But as he moved to withdraw the knife, a pain seared his own stomach. He looked down to see the hilt protruding from just under the leather armor.

  The Ardak pulled his knife back out, and this time the pain was agonizing.

  “That’s right,” the Ardak growled at him as Simban stumbled back toward the cave. His voice was one of pained satisfaction. “Now you will die like you should have in the first place.”

  Simban gazed down at his hand, which was covered in blood, then toward the forest.

  “We are well matched, warrior. And both equally injured. Do you want to go again?” the Ardak offered, gesturing at his sword, which lay in the snow. “Gut wounds take a long time to kill a male, as you can see from mine.”

  A ringing began in Simban’s ears. Part of him wanted to rush the Ardak again simply to satisfy his rage. But the other part of him wanted to live. To get the information to Tordan. To kiss Irielle again.

  He’d seen the elven healing abilities. If he could reach Renwyn in time, the wound wouldn’t be fatal. All he had to do was make it there.

  The Ardak advanced toward him one more time, and Simban took another step backward.

  And then, inexplicably, a roar came from behind the Ardak. But it wasn’t the roar of a cat.

  It was the roar of a bear.

  The Ardak turned back just in time to be run through by a sword, the second Ardak meeting the same fate.

  As they fell, Theoduin and Ryoduin became visible behind them, both astride the largest bears he’d ever seen. They were easily the size of three men, their teeth and jaws much larger than the Ardaks’.

  “You came,” he said in disbelief.

  “You!” The Ardak’s eyes rounded in shock. “I recognize you!” The Ardak he’d been fighting cried, real anguish in his voice, “You’re the ones who betrayed us! Where have you been hiding? Where are our crystals?”

  “What crystals?” Theoduin’s voice was bewildered.

  The Ardak turned back to Simban. “You allied with these elves?”

  “Anything better . . . than aligning with you,” Simban shot back.

  “You don’t know them,” the Ardak said weakly. “You have no idea what they’ve done.”

  “What have we done?” Theoduin asked curiously.

  The Ardak’s eyes were growing dimmer. “You killed them all! My father was there. Not knowing doesn’t make you . . . innocent.” He picked up his ray gun, but before he could shoot, boulders crashed down over him.

  Irielle!

  Simban looked up to see her fall forward, over the side of the cliff. He sheathed his knife, jumping for her, but with his wound he was too slow. Evindal caught her just before she hit the ground.

  He yelled in pain and then shook her. Hard. “Irielle!”

  “Irielle!”

  Her golden hair fluttered around her lifelessly, and she didn’t wake. In fact, she barely breathed, and he knew that time was precious.

  He lowered his leather armor and cinched it so it would put pressure on his wound. Then he carefully lifted Irielle, covered her with the blanket, and began to walk toward Renwyn. Not for the first, or even thousandth time, he wished his chip would work.

  But as it was, there was nothing he could do.

  I’m broken. And she’s dying because of it.

  He believed there would be three hours left. But he didn’t think she’d make it that long. She was already turning blue. He bent down and breathed air into her, cradling her close.

  Please don’t die.

  She was the only one who understood him, and he realized he didn’t want to live without her.

  He wanted to roar at the sky. Why didn’t I help her that first day when I had the cure? I should have pounded on that damn tree. Convinced her to let me in.

  “Is she okay?” Evindal asked, his blue eyes murky as he examined her from afar.

  None of the others tried to touch her, and that was fine with Simban. She was his alone. “Not okay. Must get to Renwyn. Quickly.”

  “Take my bear,” Theoduin commanded.

  Simban looked up to see that the elf had sidled his bear up to them and was dismounting. He stood, paralyzed with disbelief.

  “Go on, cyborg. Save your elf.” He kept one hand on the bear.

  Simban eyed the bear and then laid Irielle across its back. He mounted it as gently as he could.

  “To Renwyn!” Theoduin called, his deep voice echoing through the woods. The bear sprang forward quickly, heading south at a gallop.

