Tristan made it four steps past the chamber doors before his knees hit the stone.
A dark vein crawled up the side of his neck, the corruption rooting itself beneath his skin, branching at his jaw, forking towards his ear.
He fell to his side, flat on the floor as his body seized.
His eyes rolled. His hands clawed at the stone, and the magic that lived in his blood, the Fae power that had defined his lineage for a thousand years, fought. Green light erupted from his palms in jagged, uncontrolled bursts that scorched the walls and shattered a window fifteen feet away.
"Tristan!"
River sprinted around the corner, her eyes still red, her face still carrying the grief of being called something less than a daughter. The grief evaporated the instant she saw him on the floor.
"Oh gods."
