by Ruth Davis Hays – 2011
He was suffering, wracked by fever and nausea. His Fae blood putrefying. The monks tried to give him nourishment, but even water flew back out of his stomach. He could be dead within a week.
But, unbeknownst to him, the women in his life that loved him had set into motion events that would save his miserable arse and all the fleshy bits attached to it that had just started to prove themselves as a promising benefit in a young man’s life rather than an embarrassing annoyance.
For her part, Lauralei continued to listen as old Kora laid out the happenings of the previous day…
The heavy, wooden door to Solomen’s tower laboratory opened easily with a spellsong. The dark room was cold and foreboding. Ammarron stepped in with determination. She had a suspicion of the thing for which she looked, but had…
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