"You did enough, Del," he murmured, lifting one hand to rest it weakly atop her head, stroking her lush hair with love. "You were always enough."
The Covenant had known exactly what they were doing. They weren't about brute force but about the usage of dark arts to achieve supremacy. This was deliberate sabotage of healing, the opposite spectrum of their magic. Light and darkness, holy and unholy. The two were natural enemies.
Kitsara knelt across from Delilah, her hands carefully gripping Darius's massive, bloodied arm. Unlike the princess, there were no tears in her eyes, only a strained, composed focus. She spoke supportive words one after the other, recounting memories of her childhood, trying to keep him grounded, keep him from slipping away. Darius's labored breathing slowed slightly, soothed not by magic but by her presence.
I wanted to stay. I wanted to do something. But there was nothing I could give them right now.
