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The pain branched through him like lightening, stabbing, shredding, clawing. Náli closed his eyes, took the deepest breath he could, and pictured the one thing that called to him from the other side. The thing that had drawn him back, conscious or comatose, from the world of the dead each and every time.
He pictured Mattias’s face, that forever-worried notch between his brows, and the automatic reach of his hands, ready to catch him, and comfort him, to carry him, if he must. He imagined the low, rumbling timbre of his voice, and it was almost as if he sat across from Náli on the path, within reach.
“…Náli. Náli!”
Oh. There was his voice. Laced with panic, even more so than usual. He was such a fusspot, that man. As doting and concerned as a nursemaid.
“You would run from me?” the Sel asked, panting with effort as he drew up behind him. “You don’t know the first thing about this magic. You can’t hope to control it.”
“Náli!”
Through the awful churning pain in his gut, Náli managed to lift his head, and Mattias was there. So close! Take some of this, he thought, but couldn’t say. I need you to take one more burden, my brave captain.
His face was a mask of fear, the slant of his brows heartbroken, his dark gaze frantic. He was reaching out, but someone had hold of his sleeve; Náli saw a strong hand gripping him, holding him back.
That wouldn’t do.
Something whistled in the air overhead.
The pain reached a violent crescendo.
Náli pitched forward, grabbed Mattias’s tunic, and thrust their mouths together. The moment he felt lips against his own, the knowledge filled his mind, and he breathed a morsel of power across his lover’s tongue.
Mattias jolted against him. Hands lifted to grip his shoulders – but they didn’t shove him away. Mattias’s mouth softened against his own, and Náli could feel him swallow; could feel him accept that which was offered.
The vicious pain eased enough that Náli could pull back and take a deeper breath. His vision was blurred at the edges, but he recognized the catacombs, the dim lantern light, the faces around him. He’d made it, then. Had crossed back over and into his own, living consciousness.
Mattias gasped, face touched now with shock. He pressed a hand to his throat, his chest. His breath steamed as if he were outdoors, and his voice was ragged when he said, “What? What did–”
Náli coughed, and felt the hot trickle of blood run down his chin. The pain swelled again, and he bit back a cry. “It’s not…finished. It’s…”
Someone crowded in beside Mattias, and took Náli by the back of the neck. Dragged him in. It was Klemens, his face grim, his grip firm, as he initiated the press of lips to lips. “Do it,” he murmured against Náli’s mouth, and so Náli thrust his tongue between his lips and fed him a mouthful of death magic.
Klemens reeled back, coughing, face turning away, but his hand stayed steady on the back of Náli’s neck, holding him upright when he would have swooned. His mouth was smeared red.
Then fingers touched Náli’s cheek, turned his head, and Danski kissed him.
The moment he withdrew, Einrih was there, angling his head anew, thumb brushing along his jaw.
His eyes slipped closed, but he could feel the difference in Darri, the shape of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, when he kissed him last. It took all of Náli’s awareness to break off a bite of magic and lay it over their tongues with his own. Exhaustion gripped and dragged at him – but the pain eased, with each transfer, the shredding roar of power in his chest slowly fading to a warmth that was almost pleasant. It swamped him, surging and flowing, so that he once again felt suspended in a silken sea, the way he had when he first woke on the other side.
But this time, he could feel the strong, supportive hands of his Guard holding him up. Could feel their breath and hear their low murmurs, the catches in their voices as they struggled to help him and to understand. His head lolled, and was cupped in a wide palm. Arms caught him around the shoulders, and he knew without looking that it was Mattias who’d taken him, who’d bundled him into his lap.
“Náli,” a low murmur in his ear. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes…”
And then sleep dragged him under.
