Gently, I rested the ball of light on his chest, hopeful that the magic would warm him as it did me. I saw it then. Like blight on a grapevine, the silver leaves tattooed across my fingers were tarnishing at their edges.

Tristan was dying.

Chapter 27

Cécile

My tears dripped onto Tristan’s face, and I wiped them away, exposing streaks of pale skin through the grime. I’d never touched him, not really, and now I realized that I might never have another chance. With one finger, I gently traced the solid line of his jaw, the slight dimple in his chin. His hair was soaked and plastered against his forehead and I pushed it back, the strands like fine silk. He looked younger, his dark brows relaxed from their usual furrow of concentration and his black lashes resting softly against his cheeks. And on my fingers, the silver vines grew progressively darker with every passing moment.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. But what good were my regrets? He was dying because of me. He had ventured into the labyrinth to save me, pulled me out of the way of the sluag’s stinger and taken the blow himself. The anguish of regret was so strong, I very nearly groaned with the pain of it. Why had I let Angoulême goad me? Why hadn’t I seen that Tristan was just putting on an act the way he always did? Why didn’t I remember that I would have felt any indiscretion through our connection? He hadn’t asked for this union any more than I had and still he’d placed my life above everything he’d worked for. I’d ruined everything and still he’d come for me when I’d needed him the most. I’d told myself to make the most of my life in Trollus, but instead I’d made the least of it. The worst of it! Because of me, the only other person fighting for my freedom was dying.

BAROOOM!

I shuddered at the noise, but the sound of the sluag approaching filled me with resolve. Tristan’s life might be fading away, but he would have no chance at all if he ended up in the sluag’s belly. I was all that stood between him and the worst of deaths, and I needed to think of a plan fast.

Carrying him was out of the question – he was nearly twice my size and even if I could lift him, there was no way I could outpace the monster. Gently easing Tristan’s head down onto the stone, I pulled the knife out of his boot and examined it. If only he’d had his sword, or better yet, one of the long sluag spears. If I’d any skill at it, I might hit the sluag’s little brain with a lucky shot. With a bow and arrow, I certainly could have managed it, but such speculation did me about as much good as spitting into a headwind.

I got to my feet and set about exploring my surroundings, Tristan’s light clinging to my fingers. I couldn’t kill the sluag or drive it off, but maybe I could hide from it long enough for Marc to find us.