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I don’t know how much time passes before I wake up.
I’m not sure how to measure time after what just happened.
All I know is that it’s still dark out, and thecaltanhaven’t slowed their pace. They skim across the waves, slight bumps rocking me every so often, the water calm beneath us.
Us.
I jolt awake and reach for my rifle first, finding it at my hip. I’m up a second later, my head spinning as I search for Malix and Taraven. I find Malix first, hunched over in his seat, then when I look to my other side, where Taraven should be…
“Malix,” I say, panic rising. “Where is Taraven?”
His voice flickers over comms, weak, but steady. “He’s here,” he says. “We had to consolidate. Needed medical attention.”
My heart skips a beat.
“What?”
“I’m okay, Frankie,” Taraven’s voice says over my comms. He sounds a hell of a lot worse than Malix. “A bolt caught me in the chest.”
“That doesn’t sound okay,” I say.
“The ruins are up ahead,” Malix says. “I can see them from here; we’ll check on him there, but…”
He trails off, and I jam my receiver so hard I’m worried it’ll break my comm. “Butwhat, Malix?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” he says. “Before I ask, though—do you have any spare first aid supplies?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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MALIX
We’ve crossed the Three Lakes in mostly one piece…all except for Taraven.
I loop his arm over my shoulder as we disembark from thecaltanand head across the white sand, a massive, crumbling ruin ahead of us. Taraven is badly injured. I don’t want to tell Frankie, but he needs more medical attention than we can provide.
And I amso close. Too close to finding the people that destroyed my moon.
I can’t wait for him to recover.
There’s no time.
Frankie rushes after us up the beach, her pack slung over one shoulder and her rifle over the other. Her clothes are still damp from our run-in with the Second House forces, her hair dripping off of her forehead. We’re all exhausted; there was no time to rest when the Second House routed us at the planned shelter. Frankie’s tiredness shows in the dark circles under her eyes, her strange white sclera bloodshot.
Taraven groans suddenly, a ragged breath stuttering past his lips.
“Give me a moment,” he mutters.
Frankie gets level with us just as I help Taraven down to the sand, where he reaches over to squeeze his bad shoulder. The crossbow bolt hit him just over the collarbone, in a surprisingly tender spot for the Skoropi, and I’m sure it hurts terribly. I fight off the feeling of annoyance that come over me, wishing that he would justmoveso we can find the people that did this.
Seeing that weapon reminded me why I’m here—what exactly it is that I’m meant to do. And now that we’ve crossed the lakes, our objective is nearer than ever.
If only Taraven could just…get up and walk it off.
“Taraven!”
