Shock paints her face with long lines. Her hair is spread and tangled around her neck and shoulders as if she’s been dragged down into a river and strangled by weeds. She’s forced her statue attackers away and is breathing as hard as I am.
“Are you mortally wounded?” I gasp out.
“You killed for me.” Her words are sharp, disbelieving. She looks every inch the warrior queen despite an arm that hangs at her side.
For just one sparkling moment in the middle of horror, it is just we two, looking at each other. Something sparks hot and fierce between us and it’s more than brotherhood or common cause. It’s something that shoots deep and hard through me and it’s never coming out again.
“I’ll heal you,” I gasp, struggling up to my feet. “I’ll heal you both.”
I’m surprised when she half shakes her head — is that denial or refusal? Will she not take my gift?
The strains of the organ turn to a sad, sweeping strain.
“The blood!” Sir Sorken yells down. “This isn’t over. Get the Beggar some blood for her cup or you’ll be crushed!”
I look up and see the statues moving past the ones that fell with the Majester. They have all turned toward us. With their targets winnowed down to two, we’ll be fighting all of them at once.
Before I can say a word, they break into a run toward us.
I growl in my throat and grab the Vagabond by the arm to guide her. She screams when I force her to her feet, but her teeth are gritted and her eyes are all determination. A broken arm, I think.
“The dog,” she gasps.
“We’ll come back for the dog,” I tell her. “After.”
I push her ahead of me with my off-hand. Hers falls uselessly at her side — a compound fracture, then, if I’m any judge.
I feel jagged inside, but the Engineer is right. We must get the blood and tears in the cup and we must do it now, or we’ll be clobbered again.
I glance behind us, guarding our backs as I hustle the Vagabond to her platform.
Over my shoulder, I see the Penitent at the Majester’s cup.
“If he still lives, he needs his cup filled!” Sir Coriand calls down.
They’ll have to work that out for themselves. I have no energy for traitors.
We’re at the stairs. I’m supporting the Vagabond as she ascends them, stumbling in a way that tells me she’s in a lot of pain.
She reaches the top and pauses over her cup.
“I have nothing,” she says through her gritted teeth, and her eyes are a little wild as her gaze darts back to the dog. Ha! She’d had the same thought I’d had about him.
“Let me,” I manage to say between heavy breaths. I still have angry tears on my face. It’s easy enough to let one fall into the broken cup she chose. Why a broken one?
“You’re not my adversary.” She says it like a declaration, like a queen awarding a prize.
I want to kiss her.
The thought is unbidden. Unwelcome. I thrust it aside.
“Aren’t I?” I grit out. “Have I not made things harder for you? Do I not make them harder now? Trust me, Lady Paladin, I am no proper friend to you.”
“Are you not? For you are a friend like no other,” she says, lips trembling at some emotion I cannot discern.
Her confession tears something inside me, opening me wide. I’m stuck in her gaze. I’m trapped like a fly in treacle. I can’t breathe.
“It’s not working!” the Penitent calls from behind me. “Why isn’t it working?”