  He hung on to Irielle as tightly as he could, trying not to let the gait jostle her too badly. Maybe the bear would get them there in time.

  But as they rode, her cheeks became paler, her fingers turned blue, and he had the sinking feeling that he was too late.

  But still they rode, ignoring the pain in his abdomen, thirst, and weakness.

  We’re almost there. Have to make it.

  His body, which almost never obeyed him, didn’t resist. His arms cradled her close to his chest. His legs held on to the bear and they rode in perfect synchronization. It was almost as if he was normal.

  She makes me feel normal.

  He kissed her forehead, tears slipping from his eyes.

  Please, don’t die.

  Don’t leave me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Simban

  When he finally arrived at Renwyn, he didn’t stop. He just jumped off the bear with Irielle in his arms and staggered through the doors of the castle as two guards held them open.

  Tordan strode through, followed by Aielle.

  Simban didn’t have the strength to walk anymore. He sank to his knees, setting Irielle on the floor in front of him.

  “I see your wound. But what’s wrong with her?” Tordan squatted beside her, his gray eyes searching her body.

  “Red Death. Need white powder,” he called up to Tordan. “White powder.”

  Tordan’s brows furrowed. “What happened to the powder I gave you?”

  “Lost. Ardak took it.”

  Tordan didn’t ask any more questions. He called up to a guard. “Have someone bring the cure. A lot of it.”

  Then Aielle was there beside him, her hands over his abdomen, several other healers joining her. He tried to push her away. “Irielle. Help Irielle.”

  “We will,” she said, pushing his hands away gently. “But we’re going to help you, too.”

  After a few moments, she left him to the other healers and turned to Irielle, examining her with her magic. She finally glanced back at Simban, her expression grim. “She has used all her magic. I can’t promise that she will survive.”

  Simban reached for Irielle, clutching her hand tightly. Wetness leaked from his eyes.

  “I’ll do my best,” Aielle promised. She turned to Tordan, who was holding a small bag of powder and a tiny cup. Aielle held the cup out and one of the healers poured some water into it, then she dipped the tip of her smallest finger into the powder and swirled it into the cup. “I’m afraid to give her too much.” she said calmly. Then her fiery blue gaze pierced Simban’s. “Hold her tightly. Sometimes there will be a very violent reaction—especially when the patient is so near death.”

  Simban readied himself as Aielle held the tiny cup to Irielle’s lips.

  At the first taste of the liquid, Irielle started to choke. Aielle quickly poured the rest into her mouth, forcing her to swallow.

  Irielle groaned weakly as a second before convulsions shook her, screams of pain came from her lips, high-pitched, agonizing. They echoed off the stone of the castle entrance, piercing his ears. Shudders racked her body again and again, and went on for so long he didn’t know how she’d survive. Her eyes opened, unseeing, and rolled from side to side before rolling back and closing again.

  Aielle kept her hands on Irielle during the thrashing, and he could almost feel the magic pouring from her into Irielle. When the shudders had almost subsided, Aielle reached for the cup from Tordan again. This time, she dipped two fingertips into the powder.

  Simban recoiled. “No. Too much.”

  “Yes.” Her gaze bored into his. “This is the only way.”

  “How much more?”

  “Until she has no reaction to doubling the dose. The most I’ve seen is five doses, but Irielle is the worst case I’ve seen.”

  He shuddered to think of her going through the pain again. Didn’t want to allow Aielle to give her the antitoxin. He ignored the healers and scooted across the floor, pulling Irielle closer to him.

  Aielle held up the cup, and this time, Irielle’s temperature spiked. She screamed again, shudders racking her body from the fever.

  “The fever.” Aielle turned to Tordan and took the tiny cup again, holding it under the waterfall to fill it. “We need to make sure she gets enough water.” As she drank, Irielle’s lips opened on a silent scream. “That reaction is from the residue still inside the cup. This white toxin is stronger than anything I’ve ever seen, except the red toxin. Undiluted, it is probably stronger.”

