Page 280 of Blade of the Nightking

"There's... still iron inside." His voice was still thin. "I can feel traces of it."

I bent at once to draw more of the poison, but his hand closed gently around my chin, stopping me. He'd nearly died and could scarcely lift his own head, yet the heat smoldering in his gaze was unmistakable. "Save that for another time."

Despite everything, something tightened low in my belly. I shoved the feeling aside, latching onto the far more urgent question.

"Will you die?" I couldn't keep the fear from my voice.

His gaze softened. "Not immediately. But unless you want me looking like Veylan for the rest of my life, I should probably get the rest of it out of my system."

I scoffed, then gasped as the movement pulled at the burns on my face. He smiled at me, and though it was faint, it was enough to summon the dimple in his left cheek. The urge to press my lips against it caught me completely off guard, so sudden and inexplicable it left me reeling.

I spoke around the pain in my mouth, my words thick with it. "You said we needed to get to the Barrows."

He gave a faint nod. "Yes."

"Is it far?"

"Far enough that I won't be walking there." He examined the mangled wound in his shoulder. "Not like this."

The sound of lapping water cut through the silence.

I was on my feet before I realized I'd moved, the bone knife flashing into my hand as I spun toward the bog.

Something was moving through the reeds.

Not a creature.

A boat.

It was ancient, little more than a narrow rowboat, its hull scarred by countless journeys through the marsh. It skimmed smoothly over the dark waters without sail or oar, gliding between the rushes as it veered toward us.

It hit the muddy bank with a soft thump.

Beside it, the dark water stirred.

The Brinnekin surfaced without a sound. The same female as before, water streaming from her ropelike hair as she regarded us with those abyssal eyes. She lifted one impossibly long arm from the marsh. Webbing of translucent skin stretched between elongated fingers tipped with hooked black claws, curved like a crocodile's. Slowly, she curled those fingers toward herself.

Rìan planted a hand in the sand and pushed himself upright.

I caught his forearm. "You're not serious."

He looked from the Brinnekin to the waiting boat, then back at me, a weary smile breaking through.

"I don't think we can afford to be picky about our ferrymen."

He made to get up, but I tightened my grip on his arm, forcing him still.

"But they're monsters."

He held my gaze for a long moment before lifting a hand to lift a loose strand of hair stuck to a burn on my cheek, tucking it gently behind my ear.

"So are we."

I drew a long breath, then swallowed my fear and slipped my arm around Rìan. Together we crossed the strip of blood-soaked sand.

I tightened my grip around his waist as he caught the gunwale. With a grimace he hauled himself over the side and collapsed onto his back with a low groan.

I climbed in after him, kneeling at his side.