"NOOOO!"

  As though his feet struck root into the dirt, Tristian stood and watched numbly.

  It was happening again.

  Screaming in despair, Hazel rushed to the fallen baroness, checking her body for vital signs. Her last spark of life was quickly fading with every squirt of blood her frantic heart pushed out through the broken artery. Hazel dropped their bow onto the owlbear's carcass and fumbled at Guelder's neck, their fingers seeking out the desperately pulsating blood vessel and pressing down on it to mitigate the bleeding. Their sleeves were getting drenched in red up to the elbows. It wouldn't work. Her brain would soon fail, starved of blood, one way or another.

  Tristian stood and watched, frozen in shock, until Hazel's tearful eyes found him.

  "Tristian!" they bellowed. "If you are what you claim to be, do something, now!"

  Well, he was not what he claimed to be. He was much less than that... but also much more. Was he supposed to accept his punishment with an angel's humility, and stand by idly while his mistress killed the woman he loved in front of his very eyes? Shouldn't he fight back, for a change? Was it love at all if he didn't fight for it, like Hazel did?

  Snapping out of his lethargy, he hurried to the baroness, quickly assessing the situation. A simple splash of positive energy would not save her. He needed something more. But alas, after a day spent fighting the entire assortment of monsters the Bloom had in store, he didn't have much left to offer. His fingers closed around Sarenrae's holy symbol hanging from his belt.

  Dawnflower, hear my call from the depths, just this once. I betrayed You and everything You stand for, at least a dozen times. I am not worthy to behold Your countenance anymore. Still, that is between the two of us. Guelder has nothing to do with that. Please show Your mercy to her, not for me but for Your glory alone.

  The holy symbol flared up in his hand, and immediately went out.

  A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. Apparently, the Old Deadeye protected his faithful: Jhod Kavken had survived the giant owlbear's attack with a few fractures and bruises, and somehow caught up with them.

  "Sarenrae and Erastil," he said softly. "Should be enough."

  "And if not," said a grumpy dwarven voice from behind, "Groetus might be willing to grant some leeway. The end has yet to come."

  Please, mighty Sarenrae. Gain glory through your unworthy servant.

  A strong surge of holy power flowed through Tristian, increased further by his two companions. He touched Guelder's chest and pushed the surge into her body. Her back arched in a sudden tension of muscles, then her body relaxed and fell back to the ground. The terrible wound in her neck disappeared, leaving only a scar, and the ends of her broken bones connected with each other at the right place.

  Hazel held their face to her lips.

  "She is breathing," they said. "I can feel it. Thank you all."

  They applied a gentle but determined pull at her arm to force her dislocated shoulder back in place. This was all that could be done for her at the moment. The rest was up to her toughness and fighting spirit.

  "Well done, lad," said Harrim, squeezing Tristian's arm. "She will make it."

  "Get her somewhere warm," suggested the High Priest. "In this precarious state, even a common cold can be lethal."

  "You may use my room," said Jaethal. Tristian hadn't even realised she, too, was there, perching near the dying prey like an elegant vulture. "None will dare disturb her there."

  The Beer Mug Inn's common room was teeming with people, many of them injured and in need of healing. Tristian planned to return to them soon and help out, but first he accompanied Hazel carrying the unconscious baroness up to Jaethal's room. Despite the inn being overcrowded, Jaethal still had her unliving space space all to herself, due to her reputation and maybe also to the little wreath of bones she'd put on the door as a personal touch. Hazel laid Guelder down on the bed, and tossed a few logs into the fire. Tristian caught their gaze.

  "Watch over her, Hazel," he said. "If I'm needed, I'll be down in the common room. I need to make myself useful."

  "Thanks, mate," said Hazel, letting him go with a handshake and a half-hug.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  As he departed, a battered Pangur slipped past him through the door, jumped up the bed and curled up on top of Guelder's legs.

