Grave Destiny (Alex Craft, #6) - Kalayna Price Page 0,112

well. Then the next, and the next, until the larger strand was no longer anchored and I could pull it back to where it had forked off an even bigger strand.

I kept working that way, moving quickly and as efficiently as I could as I untangled the mass of fouled magic. I freed the king’s head and his eyes stopped darting quite so drastically behind his closed lids. It was his chest that really worried me, each strained breath loud but shallow. If the magic got into his lungs and heart, that would be bad. Unfortunately I had to get his arms before I could get his chest. His breaths continued to wheeze, and I tried to work faster, pull harder. Twice someone brought me water to drink and I realized I was drenched in my own sweat. Once I had to stop and pull my own fouled magic down where it had crept up my biceps toward my shoulder. Touching the king’s basmoarte-fouled magic had opened new wounds in my fingers, and now the darkness was spreading up from both my hands. If I could find the cure, it wouldn’t matter.

The goat died by the time I reached the king’s navel, and Dugan had to retrieve a second one. No one mentioned my tears as I continued pulling the fouled magic free. The king woke as I freed his hips.

His eyes fluttered open only halfway before he was in motion. I didn’t even have time to form a word before his shadow blade appeared, aimed at my throat. I tried to throw myself backward, but I knew I wasn’t fast enough. An arm snaked around my waist, jerking me back as a shield of shadows materialized in front of me, stopping the blade a moment before it would have taken off my head.

I gasped as Falin pulled me farther back, off the bed. Dugan stepped in front of me, his shadow shield still in place, but he didn’t lift his sword against his king’s attack. Nandin blinked, first in confusion, and then recognition ran through his eyes and his forehead furrowed as he looked around at the crowd in his bedchamber. The sword dissolved into shadows, and the king collapsed backward, clearly exhausted from the brief excitement.

Serri launched herself at the bed, her arms sliding over his now-basmoarte-free shoulders. My adrenaline was pumping too hard in my ears to follow the conversation, but from what I caught, she was explaining what had happened. I leaned my head back against Falin’s chest. I was exhausted. Not just tired from lack of sleep, but bone-weary. I’d been using a lot of magic. It was taking its toll.

Falin’s arm around me tightened, holding me close. With his other hand, he passed me a glass of water. I accepted it gratefully, draining half the liquid in one series of gulps.

When I lowered the glass, I found all eyes locked on me.

“You can cure basmoarte?” the king asked from where he lay half propped by Serri.

I straightened and reluctantly stepped out of Falin’s embrace. “I can move the poisoned magic. The infected wound is still there.”

“So it will return?”

I nodded. My own creeping infection proved that fact. “It doesn’t appear to spread as aggressively after the first wave, but yes, it will return. I have not finished cleansing your legs. Would you like me to continue?”

The king levered himself up onto his elbows and looked at the dark lines of fouled magic spiderwebbing his thighs and shins. Even that little bit of exertion seemed to tax him. He nodded, collapsing back into Serri’s arms. She ran her taloned fingers through his hair gently before she glanced at me. That one look from her ruby-colored eyes was enough to know that she had no intention of leaving his side again. I didn’t waste my breath asking. As long as she stayed at the head of the bed, she was far enough away from where I was working to not be at risk.

I crawled back onto the bed, and then hesitated. When the king had been unconscious, I’d barely noticed what part of his body I was working on. I’d simply been trying to unravel the basmoarte as efficiently as possible before it killed him. Now that he was awake and watching me, I was very aware that I was working very high up on his thigh and he wore very little to bed.

“Do you know how you were infected?” I asked to distract myself as