Isaiah sat thinking as he watched Axis and Inardle sitting distanced about the fire. They had talked while they ate (well, while Isaiah and Axis ate, Inardle took nothing), all three sharing news, and now Isaiah was not quite sure what to say. He felt sorry for both of them, but at the same time was angry . . . more at Axis than at Inardle.

Still, their personal relationship was not his problem.

“You actually think,” he said to Axis, “to ally with the Skraelings as their lord?”

“What we actually thought,” Axis said, “was to ride to your rescue. The alliance with the Skraelings was an added attraction.”

Isaiah chuckled. “I simply cannot imagine you allying with the Skraelings, Axis. How could it possibly work?”

“Inardle says she can manage it,” Axis said.

Isaiah glanced at Inardle. He did not think she would be managing very much at any time in the near future.

It will kill me within the day, she had said, and Isaiah supposed he should see if he could do anything for her . . . but what? He was no god of healing, not of deadly wounds.

Hereward had been simple, but poison? Isaiah decided that Inardle was a beautiful creature who had made some hard and perhaps foolish decisions in the past weeks, and if she was going to die . . . well . . . better her than Axis.

Isaiah decided that the one thing the Lealfast were good at was causing problems.

“You think that the One did not die at DarkGlass Mountain?” Axis said. “That he exists elsewhere?”

Isaiah nodded. “The Skraeling implied that he still lived, that he transferred elsewhere, and I suspect Hereward if only for the simple reason that her neck wound reopened at the same time I felt the One vanish. I imagine he has taken residence within someone else . . . whether they know it or not. But who? I don’t know.”

“But you still suspect Hereward,” Axis said, and Isaiah nodded again.

They were silent for some minutes, before Isaiah spoke. “We may as well spend the night here, then ride for the army in the morning. There is no point in arriving late at night and Lamiah surely is enjoying the chance to resume complete command.”

“We are going to need to think about what happens when we near Elcho Falling,” Axis said, for the moment putting to one side the problem of the Skraelings. “Kezial and his army are undoubtedly there by now. They may or may not have allied with the Lealfast, and they may or may not be dead, but whichever way their fate has fallen we are going to face a formidable force. A deadly force.”

“Eleanon must control, what, thirty or thirty-five thousand fighters, Inardle?” Isaiah said.

She nodded, clearly in pain, her face drawn and a sickly yellow.

“And the rest of the Lealfast Nation,” Isaiah said. “Can they fight?”

Inardle had to clear her throat twice in order to speak. “Many of them, yes. As, I believe, happens with the Icarii, all Lealfast men and women in their youth go through training. They will not be as sharp as the force currently about Elcho Falling —”

Axis winced at that.

“— but they will still be very good. And you must not forget they are now changed by the One. They fought while invisible within Elcho Falling and that was not something my brothers and sisters could do previously.”

“If the Skraelings are still in league with the One by the time we get to the citadel,” Axis said, “we are going to be in deadly trouble. From what you tell me, it sounds very much as if they are herding you into a trap.”

Now it was Isaiah who winced. “Perhaps we will all have clearer wits by morning. Axis, how is your shoulder?”

“Well enough,” Axis said. “The shepherd cleaned and stitched it tidily. I am grateful.” He nodded toward the second fire, where sat Isaiah’s men and the three shepherds. “The Outlanders are good men.”

“Indeed,” said Isaiah. He rose and moved over to Inardle. He might as well have a look at her wounds, if only to say that he had tried. With the way she looked now, he didn’t expect her to be alive by morning.

He squatted beside the Lealfast woman. She flinched as he laid a hand to her shoulder, but did not resist while he ran his hand down her arm and lifted her injured hand, unwrapping the bandage the shepherd had placed about its wound.

The arrow had gone through the back of her hand, emerging from her palm. When she and Axis had rolled from the horse, the arrow had ripped its way free, completely tearing through the section of her hand from central palm to thumb. It was a bad injury under any circumstances, worse when it had spread poison through Inardle’s system.

The edges of the wound looked inflamed, even green in places, and oozed a vile black muck.

Isaiah put it down, then looked at the other wounds on her wings and shoulders. They were not as bad in terms of initial injury, but they, too, were inflamed and oozed the same muck. Isaiah could feel the heat pumping out from them and realised Inardle must be in considerable pain.

“I am sorry, Inardle,” Isaiah said, now placing both hands on her shoulders as he squatted behind her. “I wish I could do something for you, but —”

Isaiah broke off abruptly, frowning. His hands tightened on Inardle’s shoulders, the fingers digging into her flesh. She cried out softly, and Axis looked concerned.

“What are you doing, Isaiah?” he said.

“Wait,” Isaiah said, his hands moving over Inardle. “Inardle, I am sorry, but this will hurt a little. Just bear with me.” One of Isaiah’s hands now rested at the nape of Inardle’s neck, the other on her chest, just above her breasts.

They were pressed against and into her flesh.

Inardle cried out, louder this time, trying to free herself from Isaiah’s grip.

Isaiah sat back, lifting his hands, and Inardle gave a single sob, choking back tears.

“Isaiah?” Axis said.

