Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I don’t argue as he guides me into a bathing chamber. I don’t even protest when he gently strips away my clothes. His hands are gentle and he’s trying to hide the fear in his voice, but I am dying. I know it. Why fight this when I can take comfort in my final moments?
I’m too weak to stand on my own, so I lean against the wall as they pull at my boots and then my clothes. Unconsciousness beckons, luring me to its oblivion.
Kendrick mutters a curse, and I force my eyes open. Abriella stands between me and a brimming tub, eyes wide. She draws in a sharp breath through her teeth.
They’re looking at the gash on my thigh. Every part of me hurts so much, hurts like someone’s dragging shards of burning glass through my veins, so much that I’d forgotten about my leg.
“Is it poison or infection?” Brie asks.
Kendrick pales. “See how the redness is spreading all around the wound? And it’s hot.”
“Monster claws,” I whisper. I lean into Kendrick and close my eyes again. His arms tighten around me, keeping me from sliding to the floor.
“Oh no you don’t,” Abriella says. “Look at me, Jas.” She isn’t asking as my sister. She’s commanding as a queen. I feel her shadows wrapping around me, holding me upright, willing me to consciousness. “Tell me about the monster.”
“Like a death dog,” I rasp. “But three heads instead of one. With fire like a wyvern.”
Even half unconscious I can feel the tension that falls over the room.
“Mordeus’s hound,” Abriella says. “No one has caught sight of it in years.”
“We need every healer in the village,” Kendrick says. “Now.”
Abriella shouts for someone, and I let my eyes float closed again. I’m too weak to help as they lift me into the tub, and too weak to argue as Abriella takes the sponge and methodically washes all the dirt and blood from my skin. It feels nice to be taken care of. Nice not to be alone. To be more than a quickly forgotten moment in time.
The realization is so unexpected that a wave of emotion washes over me and a sob slips from my lips.
“You’re safe,” Abriella says. “I’m going to take care of you now.”
“I’m sorry.” I muster my strength to meet her loving hazel eyes. “I’ve been so awful and I am so sorry. This ring, Mordeus—it’s all my fault.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She lathers the soap in her hands before starting on my hair.
I try to lift a hand to help, but it’s too heavy. Everything’s too heavy. “I found Mordeus,” I say, and watch as the blood drains from her face. “I tried to kill him, but he’s already dead.”
She exchanges a glance with Kendrick before schooling her features and looking to me again. “We’ll talk about it later. Close your eyes,” she says. “I’ve got this.”
So I do. I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under. I dream of fire running along my bones and a cool salve painted on my burning skin. I dream of Kendrick’s soothing voice in my ear, his strong arms holding me up as Abriella promises she will get rid of my ring for good.
I dream of arguing, shouting about a stone, someone tugging at my ring and begging the gods.
And then I dream of Mordeus shoving me into a tiny, dark closet, even as his skin hangs from his bones and maggots crawl from his eye sockets. The lock clicks into place and I hear him on the other side, even as I feel the hilt of a dagger in my hand.
My sister’s scream of agony echoes in my ears.
I bang on the door, push and shove with all my might, but it doesn’t budge. I sink to the floor and curl into myself, trying to hide from the darkness, from my sister’s pain.
Then my mother’s voice in my mind: Don’t you dare give up now.
Chapter Eighteen
Jasalyn
Coming back into myself is like crawling to the surface from the deepest, darkest depths of soupy water. Like there’s a vortex pulling me back with every inch of progress I make.
Don’t you dare give up now. Fherna? My mother? Abriella? I don’t know who the words are coming from, but I listen.
I push. I crawl and fight, and the moment I shove Mordeus’s consciousness away and take control over my own body, I see it: Abriella with her hand clutched to her stomach, blood gushing through her fingers. There’s a bloody dagger at my feet, and Finn’s screaming for a healer, one hand stretched out as if he’s casting magic in my direction.
My wrists hurt, my hands trapped behind me, held immobile—Finn’s shadows, I realize, pinning them there. Because I was the one with the knife? Because I did that to Brie?