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For the first time since being raised, I slept without dreaming. I didn’t know how long I’d been out, just that my body ached from the kind of rigidity that comes with being sedentary for far too long. My eyes peeled open with the stiffness of salt-ridden sheets, becoming more fluid after several forceful blinks. The room was dark, save for a few candles scattered about the space. Their pale, orange glow illuminated a sterile environment complete with strange silver apparatuses and a field of cots. It felt…familiar. I squinted in the dim lighting.
As I propped myself up, something gave an uncomfortable tug on my inner arm. I glanced down to see tubing jammed into my vein and blood gradually flowing into my body. Blood that was draining from some sort of container riddled with the nauseating scent of mimko extract. Blood that traveled from an arm attached to a sleeping body beside me.
Kost.
All I did was stare. We were alone in what I now realized was the medical wing of Cruor, which meant he’d either found a way to magic us here in the blink of an eye, or I’d been out for several days. Since he appeared to be sleeping sounder than the dead, even with medical equipment protruding from his arm, I assumed the latter.
My brows inched together. Why…? The events of Moeras hit me in a rush, and I sank back into the cot. The Slimacks. They’d attacked, and one had managed to rake a barbed tentacle down my thigh. The image of fluorescent green bile spewing onto my wound flooded my mind, and I flinched. I should’ve been dead, rotting away from the inside out. My leg throbbed, but a far greater pain arced from my forearm, the one not attached to Kost. Gingerly, I held it above my head to bathe it in the warm light of the candles. A puckered, shiny wound stretched from the base of my wrist to my shoulder. It was sealed but healing slowly.
Suddenly, the stench of mimko made sense. They’d let the Slimack’s poison drain from my body and replenished me with fresh blood and the cleansing herb to eradicate what was left. Something in my chest shifted as I turned my chin back to Kost. How had he managed this? What had it been like, transporting me back to Cruor never knowing if I was going to make it? Was it like before? The panic must have eaten him away. With slightly parted lips and unkempt, ruffled hair, he breathed deeply without moving. His arm was outstretched to keep the tubing in place, and his fingers dangled close to the edge of my cot.
Close enough to touch.We’d never even kissed. Of course I’d wanted to, but his shy embarrassment was both exasperating and somehow infuriatingly intoxicating. I used to love the way the tips of his ears flushed when I shamelessly flirted with him. We’d come close a time or two, certainly, but I’d lost the will to keep trying after my death. I’d lost the will for a lot of things.
Without really knowing it was happening, I’d inched my hand toward his. My pinkie ghosted along his finger. I hated how wonderfully electric the sensation was. No matter how hard I tried to deny it, my body reveled in the feel of him. Anticipation thrummed through me, and my hand started to tremble. What was I even doing? Still,I wavered, fingers dancing above his. I studied the space between us, so small and yet so immeasurably large. My gaze slanted to the faded, graphite-colored symbol on the back of my hand. He’d done too much.We’ddone too much.
Retracting slowly, I laid my hand flat on my bed. The sheets crinkled beneath my touch, and a soft, questioning chatter bubbled from the corner of the room. Two sets of eyes with a nocturnal sheen stared back at me.
“Okean? Rook?” Needles scratched at my throat, and I swallowed dryly. My beasts leapt to their feet and padded toward me with restrained excitement. Their tails flicked wildly, betraying their joy, but they moved carefully as if knowing I was still in a great deal of pain. A deep purr vibrated from Okean’s chest, and he gently placed his head on my cot. Standing on his hind legs, Rook sniffed the healing gash on my arm and then chuffed. I drove my hands into their fur, scratching them behind their ears.
“They refused to leave.”
I jolted, and the tubing in my arm gave another uncomfortable tug. Kost regarded me without moving, his arm still propped in a way to ensure steady blood flow. In the low light of the candles, shadows played across the bridge of his nose and cut of his jaw. I didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping, but it wasn’t enough to fully reduce the puffiness beneath his sharp green eyes. Even so, the raw intensity of his stare made it difficult for me to think.
