asked her what she'd done, but it worked."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Don't you see?" Stepping forward, Crynia caught Chad's shoulders and locked him with her gaze. He stared back, confused, conflict warring in the depths of his eyes. "You're Nyle's last shot. If you don't try, we're all going to lose a loyal friend and a good leader. Please. At least try."