I rounded on Kerrick in outrage. But he knelt next to Belen so I swallowed my accusations. All color had fled Belen’s face. His lips had turned a bluish-gray. I sank next to him and put my hand on his sweaty forehead.

“Is she safe?” he asked Kerrick.

“Yes.” As usual, Kerrick showed no emotion.

Belen sighed wetly.

“No,” I said. “I’m not safe, Belen. Who is going to tear Kerrick’s arm off if he hits me again? Come on,” I urged. “Stay with us.”

Kerrick met my gaze. “Can you heal him?”

“I don’t know. I need to examine the wounds.”

He shot to his feet. “Gentlemen, we need a litter. Now.”

The others had been hanging back, but they surged into action. I held Belen’s hand. My magic swelled and pressed to be released, but I kept it in check. If he was savable, I would need complete concentration.

Faster than I thought possible, they constructed a litter. Rolling Belen onto the lattice of branches, Loren and Quain pulled the big man. We didn’t go far. Kerrick knew of a cave system—of course.

The men made torches, but maneuvering the litter through the tight passages of the cave slowed our progress. I kept talking to Belen, encouraging him to keep awake and stay focused. When we reached a cavern that met Kerrick’s approval, I ordered the others to build a fire and heat water. I didn’t really need the water, but it gave them all something to do. Except Kerrick; he hovered over my shoulder, providing light.

I yanked Belen’s shirt up. His stomach resembled a ball after a dog chewed on it. It was amazing Belen had lasted this long. The rank odor of blood, stomach acid and feces wafted off of him. Kerrick stifled a cough.

Lightly rubbing my hand over the wounds, I let my power seek how deep his injuries were. Deep. His intestines had been damaged, his stomach torn. If I healed him, there was more than a good chance I wouldn’t live through it.

I settled back on my heels, considering.

“Well?” Kerrick asked.

I turned and looked at him. He might argue and disagree with Belen, but I knew Kerrick cared for his friend.

“Whose life is more important? Belen’s or Prince Ryne’s?”

His expression hardened. “Why are you asking?”

“Because if I heal Belen I may not survive and you’ll have to find another healer for Prince Ryne.”

Understanding brought pain. I stared at Kerrick, knowing I was being cruel to ask him to choose between them, but not caring.

“You might not survive? What are the odds?” he asked.

“I’d give myself a fifty percent chance of living.” More like ten percent, but I wanted Kerrick to choose.

I waited as a range of emotions flashed. He had such good control, no wonder he exploded when he lost his temper. While he weighed the risks, I sent my magic into Belen’s wounds, flooding them. Yet I kept my gaze on Kerrick.

His decision hurt him deeply. “Don’t heal Belen,” he said in a low voice. “It’s too risky.”

Wow. I hadn’t expected that. I thought for sure he’d choose Belen over Ryne. I drew my magic back inside me.

“Go,” Kerrick ordered. “I’ll stay with him until…” His voice broke.

I left quickly. Pain stabbed deep into my stomach, blood ran down, soaking my waistband. I made it to the small fire before I collapsed. My muscles felt as if they’d been shredded and I couldn’t breathe. Now I know why Tara never talked about the Realm wars, and when she healed the warriors near the border. It was an experience like no other.

The pain increased as acid leaked from my pierced stomach and burned my flesh. My magic fought to heal the damage, but it wasn’t fast enough. There would be no recovery from this one. I had no regrets. Belen deserved to live.

Shouts. Curses. A buzz of noise. Flea beside me. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear a word he said. The edges of my vision blurred. Black and white spots swirled, turning the world into a chaotic snowstorm. I reached out blindly, clasped a warm hand, faded from life and into peace.

Well, that was what was supposed to happen. Waking in the blissful afterlife, joining all my loved ones who had died before me. Except an annoying, distracting tug kept pulling and yanking. Pain lingered in that direction. Hurt and anger and harsh words waited on that side. I resisted, but damn it all to hell, I wasn’t strong enough.

When I woke, I thought I had overcome the pull and stayed in the afterlife. Whiteness billowed over me in soft waves. My body was cushioned and cocooned in warmth. I stretched my legs and then tried to raise my arms, but my left arm wouldn’t budge. Rolling over, I encountered a number of very unpleasant realities.

I was alive. I was in a room. I was na**d except for a bloodstained bandage wrapped tight around my stomach. Kerrick lay beside me. And his hand trapped mine.

Kill. Me. Now.

The only saving grace—he was asleep. I glanced around, searching for my clothes. No luck. Figures. Hiding them was an excellent way to prevent me from running away.

I studied him, wondering if I would wake him if I tried to free my hand. Asleep, he looked four or five years younger—around twenty-five or twenty-six. The harsh lines were gone. His nose was a little too hawklike for my taste, but it worked well with his sharp chin. His eyebrows were on the thicker side, but at least they were smooth and not creased together, which they did every time he looked at me. Plus they matched his long eyelashes.

I remembered my little brother, Allyn, had appeared so innocent and angelic when he slept—similar to Kerrick. It must be a survival tactic. If Allyn hadn’t looked so sweet, we would have killed him while he slept. He had been pure evil when he was awake—similar to Kerrick.