Isaiah was staring at Inardle. Then he blinked. “Axis, may I examine you for a moment? This is an intrusion, for I am likely to cause you as much discomfort as I just caused Inardle . . . it is important, more than you can know. Please.”

Axis looked at him, then gave a single nod.

Isaiah moved about the fire and placed his hands on Axis as he had on Inardle. They rested on nape and chest lightly, then Isaiah pressed hard against Axis’ flesh.

Axis had to restrain himself from crying out, too. It was the most uncomfortable experience, part pain, part fear . . . the sense of someone else within his body, probing, probing, probing.

Just when Axis thought he could bear it no more, Isaiah sat back, lifting his hands.

“Amazing,” he murmured.

“ What is amazing?” Axis ground out through clenched teeth. He had had to endure Inardle almost freezing off his arm; now Isaiah was biting his power deep into Axis’ body. Axis felt he’d had enough for this current month.

“Inardle’s Skraeling blood,” Isaiah said, moving again to sit behind her. She cringed as she felt his hands on her once more. “I just felt something deep within her. It was either her Icarii blood, or her Skraeling blood. I had to examine you to see if you had it in you, but no. It must be her Skraeling blood.”

“ What?” Axis said.

“Water,” Isaiah murmured. “She has a great affinity with water within her, bequeathed by her Skraeling blood. Inardle, I can help you, after all, but what I will do in drawing the poison from your body is going to pain you like nothing you have ever felt before. I am so sorry for this, but I know of no other way to manage it. But it does mean that you will live.”

“Then do it,” she said. “Do it.”

Axis watched, appalled.

Isaiah sat behind Inardle, his legs sprawled to either side of her. His hands rested as they had initially and again they pressed into Inardle’s flesh, but deeper this time, the expression on Isaiah’s face one of intense concentration.

It caused Inardle to cry out immediately, twisting under Isaiah’s hands, but his grip was so tight, so profound, nothing she did could free her of him.

Axis stayed where he was, only moving to give a calming sign to the soldiers and shepherds, who had risen, concerned, at Inardle’s first loud cry.

He knew better than to interfere.

Isaiah kept his hands pressed against Inardle’s neck and chest for several long minutes, then he moved them, running them all over her body. His hands and fingers pressed deep into her flesh wherever they travelled; occasionally they paused so that he could sink the heels of his hands in as deeply as possible, as if he were collecting great pools of poison beneath them.

Then, very gradually, he began shifting the poison up Inardle’s body, from her toes into her torso and toward her shoulders.

All the time Inardle wept and twisted. Axis understood it was not the pressure of Isaiah’s hands that caused her so much pain: partly, it was the poison Isaiah shifted through her body, and partly the deep intrusion into Inardle’s body of Isaiah’s power. Axis thought that he must have endured only a fraction of the discomfort that Inardle must be feeling.

He was shifting water. He was using the water within Inardle to flow the poison back toward the puncture wounds.

Axis was not sure at what point he realised this, but somehow he did. Isaiah was using his own deep affinity with water to manipulate this mysterious water element within Inardle’s body, to remove the poison from her system.

Isaiah’s hands travelled faster now, from toes to hips, from hips to belly, from belly to breasts and thence to shoulders; and from her fingers all the way up her arms, over the elbows, to shoulders again.

There Axis saw blackness pouring forth from the wounds, more of it than he would have thought, a vile flood of poisonous substances that actually steamed in the cool night air.

It stank, too, and Axis had to swallow on several occasions in order to keep his bile down.

Praise the stars this poison had no effect on him.

As he watched, Axis began to feel guilty about his hard words earlier, insisting that Inardle could heal herself. He wished he hadn’t said them, although he reasoned he had actually been entitled to speak them.

Inardle had, after all, very effectively tricked him with her previous, healable, wounds.

Damn it. He wanted to continue to be angry with her, but right at the moment he could feel only sympathy.

Isaiah sat back, finally done. Inardle lay before him, crying softly, arms outstretched, pools of vileness collecting under her shoulders.

“I’ll find some water,” Axis said quietly, “and some wash cloths.” Isaiah nodded at him, and gave him a small smile.

He looked very weary.

Later, when Inardle had been washed, and her wounds bound loosely to collect the last of the poison as it drained forth, Isaiah came to sit with Axis.

“She will be better when she wakes,” Isaiah said, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Inardle’s sleep. “Tired, exhausted even, for a few days. But she will recover. She will be able to close over her wounds herself when she wakes.”

“Good,” Axis said.

“Good?” Isaiah said, a glint of humour in his eyes.

Axis gave a small, indifferent shrug of his shoulders, and Isaiah repressed a wider smile.

“What is this strange ‘water’ you found within her?” Axis said. “What is its importance? And it came from her Skraeling blood?”

Isaiah took a long time to answer, and when he did it was no answer at all.

“I think maybe this Skraeling alliance is a good idea, after all,” he said. “We should meet with them, you and I and Inardle. But when we do, there shall be one slight change to your plan. I should be their Lord, not you.” He grinned. “Isaiah, Lord of the Skraelings. It has a nice ring to it, yes?”