  How had the Ardak survived? It must have been incredibly strong.

  Her skin continued to burn with fever, and she was mumbling mostly incoherent words. The only thing that rang clearly was Simban’s name.

  Simban was sweating, shaking, just watching her. He looked at Aielle helplessly. “What can I do?”

  “It’s all right.” Aielle laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’s made it this far. She’s fighting to stay with you.”

  When the fever stopped burning, Aielle filled the cup, this time dipping three fingers in the white powder. “This time is the cold,” she warned him.

  He reached toward the side of the pool where he’d dropped the fur blanket.

  “No.” She stopped him. “Just like with the fever, this has to run its course. Staying in the water is the best thing for her. I will try to send warmth in my magic.”

  Simban glanced down at Irielle’s lifeless face. Her eyes were closed, her skin gray. She didn’t seem to hear them. If her chest wasn’t rising and falling almost imperceptibly, he would think she was dead.

  Aielle tipped the tiny cup into Irielle’s mouth, and Irielle began to shrink. Her body seemed to curl in on itself, her muscles stiffening. He would almost say she was frozen.

  “Why?” he asked Aielle.

  “Her body is toxic. The white powder is now an anathema to it.”

  Simban propped Irielle on his lap this time, trying to rub some warmth into her arms. But nothing worked. Her lips began to turn blue.

  He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He sat there numbly as Aielle delivered the next three doses. Each time, Irielle’s reaction was slightly less.

  When it was over, Aielle appeared exhausted.

  “Will she . . . live?” he asked her.

  She nodded hesitantly. “I think so. But no promises until she wakes up. Let us show you to a room.”

  Slowly, he rose, every muscle in his body hurting. He lifted Irielle’s unconscious body, following one of the elves past the throne room. Past the place that hadn’t healed him. They turned down the corridor to the right, going to a room with an enormous bed in the center.

  He pushed back the covers and almost set her down, but several healers rushed in behind him. There was a bath drawn beside the bed and they took her from him, two holding her up while the other two began taking off her clothing.

  She didn’t wake, and he knew she wouldn’t want him watching. He turned to go, finding Tordan at the door.

  “I wanted to give you some time to rest, but I need to know how you lost that powder.”

  “And information from ship.”

  Tordan’s eyes narrowed. “What ship?”

  Simban cupped his head in his hands. He was so tired. How would he convey the information to his king? “Fought Ardak. Said Ardak king coming. Found scout ship. Information here.” He pointed at the back of his head.

  Tordan frowned. “The Ardak king is coming here? Why?”

  Simban struggled to find the words. “Ardaks angry. Searching for something.”

  “All right. How did you lose the powder?”

  “Ardak stole. During fight.”

  Tordan sighed, and at that moment, Valdjan burst in.

  “Simban!”

  He came forward and clapped Simban on the back, obviously delighted to have his brother back.

  “What did you find in the mountains?”

  “Elf. And village.”

  “Village?”

  Right. Simban hadn’t told him about that yet, and the others would be arriving soon. “Elven village in mountains. Older village. Other elves coming. Friendly. They will tell you.” Simban thought for a moment. “But . . . many evil elves. Hate Renwyn elves.” He gritted his teeth in frustration.

  “So, the mountain elves are evil and they hate the Renwyn elves,” Tordan repeated.

  “Not all mountain elves,” Simban corrected. “Half evil. Half friendly. War between elves.”

  “Really?” Tordan’s expression was bemused.

  “Really. And more. There is . . . Crystal Cave.” He clenched his jaw. “Take cure to Elder Geeeroo. He will tell secret.”

  “This is confusing,” Tordan rubbed his forehead and turned to Valdjan. “Maybe we need to talk to those elves from the village.”

  “Yes!” Simban shouted too loudly, startling the others. He forced his voice to quiet. “Then go back to village. Find secret to cave.”

