Onyx Blood [True North series book 2/3]

I lay on my side, clutching the wet cloth Phaedra had given me. It had been dipped in some sort of herbal oil, and its potent sent was the only thing keeping me from retching my guts out. I lay there, shivering, as my fever was just about to reach its peak.

I had been this way for days, getting increasingly worse over time. Phaedra had prepared me for it — telling me about how my body was going through some sort of withdrawal process, now that I had rejected my mate. It was fighting itself — trying to rid itself of Thoridor’s blood, which had been woven into my very essence now. Blood, that since my rejection, had now become poisonous.

It mattered not that I was a blood wielder — it had already been absorbed into every part of me. It was in my muscles, my bones — every tissue that blood had touched. I couldn’t get it out — I would just have to wait until my body had burned it off.

I convulsed with the urge to vomit again, and cried tears of pain and self-pity. I hated Thoridor for what he had done to me — how he had ruined me — but even now —or maybe especially now— I was finding it harder and harder to drown out the memory of him.

His face haunted my dreams, and my waking hours too. His voice often echoed through my mind — but I know it wasn’t him speaking. He had been quiet — hadn’t sought me out. If I were to believe Phaedra, Thoridor was going through the exact same thing I was, so I doubted he felt good enough to show up in my mind.

The worst part was, any glimmer I got of Thoridor —whether it was a memory, or a whispered sentence between Phaedra en Warrian I picked up on— brought me comfort. Just hearing his name, smelling the scent of warm leather, feeling his embrace in my sleep — it was the only relief I got from this cursed rejection process.

Warrian had been at my side almost all of the time, and Phaedra swung by as often as she could. She traveled back and forth between Thoridor and myself, between Terrestrial and Aquatic Ardanis respectively, to aid both of us with potions and elixirs.

I only knew she’d gone to see him, because she reeked of him when she returned. I could smell him on everything, even if she changed all her clothes, and bathed before she came to see me. Once, she had put on the same boots she’d been wearing when tending to him, and I had all but ripped them off her feet.

I had clutched them to my chest after she had given them to me, and my fever had instantly dropped a bit. I had felt clearer — stronger. But the scent had worn off, and now they had just gone back to being plain old boots.

I drifted in and out of sleep — chased through fast-paced fever dreams. I woke up screaming most of the time, and no amount of comforting words and gentle caressing Warrian had provided could help me.

He slept next to me — in the same bed, wrapped around me like a blanket. We woke up drenched in my sweat a few times a night, and he would hold me through my shivering, help clean me up, and lulled me back to sleep. He was there every time I needed him — which was often. And I loved him for it. I loved him — I did. I would have chosen him a thousand times over, as my mate. I would have drank his blood and fed him mine.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t my mate and we both knew it. It had become painstakingly obvious these last couple of days, but we didn’t care. He loved me too.

My body was growing weaker, though. I wasn’t able to keep down any food, no matter how good it tasted. My body rejected everything that wasn’t Thoridor. I was able to keep down about a cup of water a day, laced with Phaedra’s elixirs. I was sure they were the only things keeping me alive, and I thought of Tophyn often.

I thought about what his little body must have felt like, fighting off an illness unaided. All of my tinctures and ointments — they might as well have been water. I wondered if rubbing his back really had helped him, like Thoridor had said — Thoridor.

I gasped for air at the thought of him. I pictured his face involuntarily, but found my body relaxing at the thought instantly.

Warrian ran his hand through my hair. “Come,” he said, “drink.”

He supported my head with his hand as he brought a cup of water to my cracked lips. I took a few sips, and lay back down.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I whispered to him. “It’s probably not much longer now,” Warrian said, as his fingers traced delicate circles across my bony back, each touch a stark reminder of the toll my rejection had taken. I mourned my once-strong body, that had now been reduced to a fragile framework.

Warrian leaned his forehead against mine.

“Thank you, War,” I said, my voice dry and raspy. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I wish I could help you,” Warrian replied, “I wish I could… break that bond for you.”

I just nodded. The logical part of me wished that too, but my soul was screaming at the thought. Like it had been screaming at me all along. I was fighting my very core being, by rejecting the bond between Thoridor and I. Thoridor.

I woke up to a knocking at the door. “Who is it?” Warrian answered for me.

“It’s me,” Phaedra’s voice called out from the other side. She swiftly entered the room, and sat down on the side of my bed. “I brought you a visitor,” she softly said as he took the herbal cloth from my hands and replaced it with a fresh one.

“Someone I think might be able to help a little.” I perked up. For a split second, I thought she had brought me Thoridor. But then I remembered I had made her promise not to — to scrub herself clean of any trace of him before coming to see me.

“Who is it?” I asked, and Phaedra stood up and opened the door.

And there, in the door opening, was none other than the Queen herself.