The Gift (Rabiah book 1)

Chapter 7

Morning came. Every breath Tristan struggled to inhale sounded like it would be his last. The healer mixed a potion and forced it down. Nothing happened. He tried a different potion. Tristan swallowed it and grew even paler.

"Do you even know what you are doing?" Owen asked angrily as Tristan's wheezing became even louder. The healer looked like he was going to cry. Rabiah continued rubbing Tristan's cold, limp hands. He didn't even have enough energy to make a fever anymore.

"How do your potions work?" she asked the healer.

"They are supposed to dry the liquid in his lungs but he is so weak, I don't think there is enough life to give them the spark they need to work. The last one I gave him is only to be used as a last resort but even it had no effect. It will help him cough it out, but some people end up coughing too much and die when their lungs fill with blood."

"You gave him that? Are you trying to kill him?" Owen growled.

Tristan gave a small cough. They stopped talking and watched anxiously for a minute. Nothing happened.

Rabiah laid her head on his chest. She could hear his heart faintly beating. She could also hear wheezing and gurgling with every breath he took. He couldn't die, not when she was just beginning to know him. Spirit, help him. Please. What can we try? What else can we do? He needed a spark. Would her energy work? She remembered what it was like to push Marion's energy back to her and imagined power flowing down her arms and pushed it toward Tristan. Was it her imagination or were his hands becoming warmer? She rubbed them gently, hoping, praying that he'd respond. They began to shake then he started to cough violently. Had she given him too much? The healer leaped up and turned him to the side. Tristan retched and coughed and retched again, spitting up pus, water, and blood. His coughs were loud and deep and made her own chest hurt just listening to them. She feared he'd never stop. The healer rushed back to his bag and started throwing pinches of things from his bag into a cup. Tristan's head dropped to the ground and he abruptly went limp.

"Is he still breathing?" Rabiah asked fearfully.

"I don't know," Owen said.

Together they lay him back. Rabiah listened to his chest. She thought she heard a faint thump.

"I will give him my energy again."

"No, wait," the healer interrupted. "Have him drink this first. It will stop the coughing." After they had poured a few sips into his mouth, the healer nodded. "Go ahead."

Rabiah held Tristan's hands again and closed her eyes. Was he conscious? She sought him out. Maybe. Barely. She prayed that he would be well and poured all the energy she could muster into his cool hands. Feeling faint and cold, she leaned forward and kissed Tristan's cheek, then everything went black.

The healer rolled the Clan girl off his prince and checked to see if she was breathing. "She's still alive."

Owen nodded. "What about the Prince? Is he better?"

The healer listened to Tristan's chest. "It sounds much better but his lungs could still fill again, and they are probably inflamed."

"How soon could they fill again?"

"Not for several hours at least."

"Then you get some rest. I'll keep watch."

When Rabiah awoke she was surprised to find herself on her own bedroll with canvas spread overhead. She didn't remember putting up a tent or climbing into one. She put her hands out to push herself up and hit someone's arm. Tristan. His arm felt warm and alive. She rolled over and up onto her arm to see how he was. He was still breathing. She felt his head with her hand. Warm but not hot. She lay her head against his chest and listened. A little wheezy but much better than before. She wrapped her arms around him the best she could and squeezed.