But even as she tried to edge away toward the kitchen, silver flashed in the candlelight. A knife in the hand of the silent man-the man who had been touched by Ramsey’s spell. And Ethan’s power.
With one final herculean effort, Ethan pushed past the last of the patrons in his way. And as he did, the silent man plunged his blade into the chest of one of the men he had been fighting. This man dropped to the floor, blood gushing from the wound and spreading like flame over his shirt.
A second man already lay on the floor, unconscious, his face bruised and bloodied. But the knife-wielding stranger wasn’t done. Faster than Ethan would have thought possible, he spun away from the man he had stabbed and lunged, leading with an upward stroke of his blade.
Not at Ethan. Not even at Kelf, who had planted himself in front of the man, his huge hands fisted.
But rather at Kannice, who remained barely within his reach.
“Discuti ex cruore-”
Before Ethan could finish speaking the shatter spell, Kannice screamed. Kelf hammered a fist into the silent man’s temple, knocking him to the floor. But the man’s blade remained, jutting downward from below Kannice’s breastbone, a crimson stain blossoming around it, darkening her dress.
“Ethan?” she said, half question, half plea, her voice weak.
Ethan caught her as she started to fall. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Ethan,” she said again, breathing his name.
“I’m right here. I’ve got you. Someone call for a surgeon!” he shouted.
The commotion continued; Ethan was vaguely aware of men subduing the stranger while others crowded around the man he had stabbed. But he cared only about Kannice. He carried her back into the kitchen, dropped to his knees, and laid her down on the floor.
“Ethan!” Kelf loomed in the doorway. Kelf, who didn’t know that Ethan was a conjurer. “I’ve sent someone for a doctor. How is she?”
“Get out, Kelf.”
“What?”
“Get out. Shut the door.”
“Ethan, I’m-”
“Get out!” Ethan bellowed, tears hot on his cheeks.
Kelf glared at him, and Ethan was sure he would refuse. But his gaze dropped to Kannice, and the anger drained from his face. He stepped back from the doorway and closed the door.
Ethan looked down at her again. Her trembling pale hands had wandered to the hilt of the knife protruding from her chest. He could see that she was trying to pull it free.
“No,” he said, covering her hands with his. “You have to leave it in. Or else you’ll bleed-” The words “to death” stuck in his throat. “You’ll bleed all over your dress.”
“It hurts,” she said, tears seeping from the corners of her eyes.
The stain over her heart continued to spread-more slowly than it would have had one of them removed the blade, but inexorably. Her hands had gone cold, and her face was shading toward gray. He had no doubt that the wound would prove fatal if he didn’t use a conjuring to save her. Or at least make the attempt. He had never healed a wound as deep and dangerous as this on his own, not even the other day on Long Wharf. He didn’t know if he could.
“I know it hurts,” he said. He leaned over and touched his lips to her brow. Her skin felt clammy, despite the warmth of the cooking fire beside them. “I’m going to heal you.”
“Can you?” she said, the words like the whisper of wind over grass.
“I-I’m sure I can.”
“All right.”
But he had to remove the knife first. If the spell didn’t work fast enough, she would bleed out and die. And Ramsey had access to his power. Could the captain keep him from conjuring? Would he wait until the knife was out, and then keep Ethan from casting his spell?
“I have to pull out the knife to heal you.”
“But you said-”
“I know. I’ll heal you before … It’ll be all right. But it’s going to hurt when I remove the blade. I need you to be strong, all right?”
He took her hand and squeezed it as he had moments before in the great room. She tried to return the gesture, but the pressure was barely perceptible.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
She mouthed, “Yes.”
Ethan closed his eyes and whispered a prayer, something he hadn’t done in years. Grasping the hilt of the knife, he pulled it from her chest.
Kannice let out a soft, anguished cry, her back arching. Then she sagged to the floor again. Blood pulsed from the wound, soaking her dress.
He placed his hands over the wound and said, “Remedium ex cruore evocatum.” Healing, conjured from blood.
The spell vibrated in the floor and in the stone of the kitchen hearth, and his hand tingled with the power of his conjuring. He glanced at Reg, who knelt beside him, concern etched in his glowing features.
“The spell is working,” Ethan said. “I can feel it.”
Reg nodded. Kannice murmured something that Ethan couldn’t make out. He remained as he was for several minutes, the spell flowing through his hands into her chest, his eyes never straying from her face. But though he could feel the conjuring, he saw no improvement in her color, no strengthening of her breath.
He wore his greatcoat still, and did not dare stop to remove it. So, leaving one hand in place over her heart, he drew his knife, flipped it so that the blade landed in his palm, and wrapped his fingers around the honed edge. Then he tightened his grip on it until he felt the blade bite through his skin. Blood ran through his fingers. He dropped the knife and, placing his bloodied hand over the wound once more, spoke the healing spell a second time.
While this second conjuring still hummed in the tavern floor, the door opened again.
“How is-”
Ethan looked up. Kelf stared at him, openmouthed, murder in his eyes.
“What in the hell are you doin’ to her?”
Ethan had hoped to avoid this, but he met the man’s gaze steadily, never for an instant allowing his conjuring to slacken. “Close the door.”
“Not until you-”
“Close the door, Kelf.”
The barman kicked the door so that it shut with a loud bang. Ethan glanced at Kannice, but she did not stir.
“Now tell me what you’re doin’.”
“I’m saving her life.”
“And how in God’s name are you doin’ that?”
Ethan turned his gaze back to Kannice. “I think you know.”
“Never mind what I know an’ don’t, I want to hear it from you. How are you savin’ her?”
“It’s called a healing spell. The Latin is remedium.” He wasn’t sure why he said it-Kelf wouldn’t care. Perhaps he thought that if he could explain what he did, the barkeep might accept it and put away his fear and his anger. He should have known better.
“Witchery.” Kelf said the word as if it were a curse.
Ethan shook his head. “Conjuring.”
Kelf didn’t answer right away. For some time he merely stood there, looming over Ethan and Kannice. Ethan feared that he might lash out with a fist, or yank him away from Kannice. But whatever his feelings about magick, he loved Kannice nearly as much as Ethan did, and he seemed to sense that to stop Ethan would be to harm her.
“This is why you told me to leave.”
“Aye,” Ethan muttered.
“Look at me, Kaille!”
Ethan flinched. Never before had Kelf called him anything but Ethan. But he forced himself to look the barman in the eye; Kelf deserved that much. “Aye! This is why I sent you away. Because I was afraid you might try to stop me, and she was dying!”
“Does she know?”
“Aye. She has for many years. Almost since the day we met.” He hoped that this would mean something to Kelf, that it would allow the barman to move beyond his own fear and disapproval.
“How do I know you’re not makin’ matters worse?”
“I love her, Kelf. You’ve seen that I love her; that’s how you know.”