“Hey,” I finally managed. At least I could blame the gruffness of my voice on the need for water and not something else.
His gaze dipped to my throat, and he briefly turned away from me to snag a glass of water from a table to his right. After passing it to me, he propped himself against his pillows so he was sitting upright.
I drained the glass, but my throat was still raspy. I could’ve downed a whole well of water, but for now, I’d make do. “Thanks.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Passable.” I winced as I attempted to move. “I thought we were supposed to heal quickly.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes.” His focus momentarily shifted to the beaker between us. “Apparently Slimack poison is far from normal, though. You’ve been out for days.”
“Yes, well,” I winced as I shoved a pillow beneath my lower back and succeeded in sitting up, “I hardly think anything about dying and healing and shadows is considered normal, and yet here we are.”
I’d hoped for a small smile, or some sliver of lightness to invade his probing stare. I got neither. “Why did they attack?” he asked.
I studied the empty glass between my hands, unsure of how to answer. I’d been so convinced it wasn’t me, yet everything indicated I was the root source of the problem. I wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it—me—either. Before I could muster up the courage to respond, footsteps sounded in the hall. The double doors to the medical wing opened shortly after, the creaking hinges giving me an excuse to look away from him. But the sight I found waiting for me was an entirely different kind of hard, and I stilled in my sheets.
Leena, Crown of the Charmers Council and queen of Lendria—but most importantly, my friend—stood in the open doorway holding a glass pitcher full of water. The rosewood symbol on her hand dominated my vision and made me itch for my gloves. A faint smile graced her lips, but it did little to hide the sadness etched into her hazel eyes. Her oak-brown hair was pulled back in a braid, and instead of the customary regal gowns she’d most likely been wearing since her coronation, she’d donned simple black breeches, a midnight-blue blouse, and a pair of boots. Travel attire, it seemed. Still, there was no missing the miniscule silver griffin—the crest of the royal family of Wilheim—embroidered on her breast pocket.
Or the bestiary resting against her sternum. She reminded me so much of home. Of everything I’d walked away from.
“Need a refill?” Her voice was soft as she strode across the tiles to fill up my glass.
I took it greedily, both to satiate my thirst and to give me time to formulate words. Water chased away the burn of unshed tears, and I attempted a timid grin. “It’s been a while.”
A bit of warmth flickered into her expression. “Too long. We’ve been worried about you.” At that, she looked over her shoulder at the door. Noc glided into the room, his gaze slanting to me as he took his place by Leena’s side. He was heranam-cara, her chosen partner for the duration of their very long lives. His tousled, shock-white hair kissed the planes of his cheekbones and framed his ice-blue eyes. As he slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, the unbuttoned collar of his tunic shifted to reveal the edges of a griffin tattoo on his chest.
Noc was followed by Calem and Ozias—whom I expected entirely—and then Kaori and Raven, whom I hadn’t expected at all. Raven, dressed in simple, flowing trousers and a tunic with far too many buckles, folded her arms across her chest. A scowl dominated her face. Kaori’s expression was impassive, but I knew better. There were cracks in her stoic demeanor. The slight twitch of her lip. The subtle flexing of her fingers at her sides. Something, or rather someone, was troubling her. Likely me.
“This is beginning to feel like an intervention,” I mused as I found a space for my glass next to the blood-filled beaker. “By the way, can this be removed?” I lifted my arm.
Uma materialized from the shadows as if she’d been eavesdropping, and Kost gave her a pointed look. She said nothing, only busied herself with removing my lifeline to Kost and then pressing a thin bandage over the wound. She did the same for him, and thenquickly returned to the shadows. I’d learned after living in Cruor how difficult it was to keep secrets in a house with beings who could hear through walls if they so desired.
“Slimacks?” Raven prompted, inching closer to my cot. “Docile, dirt-eating, terrified-of-everything Slimacks?”
