to the khagan. “The demon confessed to it, but it was not Duva. The demon made it sound as if Duva fought every second—raged against your daughter’s death.”
The khagan closed his eyes for a long moment.
Kashin lifted his palms to Yrene in the heavy silence. “Can you fix her? If she still somehow remains inside?” A broken plea. Not from a prince to a healer, but one friend to another. As they had once been—as she hoped they might again be.
The gathering focused upon Yrene now. She didn’t let an ounce of doubt curve her spine as she said, “I shall try.”
Chaol added, “There are things you should know, Great Khagan. About Erawan. The threat he poses. What you and this land might offer against him. And stand to gain in the process.”
“You think to scheme at a time like this?” Arghun snapped.
“No,” Chaol said clearly, unhesitatingly. “But consider that Morath has already reached these shores. Has already killed and harmed those you care for. And if we do not rise to face this threat …” His fingers tightened on Yrene’s. “Princess Duva will only be the first. And Princess Tumelun will not be the last victim of Erawan and the Valg.”
Nesryn stepped forward. “We come with grave tidings from the south, Great Khagan. The kharankui are stirring again, called by their dark … master.” Many stirred at the term she’d used. But some glanced to each other, confusion in their eyes, and Nesryn explained, “Creatures of darkness from the Valg realm. This war has already leaked into these lands.”
Murmuring silence and rustling robes.
But the khagan didn’t tear his eyes away from his unconscious daughter. “Save her,” he said—the words directed to Yrene.
Hafiza nodded subtly to Yrene, motioning her forward.
The message was clear enough: a test. The final one. Not between Yrene and the Healer on High. But something far greater.
Perhaps what had indeed called Yrene to these shores. Guided her across two empires, over mountains and seas.
An infection. A parasite. Yrene had faced them before.
But this demon inside … Yrene approached the sleeping princess.
And began.
65
Yrene’s hands did not tremble as she held them before her.
White light glowed around her fingers, encasing them, shielding them as she picked up the sleeping princess’s hand. It was so slight—so delicate, compared to the horrors she’d done with it.
Yrene’s magic rippled and bent as she reached for the false wedding ring. As if it were some sort of lodestone, warping the world around it.
Chaol’s hand settled on her back in silent support.
She steeled herself, sucking in a breath as her fingers closed around the ring.
It was worse.
So much worse than what had been within Chaol.
Where his had been a mere shadow, this was an inky pool of blackness. Corruption. The opposite of everything in this world.
Yrene panted through her teeth, her magic flaring around her hand, the light a barrier, a glove between her and that ring, and pulled.
The ring slid off.
And Duva began screaming.
Her body arched off the couch, Sartaq and Kashin lunging for her legs and shoulders, respectively.
Teeth gritted, the princes pinned their sister as she thrashed against them, shrieking wordlessly as Hafiza’s sleeping spell kept her unconscious.
“You’re hurting her,” the khagan snapped. Yrene did not bother to look toward him as she studied Duva. The body the princess slammed up and down, over and over.
“Hush,” Hasar hissed at her father. “Let her work. Someone fetch a blacksmith to crack open that damned ring.”
The world beyond them faded into blur and sound. Yrene was distantly aware of a young man—Duva’s husband—sprinting up to them. Covering his mouth with a cry; being held at bay by Nesryn.
Chaol just continued to kneel beside Yrene, removing his hand from her back with a final, soothing rub, while she stared and stared at Duva as she writhed.
“She will hurt herself, ” Arghun seethed. “Stop this—”
A true parasite. A living shadow within the princess. Filling her blood, planted in her mind.
She could feel the Valg demon within, raging and screeching.
Yrene lifted her hands before her. The white light filled her skin. She became that light, held within the now-faint borders of her body.
Someone gasped as Yrene reached her glowing, blinding hands toward the princess’s chest, as if guided by some invisible tug.
The demon began to panic, sensing her approach.
Distantly, she heard Sartaq swear. Heard the crack of wood as Duva drove her foot into the arm of the couch.
There was only the thrashing Valg, scrabbling at power. Only her incandescent hands, reaching for the princess.
Yrene laid