Seconds later she appeared, and her eyes went wide as she saw me on the bed holding a convulsing Tristan.He’s a god. I didn’t think gods had any sickness.It didn’t make sense to me.
“Gods…” my mother said the moment she ran to the bed. “I don’t— Mara isn’t here. She usually?—”
“Mara?” I asked, but my mother didn’t respond. She just looked at Tristan frantically.
“Let’s get him on his side; she usually does that during his episodes,” she said quickly, helping me turn him over. “They cause his body to seize, and we don’t want him to choke. Sometimes these make him sick.”
“But he’s agod,” I argued.
Once again, she said nothing, just focused her gaze on Tristan’s face. “They usually only last a couple of minutes.”
He faced me now, and, slowly, his eyes were beginning to open. Again, I heard a scream in my ears, but his mouth never moved. I realized then that I wasn’t justhearinghim. It was internal, like I had reached into his mind and could feel his suffering. He had called to me, whether he realized it or not.
“Tristan,” I whispered, lowering my face to his.
His eyes slowly rose until they met mine, and they were swollen and red from the strain in his face.
“Tell me what to do. I’ll let you in, just this once. Tell me how to help you.”
He looked like he was struggling to focus, his lips pressing together as hard as they could. But eventually, I heard the faintest whisper.
Fire.His voice entered my mind in a haunting whisper, similar to how it sounded when he used to speak to me.
“Fire?” I asked, confused.
His body shook hard, and he blinked a couple of times as he tried to focus again.Yours.
I didn’t understand.My fire? How would my fire help?
Please.
Shaking my head, I brought my hand toward him and called to my fire. It took a little time to surface, but eventually, the heat hummed through my arm, and I directed it toward my fingers. My eyes began to glow against his face, reflecting in both of his eyes, and I was faintly aware of my mother staring at me from the side.
“Now what?” I asked him quietly.
With a sudden jerk, he was able to move his face forward an inch, just enough for my hand to connect with his cheek. I didn’t have any time to think before the orange light of my flames seemed to seep from my fingers, creeping into his skin and crawling across his face until they reached the black veins there. The moment they connected, I watched the veins retreat slowly, like my fire was burning away whatever dark magic lurked in his skin.
After a couple of seconds, I felt Tristan’s body fall slack against the bed, his convulsions ceasing almost immediately.
“How did you do that?” my mother asked.
“I don’t know.”
I watched Tristan’s eyes close as he took in staggering breaths, trying to regain what he had lost. Eventually, my flames dispersed into his skin, trickling away like they had been absorbed.
Why did that work?I asked myself, wondering if Tristan was listening. He didn’t answer, though.
“I’ll get you some cold water,” my mother said to him, scurrying out of the room.
The two of us sat there in silence for a long moment, and I was almost nervous to breathe too loudly. Eventually, Tristan’s eyes rose and met mine again.
“Thank you,” he said breathlessly. Then I felt a hand on top of mine, and I realized that I was still cupping his cheek.
My face instantly heated in embarrassment, and I pulled my hand away, slipping from under his grasp. “You’re welcome,” I answered quickly, “I… think.”
I peeled away from the bed and remained standing as I waited for my mother to return. Tristan’s eyes never left mine. He just watched me as I paced from one edge of the bed to the other.
“How did I do that, exactly?” I asked.