  Valdjan stood and faced Tordan. “I’ll go.”

  Simban grabbed his arm. “No. Some elves crazy. Hate cyborgs. Blame Renwyn.”

  Tordan’s brows rose. “They blame Renwyn?”

  “Yes.” Simban nodded emphatically. “Assholes.”

  “Fuck that,” Valdjan said angrily. “We’ll take care of them.”

  “No!” Simban shouted again. They both looked at him in shock. “Magic. Elven magic crazy strong. Paralysis. Can’t fight it.”

  Tordan leaned against the wall for a moment. “We can’t just go in there without knowing what we’re up against. And what are we going to do if we find the crystals?” He looked at Valdjan. “You can lead the team . . . unless Simban wants to lead it?” His eyes questioned Simban’s.

  Can I lead it?

  No. I have the information, but the others wouldn’t be able to understand me.

  Simban slowly shook his head. “Will go. But not lead. Will upload information to ship.”

  Tordan’s eyes brightened. “That’s a great idea. If we hurry, you can do it before Irielle wakes. And I can gather people for a mission up to the village.” He rubbed his forehead again and turned to Roihan. “You know, maybe we should take the ship up there. It would be faster, and we could take more people.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Simban

  Simban went back into Irielle’s room and found her still unconscious, but she was clean and fresh on the bed. The healers had done a good job.

  He crossed to her, taking her hand, and there was a gasp from the corner.

  “Who are you?” the elf asked, coming toward him slowly.

  She resembled Irielle; their features almost the same. But this girl had a shrewd look in her eyes that he instantly disliked. “I’m Simban. You’re . . . sister?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “My name is Irianna. What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you speak properly?”

  He tapped the back of his head regretfully. He had a feeling admitting to weakness around her was not a good idea.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. “You’re one of those cyborgs. Is your chip thing broken?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you the one who brought her back? Why are you still here?” Then realization came over her face. “My sister was consorting with you, was she? Oh, Papa will have a fit over this. When he hears about Irielle and a cyborg . . .”

  Irianna kept talking, the words running together in Simban’s mind as he looked down at the elf he loved.

  Was this what she could look forward to every day for the rest of her considerably shorter life if she mated with him? If her own family members wouldn’t accept him, how would anyone else? And what was the point of bringing her back just to live alone as an outcast? She’d been alone long enough.

  Besides, Simban was needed on the missions to save Aurora. He could keep her and her family safe, give her the life she needed from a distance.

  Simban focused on Irianna, who was still talking. He marched straight over to her, invading her space.

  “She always had the worst taste in boyfriends . . . except Aethen, of course, but he realized his mistake soon enough—” Irianna must have seen his expression, because she finally fell silent. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back.

  “I will leave.” His voice was low, cold. “You will tell no one. Or you will pay.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a deadly look that told her he meant every word.

  They sized each other up for a few moments and then she crossed her arms, her eyes calculating. “I won’t tell anyone. But I don’t want to see you near my sister again.”

  He nodded, strode to Irielle’s bedside, and gave her sister a pointed look.

  “All right, I’ll wait outside. You have two minutes.” Irianna scurried toward the door, obviously anxious to get away.

  When the door closed behind her, Simban knelt beside the bed and took Irielle’s hand in his. His throat was tight, and he had trouble finding the words to speak. But, somehow, he knew he had to.

  “Love you, small elf,” he whispered softly. “Live long. Be happy.”

  His vision blurred suspiciously as he bent one last time to kiss her forehead. At the last moment, he deviated, kissing her gently on the lips.

  “Will miss you. Better this way.”

  And then he forced himself to stand and stride toward the door, not looking back.

  A new pain began in his chest and this one wasn’t from the broken chip.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Irielle

  Irielle slowly came back to consciousness, opening her eyes to find herself in a well-lit room. She turned her head to the side and found herself staring into a face as familiar as her own.