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Running for her, I use my wings to propel me faster, and I drop to my knees. I skid to a stop next to her body, disturbing a cloud of dust from the dry dirt.
“Hannah. Hannah.” I shake her shoulder, jostling her unmoving body. “Hannah, answer me.”
She doesn’t make a sound.
She’s as still as death. She’s not even breathing.
Rolling her to her back, I examine her.
She’s pale, yet her forehead is burning up when I touch it with my knuckles.
Suddenly, her chest starts rising and falling with erratic gasps. I press my fingers to her neck, dread pooling in my stomach while I feel her fluttery pulse.
In the short time we’ve been bonded, I’ve gotten used to our hearts syncing up, but they’re not matching now. Her heartbeat is twice as fast as mine.
Which means what’s happening to her isn’t natural. An affliction coming from the outside.
The bargain.
It got to her after all.
“Oh, darling, no. Please, no.” Bowing my head, I place my forehead on her chest and close my stinging eyes.
Her skin is so hot. Regardless of how she brushed off my concern, I know it’s not from the weather or working too hard.
She has a raging fever.
If I thought praying to the suns or the stars would help, I’d do it, but even if there were a powerful deity watching over me, they wouldn’t grant my request. I’ve already tried that, and my begging has always gone unanswered.
Maybe I don’t deserve a blessing. In fact, I’m certain I don’t.
But Hannah shouldn’t be punished for my sins.
Placing my hand under hers, I link my trembling fingers with her limp ones, wishing more than anything that she could squeeze me back.
She doesn’t.
She remains unconscious, her lungs spasming as they struggle to get some air.
Immediately, I scoop Hannah into my arms and carry her inside to make her more comfortable.
I can get a cold rag for her head. I could even go steal some amazing food for her to eat. But dread fills my chest because I know there’s nothing I can do to fix this.
The sickness wasn’t supposed to be able to get to Hannah here, but it did.
It has.
HANNAH
Iwake to the most beautiful face in the world. Ellister’s face.
The ceiling of our bedroom is his backdrop as he leans over me, and I realize I’m lying on the bed. Groggy, I glance around while trying to recall how I got here. We were talking to a stranger, and then… and then…
“I passed out?” I ask as I picture the eerily similar way my mother found me the morning my first symptoms hit.
Nodding, Ellister looks devastated and pissed. His eyes are shimmering with pain, and that wrinkle on his nose is back.
I’d missed that little crease. He’s been so happy lately, I haven’t seen it in a while.
