“I’ll help you dress, if you want. Which, you will. You won’t be able to lift your arms yet, I know. Hedda did the same thing to me when we started my training. But I swear the tonic is worth it. You’ll feel brand new!”
If only she could have a drop of Nyri’s buzzing energy to coax her from the downy embrace of the bed. As long as she didn’tmove, Lunara could forget that her limbs felt as though they’d been chewed on by a dragon.
And yet, it wasn’t the pain of power over-spent. The agony of giving more than she had within her. Even now, she could sense the shredded fibers of her abused muscles knitting themselves back together—better, stronger.
The thought bolstered her somewhat, though she was still hesitant.
“Add ‘prying helpless Sorcerit from their deathbeds’ to the list of services you offer, and we have a deal.”
Nyri squealed and gripped her arm, simultaneously rolling and dragging until she was on her feet and Lunara was tumbling off the side of the mattress and crashing to the floor.
“Piss and shite! Ow, ow, ow.”
Burning. Burning everywhere.
It was the irony of all Sorcerit that they couldn’t heal themselves. There was no give and take in that lack of transaction, no balance. A tonic or feeding was the only way. If the wound was dire, blood needed to be gifted straight from the source—sharp fangs sinking into willing and welcoming veins. No goblets or flasks of day-old offerings.
And outside the Divine Right of Mates, forgettakenblood. Not even the Elder Council would do such a thing. It didn’t work, and only the vilest of Nachthellians had ever dared to steal a gift.
Fucking bastards.
“That’s it, just breathe.” Nyri was already tugging at her dress buttons, popping them open as she chattered encouragements. “It’ll be fine. Promise. Think tonic-y thoughts.”
“This will be much easier if you let me stand, Nyriadne.”
“Oh! Yes, silly me. Obviously.” She gripped both of Lunara’s hands in her own. “Here we go. We’ll just?—”
Sisters save Lunara from grabby Demons that insisted on yanking her all over the place.
“There’s a snack here, by the way, if you’re interested,” Nyri said.
She gestured over to a gilded tray on the bedside table. Between the bowl of strawberries and goblet of blood was a single bloom, its stalk rising from a porcelain vase. She’d never seen it’s like, with three white petals arranged in a trifecta, larger green leaves in the spaces between, yellow stamens jutting proudly from the center and tipped with pollen-laden spheres.
The first flower she’d ever seen with her own eyes that wasn’t glowing, or luring winged prey, or trying to bite her as she passed by.
The sight of it momentarily stole her pain. “What is that?”
Nyri followed her look and grinned. “Trilliatum. My favorite.” She started tugging Lunara’s sleeves down her arms. “It grows like a carpet at the base of the red balstrae, just behind the castle. You know, the primordial tree that Lyriat’s throne was carved from.”
“Stunning.” Lunara’s voice was reverent as she skimmed her fingers over the velvety surface of one petal.
“I can take you to see them later, if you like! Though, you probably won’t want to be alive by then. Hedda has a habit of making people wish they were dead. At least for the first couple days. Or weeks. I can’t remember. It’s all a blur, honestly, even though it was only last year that I started myself.”
With a tug, Lunara’s dress fell to the floor, Nyri chit-chatting away while she helped Lunara step from the pile of silk.
By the time Nyri had shoved her into billowing grey trousers that flopped around her ankles and a strange matching tunic that wrapped and tied around her waist, Lunara was sweating. Teetering. Ready to call it quits and head straight for the Veil.
Maybe there’s trilliatum in the Blessed After. That’s probably the only way you’ll be seeing it today.
Which was fine. What good was living when every step felt like dying, anyway?
Nyri brought the goblet to her lips. “Just a bit. We really don’t have much time.”
Lunara tried to deny her, but Nyri was already tipping the cup.
The first tentative sip exploded on her tongue and she nearly choked on it, gasping, power surging into her veins. Nyri tried to offer her more, but she clamped her mouth shut and pulled away. It was too much, too intense. Not safe.
Shitting stars.
