I’m stopped dead by the sheer amount of colour everywhere.
“Hey, your eyes are brown,” Lambert notes weakly, his warm fingers stroking over my cheekbones. “You’re so pretty, boss.”
Involuntarily, I suck in another agonising breath and freeze as I get a lungful of his Christmas scent. Sugar and nutmeg, like the pastries he sneaks into the Arcanaeum whenever he thinks I’m not looking. His golden hair whispers around our faces as he leans over me, the strands still wild from his magiball game.
Somewhere to my left, Jasper says, “On three, pull it out. Quick and clean.”
“Got it.” North’s grunt precedes a harrowing jostle of the metal stuck inside my ribcage.
Instinctively, I flinch away, but that only makes it worse.
“One…two…”
It’s too much. All of this. Everything is devastatingly loud and colourful and overwhelming. When I open my mouth to complain, North adjusts his grip on the black and gold banded handle sticking out of my chest—which I can see all-too clearly with my head at this angle—and tugs.
The flood of warmth over my torso is immediate and pulsing. Blood spurts everywhere, and Jasper thrusts his hand overthe bleeding wound. The pressure he’s exerting is somehow worse than impalement was, like he’s trying to crush my ribcage.
His chanting is frantic, the lengthy incantations mumbled hastily, his words tripping over one another. I can’t even check if he’s doing it right. It’s too difficult to make out his words over the reassurance Lambert is spewing and the frantic drumming of my heartbeat in my ears.
North chucks the dagger away, and the clatter of metal on stone echoes through the vault, followed by the squeal of protesting iron as the shackles on my wrists are forced open.
The moment I’m free, Lambert drags my arms down from above my head, and I groan again as pins and needles rush to stab at my fingertips.
“Too much,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Why can I…? I’m supposed to be…”
Dead.
I remember it all. The game. Forgetting to keep an eye on the time. Lambert’s victory…kissing him.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Dakari growls, tackling the shackle at my right ankle next. “I swear to God?—”
“Don’t threaten her.” Leo is right there, freeing my left foot. His fingers are swift and sure as he unbolts the metal and wrenches it free.
This can’t be real. It’s got to be some kind of hallucination, or worse, just my imagination. I can’t be alive. I can still feel the dust gathering on the shelves above me and the slow creaking of a spine in need of repair two aisles away.
Those are the Arcanaeum’s feelings.
I’m dizzy, but it’s been so long since I last experienced any sort of disorientation that it takes me another minute to name it as such.
“Guys, this place is creepy.” Eddy’s voice echoes aroundthe chamber. “Did you find Kyrith? Is she okay? Fuck. Why are there so many stairs?”
“We’ve got her,” North replies.
Jasper finally removes his hand from over my chest and slumps backward.
For the first time in forever, my ribs expand with a full, gasping breath.
“Jasper.” Dakari catches the other arcanist, but the Scot shoves back to his feet, snapping his grimoire shut.
“Don’t fret over me. Someone check I fixed her properly. I’ve not done something that big in ages.”
“Riviel treame,”Leo mutters.
They all slump slightly as my whole body glows softly for a second before the magic dissipates. “Aye. She’s just knackered.”
I want to protest that I’m fine, but the edges of my vision are blurring, and my mouth isn’t working like it should.
“Pass her to me,” Dakari orders. “I can’t believe…”
