Elara's POV
He's not breathing.
My hands press harder against Caspian's wound, magic pouring from my palms, but the black veins keep spreading. They crawl up his neck like evil spiders, reaching for his heart.
No, no, no, I whisper. Don't die. Please don't die.
His eyes flutter open, barely focused. Who... are you?
Someone who's going to get help I start to stand, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. For someone dying, his grip is surprisingly strong.
No. His voice is rough with pain. Can't trust... the healers. Someone poisoned me.
My heart hammers. Someone at the Academy poisoned you?
Don't know who... to trust. The black veins pulse, spreading faster. He's running out of time. Everyone... wants me dead.
This isn't in the book. None of this happened in the story. Caspian is supposed to be fine until the festival. But looking at him now betrayed, bleeding, clearly terrified despite trying to hide it I can't just leave him to die.
Even if he's the villain. Even if he's supposed to kill me in a week.
I have basic healing magic, I say, making my decision. I can try to slow the poison until we figure out what to do.
His dark eyes study me with frightening intensity, even though he's dying. Why would you help me? Everyone fears me.
Because leaving someone to die isn't who I am. I press my hands over his wound again and focus every bit of magic I have.
The healing flows from me like water from a broken dam. The wound starts to close, skin knitting together slowly. But the poison fights back, burning through my magic as fast as I can work.
It's not enough. I'm not strong enough.
Caspian's breathing gets shallower. His skin turns pale as paper. The black veins reach his jaw.
Panic claws at my chest. I grab books from nearby shelves, flipping through pages desperately. There has to be something here. Some spell that can help.
My hands shake so badly I can barely read. Dark magic. Blood rituals. Forbidden curses. Nothing useful. Nothing
Wait.
I find a page about purification spells advanced magic meant to cleanse poison from the body. It's way beyond my skill level. The book even has a warning: Attempting this spell without proper training can result in death for both caster and subject.
I look at Caspian. His eyes are closed now. His chest barely moves.
He's going to die if I don't try.
I place one hand on his chest and one over his wound. The spell's words feel foreign in my mouth, but I speak them anyway. Magic explodes from me not the gentle healing from before, but something wild and powerful.
It hurts. Every cell in my body screams as energy drains from me faster than I can breathe. The room tilts. My vision blurs.
But the black veins start to fade.
Come on, I gasp, pouring everything I have into the spell. Work. Please work.
Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. Time feels strange and stretchy. My arms shake from exhaustion. Sweat drips down my face. I can barely stay upright.
My mind starts to wander, thoughts spilling out without permission. The stepmother, I mumble, half-delirious. It was her, wasn't it? She wants you dead. Just like at the festival... the betrayal...
I don't realize what I'm saying. The words just come.
You're supposed to die, I whisper, but not like this. Not alone in a library. Not before
The last of my energy drains away. The black veins disappear completely. Caspian's breathing steadies, deep and even.
I did it. I actually did it.
Relief floods through me, and then everything goes dark.
Caspian's POV
I wake slowly, my mind foggy and confused.
I'm lying on the library floor. My side aches where the poison blade struck me, but the pain is dull now, manageable. The black veins are gone.
Someone healed me. Someone saved my life.
I turn my head and freeze.
Elara Ashwood lies unconscious beside me, her face pale and her breathing shallow. She looks fragile, like she might break. Her hands are still stretched toward me, fingers stained with my blood.
She did this. This nobody, this minor noble with no connections, drained herself completely to save me.
But why?
I sit up carefully, my body protesting. Memories from the healing flood back. Her hands pressing against my wound. Her desperate voice begging me to stay alive. And the things she said when she thought I couldn't hear.
The stepmother. It was her, wasn't it?
How did she know? I haven't told anyone about my suspicions that my stepmother wants me dead. The poisoned blade tonight confirmed it, but I've kept that information locked tight.
You're supposed to die, but not like this.
Supposed to die. Like she knows my future. Like she can see what's coming.
And the first day we met, she said something even stranger: The villain who kills me in two weeks.
I study her unconscious face. She's pretty in an understated way dark hair spread across the dusty floor, delicate features, a stubborn set to her jaw even while sleeping.
She's also the most confusing person I've ever met.
I lift her carefully, cradling her against my chest. She weighs almost nothing. Her head falls against my shoulder, and something in my chest tightens.
She saved me. Twice now once by warning me away from myself, and once by literally pulling me back from death.
No one has ever done that before.
I carry her through the empty library, my mind racing. I should take her to the infirmary. Let the healers check her over. Pretend this never happened.
But she said I can't trust the healers. She was right about the poison. What if she's right about them too?
I make my decision and head for the infirmary anyway but I stay with her. Guard her. Make sure no one who wants me dead decides to finish what they started by hurting her.
Because Elara Ashwood knows things she shouldn't know. She can see things that haven't happened yet.
And if she's right about my stepmother's betrayal, if she's right about the poison, then maybe she's right about the other thing too.
Maybe I really am supposed to die in two weeks.
I look down at her peaceful face and make a silent vow.
Whatever comes next, whatever she knows about the future, I'm going to find out. And I'm going to make sure nothing happens to the girl who saved my life.
Even if it means keeping her close. Very close.
Even if it means she becomes the one thing I can't afford to have: someone I actually care about.
I push open the infirmary door with my shoulder. A healer looks up, startled to see me.
She needs help, I say, laying Elara gently on a bed. She used too much magic. Exhausted herself completely.
The healer rushes over, checking Elara's pulse and breathing. What happened?
I could tell the truth. That someone poisoned me and this girl saved my life. But that would put her in danger. If my stepmother finds out Elara knows about the betrayal...
She was practicing advanced spells and pushed herself too hard, I lie smoothly. I found her collapsed in the library.
The healer nods, accepting the story. She begins working on Elara, using gentle healing magic to restore her energy.
I should leave. Go back to my rooms. Investigate who sent that assassin with the poisoned blade.
Instead, I pull up a chair beside Elara's bed and sit down.
Who are you really, Elara Ashwood? I murmur, watching her sleep. And how do you know so much about my death?