The Witch Who Bled The DragonFire

The Price to Pay

Neither wound looks remotely harmless.

“Can you move your fingers?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Any numbness?”

“No.”

“Dizziness?”

He gives me a sideways look. “Are you treating me or interrogating me?”

“I’m multitasking. Try to keep up.”

I examine the wounds without disturbing either weapon. The skin around the blade is unnaturally cold. His upper arm is still bleeding, though not as heavily as before.

“Which one hurts more?”

“The blade.”

“Can you breathe normally?”

“Not entirely.”

That answer takes the humour right out of me.

I look at the handle protruding from his side. The Crown’s hawk emblem has been stamped into the silver, and tiny runes circle its base. The bolt carries similar markings.

“Those aren’t ordinary weapons, are they?”

“No.”

“Enchanted?”

“Yes.”

I glance at him. “You could try giving me a complete answer the first time.”

“The blade keeps the wound open. The bolt interferes with my dragon core.”

I look from one weapon to the other.

“And if I remove them?”

“The bindings have to be broken first. Otherwise, removing them could make the damage worse.”

Of course.

Because pulling two weapons out of an injured man would be far too straightforward.

“You really have a talent for making simple things complicated.”

“I wasn’t aware you considered removing enchanted weapons from a dragon simple.”

“I’m beginning to regret helping you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, but the expression doesn’t last. He shifts slightly and winces before he can hide it.

I stop talking.

Whatever this man is, he is in pain. And if I don’t work out how to help him, that pain could become the least of our problems.

I study the runes around the bolt. Their lines curve towards a central symbol, as though they’re drawing something inward. I don’t understand the magic, but the pattern reminds me of the strange warmth that filled my hands when I healed the silver heather in my shop.

Perhaps I can use that same power here.

I close my eyes and reach for the heat beneath my ribs.

At first, nothing happens.

Then warmth gathers around the crescent mark over my heart. A faint golden light spreads across my fingertips.

I guide it towards the nearest rune.

The symbol flickers.

Kael sucks in a breath.

I pull my hand away immediately. “What happened?”

“The binding tightened. Then it loosened.”

“That’s helpful.”

“Would you prefer I lied?”

“Honestly? A little encouragement wouldn’t hurt.”

I take another breath and try again, using less power. This time, I direct the Heartfire into the markings instead of letting it spill across the weapon.

One rune fades.

Then another.

By the time the final symbol goes dark, the unnatural tension around Kael’s upper arm has eased.

I look at him. “Is it safe now?”

“As safe as it’s going to be.”

“Wonderful. My favourite kind of answer.”

I wrap the bolt in a folded cloth and draw it out carefully.

Kael’s jaw tightens. His hand grips the edge of the stone wall, but he doesn’t move.

The moment the weapon comes free, I press a clean dressing against the wound. I keep the pressure steady until the bleeding slows, then secure the bandage with linen.

One down.

I turn to the blade in his side.

My stomach twists.

It’s buried deeper, and the skin around it has turned almost grey. I can’t tell how far it has penetrated, and I have no intention of pretending I understand dragon anatomy just because I managed to keep one alive.

“Kael, I need you to tell me if the pain gets worse.”

He nods.

I examine the runes around the handle. They follow the same general pattern as those on the bolt, but the central symbol is more complicated.

Naturally.

I use the tip of my knife to scrape away the dark residue covering the first marking. It hisses faintly against the metal.

Kael’s fingers dig into the stone.

“Stop.”

I pull back at once.

“Is it tightening?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, I stare at the blade, frustrated with myself. I want to fix this quickly, to pull the weapon free and get us somewhere safe.

But rushing won’t help him. If anything, it could make the situation worse.

I steady my breathing and reach for the Heartfire again.

This time, I use only a thin thread of magic, guiding it into the runes rather than the wound. The first symbol dims. Then the second.

The effort leaves a dull ache beneath my ribs, but I keep going until the final marking fades.

Kael releases a slow breath.

“Now?” I ask.

He nods once.

I grip the handle firmly and pull the blade free in one careful movement.

His hand closes around my wrist. For a second, his grip is surprisingly strong. Then he releases me, his face pale with pain.

I press a fresh dressing against his side and hold it there until the bleeding begins to slow. The blood is still dark, but the unnatural cold surrounding the wound gradually fades.

I secure the bandage as carefully as I can.

By the time I’m finished, my fingers are trembling again.

The golden light has disappeared from my hands. All that’s left is a dull warmth around the crescent mark over my heart and an uncomfortable heaviness in my limbs.

Whatever Heartfire is, using it takes something out of me.

I sit back against the wall.

“Are you going to survive this?”

“I intend to.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

I want to argue, but I’m too tired to bother.

Both weapons lie beside me, wrapped in separate pieces of cloth. Kael is no longer carrying enchanted metal inside his body, but that doesn’t mean he’s healed. His side and upper arm are bandaged, and he still looks as though standing up would be a terrible idea.