And ever since that first time, my revival times have varied. So I can't tell if it's minutes or hours later when I'm violently returned to my body, jolting awake with a gasp.
"Shit! Are you in pain? Is she in pain? Do something," Everett says frantically from somewhere beside me.
Someone shushes him and adjusts a blanket over me. "Sangfluir?"
Opening my eyes, I find that we're in my room. Silas takes one of my hands and kisses my fingertips, his crimson gaze trained on my face.
"How do you feel?"
Weak. I try to sit up, but as usual, my bones are like cold lead after reviving, so it takes a couple of tries. Once I'm propped up against the headboard, I squint out the window. It's dark outside.
Fuck. How long was I out?
And even more importantly…
I look back at Silas. "Tell me you did not inject me with that shit while I was unconscious."
He looks down at my hand, still grasped between both of his. I expect my body to start breaking out in hives or a cold sweat, but there's nothing besides a slight curl of apprehension in my gut. In fact, something about it is...comforting. His fingers and hands are covered in countless little scars from casting, and I'd like to kiss every single one of them.
"I did. But there was a good reason for it."
Silas explains howreveriumhelps Crypt and how Crypt brought a colorless herb back from the Divide that Silas has since been developing into an elixir to help me with my episodes. But then he sighs heavily, pulling at his hair as if the voices in his head are tormenting him.
"I'm a fool. It didn't work on you—of course it didn't, because I developed the elixir with blood magic and not necromancy."
Everett does a double take. "Necromancy? Why would you have to…"
When understanding crosses his face, I nod. "Only death magic can heal the dead."
"You're not dead," he snaps, his arctic blue eyes penetrating.
"I'm not exactly alive, either," I mutter, then frown. "Where are Baelfire and Crypt?"
They exchange a glance that I don't like. Immediately, I try to get out of bed, gritting my teeth against the lethargic heaviness of my limbs. But Silas gently grips my upper arms to keep me in place, shaking his head.
"They knew causing a scene would get them in trouble. As I said, Crypt is as invulnerable as a cockroach, and even if the Immortal Quintet is pushing things, they wouldn't dare kill Brigid Decimus's miracle youngest son. It would cause too much of an uproar. They'll both be fine, and getting you out of there was worth it."
I stare at him, then at Everett. Then I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I'm exhausted from that episode, but now all I can think about is how Crypt returned in such terrible shape and the look of agony on Baelfire's face when he was hit by the silverblend spell.
If either of them comes back hurt…
My throat tightens.
Caring about others leads to pain. That's another thing I learned early on when I grew attached to my first caretaker. She was killed in front of me for saying the wrong thing to one of Amadeus's favorite necromancers, and at only four years old, I became terrified of experiencing that loss ever again.
So when Lillian was brought in to meet me six months later, smiling gently and speaking sweetly, I refused to talk to her. I pushed her away. I was a brat to her for months, hoping she would stop coming to take care of me every day so I wouldn't have to be afraid of losing her, too.
But no matter what I did to repel her, she always returned. And years later, when Amadeus thought I'd outgrown a caretaker and decided it would be amusing to make Lillian fight in his arena, I took her place every time. I took any beating or punishment they thought she deserved for simply existing. I did anything and everything I could for her because how the fuck else could I possibly repay someone for loving me when I make it so hard?
It's no different here. These legacies are mine, so I have to protect them.
Even if that means facing the entire Immortal Quintet at once.
But when I try again to get out of bed, Everett places a cool hand over one of mine, catching my eye. "I'll go. I can get answers quickly."
"I don't want answers. I want to kill anyone who touches any of you four that isn't me."
His face softens into something tender, and he scoffs softly. "So territorial. All you need to do is rest, Oakley."
