“Wanting to spare her. I understand. But it’s wrong.”
“She-she’s…fuck, she’s not even old enough to drink!” Which, since he wasn’t from 21stcentury America, meant nothing to him. “She’s practically still a kid,” I added.
“Yes, she is.” Cheriour’s hold on the woman’s shoulder tightened when she choked on more black bile. “But can you justify leaving her in this condition?”
The woman’s discolored skin was peeling away in big chunks; the yellowed bone of her right arm protruded through a thin, mottled layer of muscle. Her lungs rattled wetly with every inhale. She vomited almost non-stop. The poor thing had to be inexcruciatingpain.
“We can’t heal her,” Cheriour said. “She’ll continue to deteriorate.”
“But haven’t you—did you at leasttryto find a cure?” It felt like a massive rock was sitting in my stomach.
“We have. Many times. The result is always the same. This disease kills them slowly. I’d rather end their suffering quickly.” He turned the woman toward him and tilted her head back, baring her throat. She didn’t protest. Not even when he lifted his blade. She stared at the heavens, her eyes unfocused, her mouth hanging slack. Dried blood and puke caked her chin.
Cheriour smoothed his hand over her brow, murmuring an apology before he slit her throat.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was cold all over and shivering, even as the sun baked my skin.
The woman died silently. Almost peacefully.
Cheriour picked her up and laid her next to the decapitated woman.
So theyhadknown each other. Or maybe he was guessing. But the look on his face as he stood up…
It lasted barely a second before he sucked in a breath and wiped his expression clean. But it’d been long enough for me to glimpse the pureanguishthat writhed at his insides.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled as Cheriour walked over to pat Sacrifice’s nose.
He said nothing, but a ghost of a smile touched his mouth. Not a cheery grin. Definitely not. More of a“thank you for not being a crazy bitch and acknowledging my pain”kind ofsmile.
“Go to the square,” he murmured, “and wait there until I return. We’ll be finished soon.”
He walked away before I could say anything else.
15
Swindon
Terrick and I emerged from the forest on a late-summer afternoon.
I’d spent much of the morning ailing with an aching belly, so Terrick carried me through the last leg of our journey. I clutched at his neck with slick, trembling hands, and buried my face into his shoulder. Terrick always smelled like pine needles. The scent had become a comfort.
“There now, lass,” he murmured as we approached the town called Swindon. “I’m putting you down.”
“No!” I clung to him.
“Yes. You’re perfectly capable of walking.” He bent, depositing my feet onto the ground. “Now…open your eyes, lass.” His rough, gnarled hand touched my cheek.
“I can’t. They’re stuck.” I raised my chin.
Terrick tapped my shoulder. “Don’t lie.”
I drew back when he grasped my hand. “I won’t go!”
“We’re already here.”
“I hate Wraiths!Hatethem! I want to go back to the woods.”
“There are no Wraiths in Swindon.”
