It hurt so badly.

  I could not move anymore; my mind was fuzzy.

  My breath was shallow, no more than hiccups, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth.

  I was so, so tired.

  I felt hands touching me, I was being moved.

  “The arrow is too close to your hearth, try to keep still.” This voice told me, like it was carried by the wind from a faraway place, the meaning of the words only vaguely familiar.

  The arrow punched through my ribcage.

  I opened my eyes, face locked in a silent scream.

  “Hold still, hold still…” Uther instructed, as he tried to keep me from moving.

  With the help of a knife, Uther broke off the bloodied arrow tip that had pierced through me, and then carefully pulled back the shaft.

  I can exhale! By the Gods, I can exhale! I never felt so happy for something that painful.

  But things were far from over. I was struck by a cough fit, the blood in my lungs flooding my throat and mouth, like I was drowning. Uther put me in a sit position, what helped a little.

  Breathing was still difficult, the hole in my chest kept making a whistling noise, but it felt infinitely better. I was able to regain a bit of awareness.

  Uther went to the leather bag and opened it. I could not see his expression, but I knew he was mad as he lifted the upper part of the broken bottle and showed it to me.

  “Sorry …” I whispered to him between ragged breaths “you are … a prince … your life … worth more … than mine…” I tried to give a logical explanation for my actions.

  “Don’t talk, especially to say bullshit like that.” He barked at me, grabbing bandages from my bag with jolted movements.

  He was angry, really, really angry. I had disobeyed him and tricked him into drinking the potion by concealing my wounds. Regardless of whether I had the best of intentions, it was a betrayal. What made it worse was that I didn’t feel a single grain of regret.

  He removed my shirt and cleaned the wound with an infusion I used. The arrow that hit me was used for hunting, so it was probably reused several times, what meant a high chance of infection.

  He bandaged me with additional cloth to stop the bleeding. The bleeding wasn't profuse on the outside, so most of it was probably internal, which was not exactly a good thing. He did a hasty job because we needed to get away fast—there was a good chance the scouts would come looking for Ectar after the mess I made in their camp.

  Finally, he whapped me in the cloak I was using and carried me in his arms like I was a baby.

  “Tell the human to mount, me, I will take you two near the human village.” Sargent Wolf requested dryly. Due to the low light, I could barely see his outline and had completely forgotten that he was still there.

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  I whispered the suggestion to Uther and he agreed. We would not be able to reach the village in less than one hour by a long margin, but leaving the forest quickly was a goal in itself.

  At some point during the first minutes of travelling I passed out.

  ***

  I had only vague recollections of our journey to the fishing village as I dozed in and out. I remember being thirsty, the branches hitting me over the cloak, the jolted movements of our unusual mount, the whistle of the wind, the taste of blood, the pain and the cold.

  It was in that limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness that the gravity of my situation hit me.

  There is a big probability that I will die today.

  I didn’t want to die. I was scared. I wished things didn’t have to end that way, but I had no regrets about what I did.

  Since I was a child, the dreams I had for my life were always bound by the constraints of my status. I saw many slaves like me turn bitter and resentful by wishing for things they would never have. Freeing a slave in Central was the exception of exceptions, existing like a mirage in the desert that stays distant no matter how much you walk towards it.

  So, I wished for something realistic: I desired to have a master who would treat me well. I wanted to be useful and valued for it. To have a place where I belonged.

  In that sense, I achieved my dream, and I was happy.

  But … somehow … I wanted more.

  Since I received the power of the seal, I started to wonder if I could aspire to be more than a cherished possession. What exactly … I still didn’t know…

  It would be such a shame to die before figuring that out.

  I woke up on a bed in a modest room with rough wood walls and illuminated by an oil lamp. Next to me sat an old woman, possibly 80 years or more.

  “Have you woken, my dear?” the woman asked, looking at me with the corner of her eye, her vision was probably bad.

  “… water …” I murmured back, my mouth completely dry.

  I heard water pouring into a cup. The woman gently lifting my head and let me drink from that old cup in small gulps. She did that with practiced movements of someone that had done the same thing countless times before.

  “Thank you…” my voice was weak, and I spoke between shallow breaths.

  I was naked under a crude blanket; the woman probably cleaned me and replaced my bandages. Looking at the room, I could see strings running along the walls with drying herbs and a shelf with multiple flasks containing mysterious liquids. There was a pungent smell of herbs and alcohol.

  “Where I am?”

  "You are near Lakeside Village. My name is Ingrid. I am an apothecary—or a witch, depending on who you ask. That handsome man brought you to me because you were wounded."

  “Uther … is he here?”

  “He left, but said he will return. He had to do something about bandits near the forest.”

  The scouts. He probably wanted to deal with them before they came for us. I hope he is ok. I hope he is not angry with me anymore.

  “How are you feeling?” Ingrid asked, placing her hand on my forehead to estimate my temperature.

  How was I feeling?

  Every breath I took hurt, but not as much as I expected – she had probably given me something to take the edge off the pain – and I had a constant desire to cough that I needed to suppress. I felt weak and so, so tired. I was also a little feverish. The antiseptic Uther had used was probably not enough to avoid infection, and that was bad.

  So, blood loss, reduced lung capacity and probably an infected wound close to my heart.

  “Not… great…” I summarized.

  She smiled and caressed my head like I was a child. “Don’t worry, my dear, you just need to rest, and you will be up in no time.” Her kind words would have more impact if I were not aware of the gravity of my situation.

  Ingrid gave me something viscous and bitter to drink. She also offered me some food, but I could not stomach any of it.

  It was the middle of the night, so I tried to go back to sleep.

  But I kept getting worse.

  I was shivering, drenched in sweat. Every breath I took was more laborious than the last. My mind locked in a delirious fog, dancing at the edge of conscience, as the fever skyrocketed.

  I felt wet hags being put on my forehead, the pungent smell of concoctions and even the humming of magic, but I was not getting any better.

  And in a moment, the pain stopped.