Anwir flung out his arm, blocking our approach. “Wait here.”
He didn’t give me time to answer before he broke into a run. Drawing my daggers, I ignored his advice and followed, Pansy’s footsteps close behind.
The moment we broke through the trees, the moment I saw what awaited us, I regretted not following Anwir’s order.
Another barghest lay dead, multiple stab wounds littering its body, but it was the smaller, second form, sprawled in a pool of blood, that made my stomach lurch.
Hyacinth. Hyacinth grappling with a gaping wound on her thigh, bleeding profusely. Too much. Far too much.
“Move!” My daggers thudded to the ground as I darted between the cluster of witches and threw myself to my knees, unbuckling my belt as I went. “It’s okay, Hyacinth,” I said. “You’re going to be fine.”
Blood spurted between Hyacinth’s shaking fingers, splattering in the rapidly growing pool.
My nerves and panic evaporated, leaving only a numb sense of purpose. Emotion had no place here, and my body knew its job. My hands were deft as I wrapped the belt around the witch’s thigh, pulling the buckle as tight as I could. Her thigh was much slimmer than my waist, and there were no holes to fasten it.
“Someone hold this,” I ordered, my voice calm and steady. A large, pale hand took the belt from me. “Pull it as tight as you can. We need to slow the bleeding.”
Much good it would do out here.
“Okay, Hyacinth. I’m going to apply pressure to the wound. This will hurt.”
Pansy dropped into place opposite me, seizing her mother’s hand. Her desperate eyes fixed on me, silently pleading. Unable to offer even a hint of a smile, I lowered my gaze, gathering up my wrap.
When I pressed it against the wound, Hyacinth screamed. I’d heard somewhere that dying patients didn’t scream. It was a lie, and I suspected I had lied when I’d told the witch she would be fine. With no hospitals, and no magic…
“I need a hot blade,” I yelled, to nobody in particular. It might be a long shot, but if I could locate the artery amongst the mangled flesh, if I could cauterise it…
“There’s no fire,” somebody answered in a panicked voice.
Fuck. “Sage, the paste you used on me, have you got any left?”
“It won’t work quickly enough.” The witch’s voice shook as she spoke, wracked with as much emotion as I had ever heard from her.
I looked up at her, at her colourless face and white ringed eyes. “Let’s try, shall we?”
Because it was all we could do. Because however faint that glimmer of hope, without it, Hyacinth would be dead in minutes. I could slow the bleeding, but that was all I could do. I couldn’t seal the artery or stitch the wound. I was buying time. Seconds, minutes. But for what?
Because, in the face of suffering, I didn’t know how to do nothing.
Sage pressed her white lips together, nodding, and slid her pack off her shoulder. I turned my attention to Hyacinth. Her clammy brown face was a sickly shade, losing colour fast. Her eyes fluttered on the edge of consciousness. At her side, Pansy muttered a string of high-pitched attempts at cheery reassurance. I couldn’t stand the wild desperation in her voice. This was no calm, sterile surgery, with an impassive team. There had never been loved ones present as we battled to save a life.
My hands grew sticky and warm. Blood soaked through my wrap. I checked the tourniquet. The prince’s hands held it tight. His white knuckles were streaked in blood. My eyes trailed up his straining arm. Idris stared back at me.
I swallowed, hooked by eyes almost identical to Anwir’s, but bleak. He knew. I looked at him, and I could feel it down to my bones. He knew how fruitless this was, and still, he held the belt. Still, he tried.
“I’ve got it.” Sage interrupted my moment of hopeless clarity. She crouched beside me, a pot of that same thick green paste she’d mended me with clutched before her.
“Okay. In a second, I’m going to move my hands. I want you to slather that paste on as quickly as you can, nice and thick. Get into the wound, don’t worry about hurting her. Then I’m going to put pressure on again. Yeah?”
Sage nodded, scooping a gloopy dollop of paste.
“Idris, you keep that belt pulled tight, okay?”
“Understood.”
“On three then. One, two, three.”
To Sage’s credit, her shaking hands didn’t falter as she smeared the paste into the gaping wound, but just as quickly as she worked, fresh blood pooled. Shit. I could feel Idris shaking with the effort of pulling the belt. As soon as Sage moved, I slammed my wrap back down, throwing my weight forward onto my arms.
Please, please, please.
It had to work. There was no other option. It didn’t have to leave a perfect limb, but if the paste could just seal the edges, close the severed artery…
It would be enough to get Hyacinth home, to the magic. That was all we needed.
Though Hyacinth’s chest rose and fell, the movement was barely discernible, growing fainter by the second. I didn’t believe in any god, but I silently begged somebody, anything, to intervene. Nobody did, of course. The only gods were us, and we were powerless.
Inevitably, despite our useless efforts, Hyacinth’s chest fell still.
“Sage,” I barked. “Take over from me.”
“What is it?” Pansy wailed. “Aliza?”
I scrambled, sliding my hands from underneath Sage’s as they pressed down, and shuffled around Idris to Hyacinth’s chest. I lowered my ear to her mouth, hoping against the cold, sinking sensation in my chest that warm breath would flutter over my skin.
Nothing.
Shit.
