Sure enough, the outermost bone is now at a strange angle, and the original hole from the godawful sandworms is now fissured, cracks in the delicate webbing radiating out toward the bone.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I tell him.
“I did what I did to save you,” he says gruffly.
“But you hurt yourself,” I say. “You hurt yourself worse.”
“I know, and I have failed you.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” I say, completely exasperated, throwing my hands in the air. “You have failed me? You literally just said it yourself. You saved me. Somehow, we managed to make it here in one piece.”
I’m gesticulating wildly, and movement behind Zan catches my eye, but I’m too focused on the male in front of me to pay it any heed.
“You really hurt yourself, Zan. What are we going to do? Certainly Ken can’t make us continue when you’re in this shape.”
“I will do what I have to do to protect you, Lily,” Zan says solemnly.
“Dude, I can protect myself.”
It’s not true, not really, but I don’t want him to hurt himself anymore or make him feel worse about the fact that he was hurt, which he obviously is berating himself for.
“Zan, I need you to seriously focus,” I tell him, channeling my most serious business pitch voice. “You cannot keep putting yourself in danger for me, okay? We are a team. We do this together. And it’s okay if you have to rely on me, all right?”
I take another look around, drinking in the horrible sight in front of me.
“Welcome to the floor is lava, Alien Edition,” Ken’s voice booms, echoing around the chamber, and the crowd of people and aliens and strange holographic spectators ripple as they burst into raucous cheers.
I don’t like this at all.
“You do know the floor isn’t actually lava in that game, Ken, right?”
“Humans make a game with lava?” Zan says, mystified.
“No, we absolutely do not,” I tell him. “We absolutely do not,” I repeat, screaming at Ken.
“Oh my god, Lily, are you guys okay? Your partner’s hurt.”
Poppy’s voice surprises me, and I realize the movement I tracked behind Zan earlier was in fact my best friend and her Draegon partner, a huge red beast who’s staring at her with utter adoration, like she’s hung the moon.
She’s holding on to his hand, and it’s pretty much the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, which makes this even worse, because those two clearly care for each other, and I don’t know what the fuck Ken is planning, but it does not look good.
“Are you guys OK?” I ask her, holding her shoulders and checking her over.
She’s still wearing the adorable little lingerie slip she had on the night we were abducted. Well, maybe abducted isn’t the right word, since we technically signed up for this shit show, but her adorable little marabou high heels that she’d paired with it look like they’ve seen some hard times.
The fluffy poof of the marabou is now wilted and covered in mud, and one high heel is completely snapped off.
“Why are you still wearing those?” I say to her, mystified.
Poppy stares at me, looking absolutely devastated. “They complete the outfit,” she offers up, as if that’s any kind of an answer.
“You’re barefoot,” she notes. “And where are your pajamas?”
“You don’t like my new outfit?” I tell her, attempting for humor and falling very, very short.
In fact, I sound like I’m despairing.
“Zan is hurt,” I tell her.
