Magic's Minister [COMPLETED]

Chapter Fifty

The world around Feyla blurred, narrowing to a prick point as Sedgewick fell over the edge. Tyrinn staggered back, clutching his wound as he fell to the ground.

Feyla hit the water before she even realized she was running. The world turned a murky green, broken only by the darker blot of Sedgewick's sinking form. Water rushed past her as she swam deeper.

Her hand brushed skin. Feyla latched onto Sedgewick's wrist, tugging him until she could wrap her arms under his. She kicked desperately, nearly sinking deeper under the extra weight. The surface glowed above her like a lighthouse beacon, beckoning them to safety. They were so close! Feyla reached toward the light. Sedgewick slipped, nearly sinking back into the dark, grasping depths seeking to claim him.

No. Feyla glared at the swinging weeds below as if they were hands reaching up to steal him away. You can't have him. Tightening her grip hard enough to bruise, she forced her way to the surface, kicking against the water as if it were an assailant.

Stone brushed her clawing hand. Feyla jerked her head out of the water, slinging her free arm over the side. She dragged Sedgewick up with her, a panicked mantra now running through her mind. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay...

Tyrinn was gone. A trail of blood droplets led back into the tunnel. But she had more important things to worry about.

Feyla flipped Sedgewick onto his back and brushed his sopping hair out of his face. He'd always been pale but now... now he looked ashen. Panic choked the back of her throat but Feyla shoved it down and leaned over him. His chest was as still as stone and no warm breath comforted her cold, wet cheek. Grasping his wrist, Feyla pressed her fingers against it. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. The mantra pounded in her head as she searched for a steady beating to match it. Pulse, pulse...

Nothing.

Feyla's breath died in her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry out as if someone had reached inside her chest and started squeezing the life out of her slowly. Feyla-the-assistant-in-love would have.

But Feyla the healer knew better.

Years of training overruled her frozen fear. Gently pulling open his mouth, Feyla breathed a few breaths into Sedgewick's air-starved lungs before pressing her hands against his chest and pushing down hard. No, no, no, no, no, she thought to the time of her compressions. The moment stretched on like an endless road. Water spurted out of his mouth and nose. She checked him again. No breath. No pulse.

Feyla started the process over again. Deep inside her mind, a voice screamed out. It was at least a minute before she realized she was actually screaming. "Don't you dare, you gates-blasted piece of dragon's dung!" She checked him again. Nothing.

Feyla snapped like a taut rope. Hot tears rippled down her cheeks as she ripped his torn shirt open. Magic surged into her fingertips, coalescing into powerful sparks that jumped from finger to finger. She forced them against his chest and Sedgewick's body jumped like it'd been struck by lightning. "You. Are not. Allowed. TO DIE! Do you hear me, you idiot? I have pet names picked out and we're supposed to go see that stupid play! WAKE UP!" she screamed, shocking him again. "Wake up, wake up, please, just let him wake up..." She pressed her fingers against his wrist one last time, now speaking more to Sedgewick's Creator than himself. "Please, please..."

...pulse... Pulse... Pulse.

Feyla let out a strangled garble. She rolled him onto his side and squeezed his stomach. More water came rushing out, followed by stomach bile. She'd never smelled anything sweeter.

A hacking cough started. Feyla helped Sedgewick lean over as he threw up again, lake water mixing with bile. At long last, he seemed to catch the breath the lake had stolen from his lungs. Sedgewick turned and blinked at her, still sucking down more air.