I didn’t notice the scream echoing around the room was mine until I tried to speak. Edie was sobbing into my shoulder, and several of the other nurses had turned their faces away entirely. As I saw Kharid kneeling backward, however, his blue cheeks waxen and his white eyes clouded, I felt the same call to action I’d felt hundreds—thousands—of times during shifts in the emergency room of Cleveland Memorial, and I flew into action.

“Edie!” I yelled over the hubbub that was emerging. “I need something to dress the wound! Something occlusive, and find tape or something to secure it with!”

My feet moved over the mosaic-style tile floor as if I had broken free from gravity’s hold. Zuran sprang to seize me around the waist and prevent me from nearing the Elder, but I threw him back with as much force as I could muster and dropped to Kharid’s side. The IAO said something urgently in A’li-uud to the unfamiliar guard nearby before grabbing me by the collar and pulling.

“A healer is being summoned!” he exclaimed. “Do not touch him!”

“You want him to die?” I snapped, reaching behind me to claw at his wrist. He released me but stepped forward, and I saw the guard he had commanded sprinting out of the palace.

“You are human,” he growled. “You know nothing of A’li-uud physiology.”

Deep, rich, mahogany blood was blooming across the chest of the luxurious indigo robe, and the wound was visible through the saturated, severed fabric. “I know enough,” I argued. “And I’m the best you’ve got right now, so get out of my way, or his death will be on your hands!”

The A’li-uud identical to Zuran, who was either a doppelganger or his twin brother, had frozen. The Novai was still skewered on his blade, limp and unmoving, but the A’li-uud had released the hilt in his astonishment and permitted the body to fall to the ground. He took no notice of the deceased creature at his feet; his milky eyes were pinned to Kharid in sheer, unadulterated shock.

“Toni, get him out of here!” I ordered to Antoinette, pointing at the stricken A’li-uud. Then, I rounded on Zuran again, who continued to hover over me with a torn expression on his fierce features. “You either need to back up and leave me alone or get down here and help me! I’m not kidding, Zuran! He’s going to die!”

Finally, the alien succumbed to my demands and fell to the ground beside me. I heard his knees crack against the tiles, but he didn’t flinch. “What do you need me to do?” he asked rigidly.

As he spoke, he leaned close to me, and I was overcome with an aroma I had never smelled before. It was like Ka-lik’et air; heady, savory, layered, and the Dhal’atian desert; zesty, warm, and delicate, and masculinity in its purest form all rolled into one. I was immediately famished and satiated as the odor permeated my nostrils, and I had to remind myself of the task at hand.

“I need you to get me something air-tight to dress his wound with,” I hastily said. Edie was scrambling around the room analyzing everything from curtains to cushion fabric, but she was basically useless, and I knew Zuran would prove more beneficial.

He got to his feet at once and disappeared from the room. The moment he was gone, I focused all of my attention on Kharid. Though he was clearly in the stages of dying, he was much warmer than I expected. It was my understanding that A’li-uud ran at a much higher temperature than humans, but I was still surprised to find he was practically hot to the touch. I pulled back his eyelids to reveal the ghostly irises beneath. They were distant, distracted, almost detached from reality, so much so that it was like opening the eyes of someone deep inside dreams.

“Kharid!” I cried, hoping to elicit any response I could from him. He didn't move. His eyes didn't even twitch with acknowledgment. I felt a rise of purpose within myself, a sensation I had become accustomed to working in the ER when encountering patients on death's door. If I was going to save the Elder, it would have to be now.

I wrapped my hands around the collar of his robes, and then, with all of my strength, I pulled. They tore away from him, slowly at first and then easier as the seconds passed until his chest was bare and I could clearly see the massive puncture from the sword's blade in the center of his pectorals. The wound was deep enough that I could see inside his body, see the muscles contracting, the blood flowing, and even a hint of ivory bone. I attempted to see if his chest was rising and falling with inhalations and exhalations, but either I was shaking too badly with the spirit of adrenaline coursing through me, or he wasn't breathing at all. I bent low over him, placing my ear beside his mouth, pulling his chin back to open his lips. I listened for even the slightest sound of breath, a simple gasp or even a hoarse shudder. I heard nothing.

As I opened my mouth to scream for Zuran, he reappeared. In his hand was a strange fabric I had never seen before, thick and waxen and woven so tightly that it appeared more like rubber than fabric. He tossed it to me before he reached me, and, when he dropped to his knees again by my side, he handed me a jar.

“What is this?” I asked, holding up the jar. As I did, I pressed the odd fabric to Kharid’s injury.

“It is a natural adhesive,” he told me. “I have seen the sticky strips you use in your infirmary. This is much better.”

I didn't question him, not because I believed him but because there simply wasn't time to argue the point. With my free hand, I dipped my finger into the jar and extracted a tarry, eggplant-purple substance on my fingertip. I looked at Zuran for instruction, and he made a motion as if I was to trace the goop around the edge of the dressing. I did as he indicated.

“Put it on all the sides,” he said.

“No,” I disagreed. “One side needs to remain open.”

Suddenly, without warning, Kharid’s eyes flew open of their own accord. He let out a terrible rattling, coarse and gritty. For a moment, just a moment, his gaze met Zuran’s. Then, his eyes closed once more, and he became motionless.