Rygun roars again, his rage blasting my internal wall as I instead stagger toward the large bay window. The stone table and chairs beneath it are so ornamental, I’m nervous to break them, relieved when one of the seats accepts my weight without crumbling.
Time blurs in unison with my fading vision, shadows of a thousand snowflakes hypnotizing me into a mindless trance.
My chin strikes my chest twice before Roan limps into the room with Pyrok’s basket, now filled with mending supplies. Pyrok follows with my bag slung over his shoulder, three bottles in one arm and a mug in the other. “Moving the party in here, are we?”
I grunt, barely able to keep my eyes open as he flops my bag by the pallet, drops into the adjacent chair, and begins cluttering the table with his shit.
“You look like ass.”
Makes sense. I feel like ass.
Pyrok digs a piece of dried meat from his pocket and waves it in myface. I mine the energy to bat it away, nowhere near hungry enough to consume anything that’s been in there.
“Your loss,” he says, ripping into it with his teeth, one-handedly working to jiggle the cork from a bottle.
“Beg to differ.”
Roan spreads out his supplies, then moves to the washroom, filling a bowl with water he sets beside me—far too composed for someone who got fire-lashed this dae.
“Deal with your wounds first, Roan. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to etch me.”
He waves a strip of something brown, flat, withered, and a little furry under my nose that smells like rotten eggs and almost makes me gag, snapping me to full consciousness as effectively as a punch to the nose. “I’ve been voiding my pain since I climbed on the back of Maell,” he says, squinting at me through his cracked spectacles. Like he’s checking to see there’s still recognition in my eyes. “She’s as erratic as a parchment lark. I almost passed out twice.”
“Ungrateful bastard,” Pyrok drones through his mouthful, filling his mug. “Next time, you can catch a ride in her digestive tract.”
Roan flicks his hair from his eyes and looks back over his shoulder, the thing in his hand almost bumping against my mouth. “Honestly, it’d be more enjoyable. Perhaps if you flew sober every once in a while, you’d be able to ease her into a smoother rhythm.”
Pyrok thumps the bottle on the table, corks it, then stamps it down with his fist. “Perhaps you should take your advice, parcel it, then shove it up your shitter.”
I sigh, nudging Roan’s hand away. “If you two are going to kick off again, you can fuck off to the blue wing. I’ll find someone else to cut out the pins.”
Or just …sleep. Forget—for a moment—that I just stirred a war with the Tri-Council. Forget the moonfalls threatening the kingdom I’d never considered ruling until I stood in Pah’s office with his head hanging from my hand. Forget the hard truths I have to lump on Raeve and hope they don’t tip her over the bloodlusting edge. Then there’s my sister. Kyzari.Grihm—
“Eat this.” Roan shoves something in my face that looks suspiciously like a rodent dropping.
“No.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jitung berry. Partially dehydrated. It’ll give you an energy spike. Unless you want to pass out while I’m pulling out the pins. In that case, climb on the pallet and I’ll get started.”
I arch a brow.
Not the worst proposition …
The sound of squealing hinges stills every cell in my body, a blow of wind bringing Raeve’s scent straight to me like a gift from Clode herself.
I don’t hear the door shut, nor do I hear Raeve’s footsteps, but my skinprickles with her proximity. Instinctually aware of her presence, just as Rygun’s aware of the invisible line he can’t pass when he’s soaring high, lest gravity lose its grip on him.
I take the dehydrated-jitung-berry-that-looks-like-a-shit and toss it in my mouth, biting down. Screw up my face at the offensive tartness that explodes across my tongue, staring at the empty doorway, hunting for movement.
Everything else blurs into oblivion.
I’m distantly aware of Pyrok flipping the lid on his weald, ordering Ignos to gorge on the wood in the ornate hearth, filling the room with a warm glow. Distantly aware of Roan firing the prongs as I’m told to remove my shirt.
Starting from my neck down, I get to work on my buttons, almost at my diaphragm when Raeve moves through the doorway like a blow of icy wind—still dressed in her black cloak and boots, bits of snow dusting her hair now hanging around her like a drape of shadow.
My hands still.
I hunger over her smooth features, failing to catch her stare that seems to scour everything but me … coming to rest on the blazing hearth.
