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Two jagged indents on his wrist. The torn flesh oozed an oily, dark substance. Reddish-blue lines already radiated from what should be a rather minor wound, running up his forearm and disappearing under his sleeve.
Jole was going to turn, becoming what he’d been dispatched to kill. A violent, rage-fueled beast with a hunger that couldn’t be satiated, and he would do it sooner rather than later.
Bodies handled the infection differently. Many made it a day or two without showing any obvious signs. Others turned in hours. He was one of the latter, and I bet that where the Craven had gotten him had a lot to do with that. It had likely hit a vein or nicked it at the very least.
Jole shuddered. “I’m cursed.”
“You’re not.” I tilted my head. “You’re just unfortunate.”
He turned his head to me. The hollows of his cheeks had deepened. “If you knew I was bitten while you were on the Rise, you should’ve reported me. It’s treasonous not to.”
It was.
I pushed off the wall, glancing at the bloodstone dagger. The stone was fashioned from the ruby-red rocks that had littered the coast of the Seas of Saion centuries before I was born. As a child, my father had told my brother and me that they were the angry or sad tears of the gods left to petrify in the sun. It was one of the few things in the realm that killed a Craven or those infected by them.
It also killed their makers.
The Ascended.
“You were going to try to handle it yourself?” I nodded at the dagger.
He wearily followed my gaze. “I was going to, but I couldn’t. I can’t even touch it.”
The infection wouldn’t allow it. It was kind of awe-inspiring to think about—that the bite could seize that much control of a person, preventing them from ending their life.
“I…I was going to go to the Commander,” Jole added, his shoulders shaking. “But I sat down to take a breather, and I…I thought I’d have more time. I really did. I was going to turn myself in.” His watery eyes met mine. “I swear.”
I didn’t know if that was the truth. Probably wasn’t, but I couldn’t blame him. Turning himself in meant a horrific death since the Ascended liked to make a public spectacle of executing the infected. They burned them alive, which was one hell of a way to respect and honor their sacrifice. If I reported Jole, his very last memory—if he were even still himself by then—would be his screams.
I came to stand in front of him. “Do you have family?”
A breath shuddered out of him as he shook his head. “Ma and Pa both died a few years back. It was something like a…a cold. They were fine…one moment and not the next. Died the same night.” He looked up at me, looking older with each moment that passed. “I have no brothers or sisters.”
I nodded, thinking that was at least fortunate. It was always better when no one was left to mourn.
“If I did, I would’ve gone to them,” he continued. “They…would’ve known what to do. She would’ve…come for me. Given me dignity.”
Was he speaking of someone who answered the silent call of the white handkerchiefs hung on windows and doors? It had taken a godsawful long time to learn what they represented. Half the people asked behaved as if they had no knowledge of their existence. Once I found out what those scraps of white that sporadically appeared—only to then quickly disappear—meant…I understood why. They signified that a so-called cursed resided within, one likely infected by a Craven in the same manner as Jole Crain had been. The piece of white cloth was used to alert those throughout Masadonia who risked treason to provide quick, dignified deaths to the infected.
The fact that the act was even considered treasonous and therefore punishable by death blew my mind but did not surprise me. The Blood Crown excelled at senseless cruelty.
“She?” I asked.
He nodded, swallowing hard. “The child of the gods.”
The Maiden. The people believed she was the child of the gods, but I had no idea why he thought his family, if they’d been alive, would’ve gone to her. “And how would she have done that? Given you dignity?”
“She…she would’ve given me peace,” he told me.
My brows lifted as another coughing fit hit him. Given him peace? I wasn’t sure how that was possible. The infection was addling his mind.
“What are…you going to do?” Jole wheezed, his breath rattling in his chest.
Crouching in front of him, I smiled. “Nothing.”
“W-what? You have to do something.” Confusion and a hint of panic filled his now-sunken features. “You—” He twisted his neck to the side, the veins standing out starkly as he closed his eyes. “You have to—”
“Jole,” I said, clasping his clammy, feverish cheeks. The young man’s entire body jerked. “Open your eyes.”
