Emissary by Fiona McIntosh Read Free Book Online

back so badly. Blood loss, drezden poison and a deep sorrow all conspired to kill him. But love sustained him. His fragile hold on life was there, Zafira knew, only because it might mean he would see her once more. And so he had fought death this past eleven moons, fought it so hard he was left a living wreck, but mend he would, if he took his rest and medicine.
    Lazar now understood that the drezden brought with all its evil intention a dark gift. Alegacy. He knew from the curious woman known as Ellyana, who had effectively saved his life, that this gift could not be given back.
    ‘It will stay with you forever,’ she had counselled when he was sufficiently recovered to focus on words, and on living. ‘It will lie dormant within you and then like a sickness curse you all over again on a whim.’
    ‘What is my warning? How will I know when it comes?’ he had asked, when he was strong enough, his throat raspy from lack of speaking for so long.
    ‘You won’t. It simply attacks when it chooses.’
    ‘And how can Lazar protect himself then?’ Zafira had asked on his behalf.
    ‘With the drezden itself. You must always carry a vial of it with you. Put a drop of the concentrated poison on your finger—no more than a single drop, mind—and put that on your tongue. It will take some hours but it will restore you.’
    ‘But it hasn’t restored me on this occasion.’
    ‘Lazar, you were as good as dead from the whipping alone. I defy any physician to have brought you back from the brink of the abyss with their modern potions and notions. Trust me. If you were at the palace or under the care of the male doctors, you would have been given up to your god. Drezden saved you. It will again and much faster now that your body can cope with it, but only…’ She stopped, shrugged.
    ‘For a while,’ Lazar finished what Ellyana had not said.
    The woman had simply nodded. Not long after, she had disappeared. Zafira still found it unsettling that the woman had come into their lives at a time of such high drama and then left so soon with no warning, no farewell, and no further instructions…except for a caution; she had told Zafira that Iridor, the demi-god in his owl form, would rise, and once that occurred, then the battle of the gods, which she had spoken about, would have begun. She had counselled that Lazar was integral to the success of the Goddess but wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, explain why. Zafira hadn’t really understood much of it at all but Ellyana was not one to be pressed, and then she had disappeared. They hadn’t seen or heard from her in almost a year.
    Zafira had suspected who Iridor might be but had no idea of what his rising meant. She was none the wiser now, although her suspicions of who the Messenger of Lyana the Goddess was had been confirmed on the night after Horz of the Elim had died. It had come as no surprise in truth, but despite her easy acceptance she experienced an intense feeling of awe every time she saw the beautiful snowy owl.
    She returned her thoughts to the present, realising that she had remained standing there beside the former Spur.
    Lazar reminded her. ‘Please, Zafira.’
    His plea tugged at her heart. He had suffered enough, now needed encouragement.
    ‘You are mending, Spur. I have been hard on you, perhaps not as honest as I should be. I know you feel weak but your back is healed and I’ve watched you exercising. I see you have some strength back.’ He nodded, remained silent. ‘Allow yourself to be well. The medicine can only do so much. Now it’s up to you.’
    ‘I realise this. Now please, just give me a few more minutes alone.’
    There was such a plaintive note in his voice that the old woman could do little more than shake her head and oblige. Turning, she hobbled away towards the small hut that served as home nowadays, wincing at the snag of pain in her hip that constantly reminded her she was well past her best years, and yet never had she needed strength and