Breathe.
A subtle warmth bloomed between my shoulder blades, as if a hand was gently resting against my back.
Breathe.
Slowly. Intentionally. I clenched my jaw tight as I forced a heavy inhale through my nose and held it. Then loosed it. The pressure in my chest lessened a fraction.
Again.
Tipping my head back, I imagined inviting the energy of the world in with my breath. I imagined life flooding into my lungs with the sweet, floral-tinged breeze of the Willowfell countryside. I imagined the taste of fresh coffee shared in tin mugs between family members. Brothers. I let the buzzing of insects fill my ears as I remembered the feeling of warm arms holding me tight. Protecting me.
My vision returned with the sounds of the estate, but I didn’t stop focusing on the sensations of my life. I’d kneeled before Zota and braced my palms against the earth, seeking purchase in the cool ground of his stall. And while I vaguely realized my breaths were laborious and my limbs riddled with pain, I didn’t stop.
Because it was working.
I watched in morbid fascination as the blight was leeched from Zota’s threads. Gone was the tacky, suffocating substance. The blight had liquefied into peaceful rivers of black ink sliding down his threads and into my veins. The moment Zota’s strands were cleansed, they retreated to twirl about his body, blissfully free of sickness and painfully exquisite. My throat clogged at the sight of Zota’s beauty returning. The hollowness of his face began to fillout, the scraps of loose skin falling to the earth like leaves. Fresh skin formed over muscles and tendons that now bulged with life. His hide was lustrous, and his mane was glossy. He was a stag of myth and beauty, and if it weren’t for the blight now running rampant in my body, I would never have guessed that he’d been sick.
Throughout it all, Zota had been still, but now he stood to his full height and let out a long, low-pitched grunt full of warmth and joy. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and when I went to wipe them away, I stilled at the sight of my fingers. My body was still drenched in a void of black night, but minuscule dots of blinding white light were blooming across the expanse of my skin. Stars. I was the cosmos incarnate as my magic began to eat away the blight. My blackened fingertips were the last to go until, like Zota, I was cleansed.
My power was doused an instant after that, and I collapsed fully to the ground as the weight of what I’d done slammed into my body. But no matter how much I ached, no matter how much the splintering pain in my skull continued to grow, no matter how much the world spun or how exhaustion was already pulling me under, there was only joy.
I’d done it. I’d sacrificed gods only knew how many of my threads in the process, but I’d cured something of blight.
Even though the very action felt like a blade carving into the muscles of my face, I smiled. I smiled because, so long as I woke up, there was a chance I could save my brothers. Save Mavis. And maybe,maybe,even Orin.
The last thing I saw as the world faded to black was Ywena flying away. Orin would come. He always did.
Twenty-One
I’d really grown tired of waking up with no concept of how much time I’d lost. Everything felt stiff and my thoughts were muddled—that much I could tell—but at least I was waking up. I shifted beneath smooth sheets as I peeled open my eyes. My room was quiet, the curtains drawn. A mug with an empty vial beside it sat on my nightstand, and as I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look, I found there wasn’t any liquid left to be had. An incessant scratch tickled my throat, and I spied a pitcher of water a few feet away on the dresser.
“Of course,” I grumbled, eyeing the distance. As comfortable as the sheets were, though, the idea of quenching my thirst was more enticing. Bracing myself with a long breath, I prepared for an onslaught of pain as I forced myself to move. And found none. Frowning, I sat upright in bed and swung my feet over the side, surprised by the ease of the movement. I wiggled my toes. My fingers. Rotated my wrists and stretched my neck from side to side. Nothing. Gingerly, I stood. The world stayed on its axis. Nothing happened.
Unease wound through me. How long had I been out? Immediately, the need for water was tabled as Noam and Nohr surfaced in my mind. If I was this healthy after curing blight . . . It could’ve been months.Months.I spun toward the door and made it halfway before Vora strode into the room. She paused, took one look at my panicked expression, and then rolled her eyes.
“It’s been a week. They’re still alive.” She set down a tray of food on the coffee table before moving to the curtains. With a forceful yank, she thrust them open. “I’d hoped you’d sleep longer.”
“A week is plenty long.” My gaze bounced between her and the door.Alive.
“Yes, well, you didn’t see you.” Vora snatched the pitcher of water and strode to the nightstand, snagging the mug and filling it with practiced ease. She handed me the drink. “I thought you were dead.”
I drained the water in one fell swoop and held it out for her to refill. “That bad?”
She nodded. “Cold as the night. Drenched in sweat. Barely any pulse.”
“And Zota?”
“Is that all you’re concerned about right now? Honestly.” She filled my glass and then set the pitcher down with more force than necessary. “Zota is fine. Cured. Orin was beside himself. Giddy as a young boy.”
Her flat voice did little to sway the building excitement in me. “I knew I could do it.”
“But at what cost?” Vora turned away and headed for the coffee table, where she arranged a small plate of bread, cheese, and meat and gestured for me to sit. “I cannot stress enough how bad your condition was.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.” I sank onto the settee and picked up the plate. A ravenous hunger gnawed at my insides, and I shoved a thick piece of sourdough bread into my mouth.
“That’s because I drugged you.” She didn’t bat an eye. “I used a mixture of your tinctures and Ever medicine to brew a sleeping aid to keep you under.”
My tinctures.I chewed slowly, wondering what blend of medicine I would need to keep on hand if I intended to cure more people of blight. “What did you use?”