  Low on healing energy, Tristian took to the practical tasks of cleaning and bandaging wounds, which, sadly, didn't distract him sufficiently from the matters of the heart. After some heavy struggle deep inside, Tristian decided to let go. Even if Guelder's heart thawed up towards him someday, he couldn't accept her love. Happiness, especially by the side of a woman like her, was not the outcome he deserved. It was better to move out of the way and let someone worthy take the place he'd been craving for. Someone who did everything and more to keep her safe, again and again. Yes, it would hurt like hell... but pain was his just deserts, anyway.

  It took a long time for Guelder to come to. Tristian could tell when he saw Hazel barrel down the stairs and make their way to Elina the innkeeper, then climb the stairs again, carrying a steaming bowl of broth. Soon afterwards Guelder rejoined the world of the living, pale and weak, but determined.

  The baroness stood at the top of the stairs, waiting until people spotted her and fell silent. Apparently, her arrival had gone unnoticed, what with everyone being focused on their own misery. She was trailed by her leopard, an exhausted-looking Hazel, and Jaethal who, for a fleeting moment, seemed to be smiling like a proud mother. Tristian's insides turned to ice. What reason could Jaethal have for such a smile, other than taking pride in a new, abominable creation of hers?

  There was one way to find out.

  He sidled closer to the staircase and released his final reserves of healing energy, watching out for the effect. Jaethal flinched and immediately found him with a murderous glare. She'd developed a certain degree of immunity to the harmful effects of positive energy, but she still found it unpleasant. Guelder, however, closed her eyes, breathed deep, and stood a little firmer on her feet, as a living person was expected to do. Tristian scolded himself. Surely he was too tired to think straight. How could he even suppose that Hazel, or even Pangur, would have let that happen?

  Guelder started to speak, channelling the meagre strength she could scrape up into her voice.

  "Nightvale survived another calamity. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who stood their ground today. You are all heroes. We shall mourn our losses and rebuild our homes upon the ruins. But first of all, I shall put an end to this plague for good. At long last, I know what plant to look for, and I have a clue as to where to find it."

  Her eyes sought out her companions in the crowd.

  "Amiri, report. How are things going out there?"

  The barbarian girl produced a somewhat credible attention stance, and browsed her memories for the terms Kassil liked to use in his reports.

  "The situation is largely under control, Chief. A few hydras took to the water, so fishing will be a risky business for a while, but the streets are cleared. Harrim alerted the Embeth unit. They are on their way to scout around Lake Tuskwater and mop up any monsters that got out. We haven't yet heard from the two evacuation camps.

  I practically won my bet with Reg about who would kill more monsters–"

  "You didn't, I did!" said a voice from the crowd.

  "Okay, it was kind of hard to keep track with all those kill-stealing. Let's call it a tie!"

  "Well done, both of you. All of you. If you find that the capital is safe enough, check on the evacuation camps while I am away. Also, make Hyland draw up a list of those who fell in defence of the capital, soldiers and civilians alike. I shall have a monument erected to them next to the shrine of Erastil. Their memory lives on and helps us stand firm, whatever we shall face next."

  "Make sure to add what you said before you fell," suggested Valerie.

  "What… what did I say?" asked Guelder, a little confused. Tristian couldn't help but smile. She probably thought she'd flooded her foe with various Druidic expletives.

  "Hope will prevail," said Valerie. "A perfect motto for your rule. Before this wild ride ends, we’ll need every drop of hope we can get."

  "Fine," said Guelder. "Start the restoration works as soon as possible. Valerie, Linzi, Tristian, Nok-Nok, Hazel, get ready to leave. We are off to the Womb of Lamashtu to destroy the flower once and for all."

  "We go save dumb longshank's ass, then you kick it!" suggested Nok-Nok, eliciting puzzled glances from the audience.

  "Take care, Your Grace," said the High Priest, now resembling a mummy thanks to Tristian's first aid intervention. "You have been returned from the Death's Door once again. Any further harm can be your undoing."

  Guelder pursed her lips.

  "Jhod, I practically live at the Death's Door these days. I cannot afford to sit on my hands and wait until a second wave is launched. Just hold your ground here, be prepared for anything, and leave the rest to us. Hope will prevail. We will prevail. And if not, you know where to find my last will with the succession order."