Chapter One
Everything was a blur.
Each memory merged into the next, a hazy mess of color and sound and not-quite-consciousness.
She was on a ship of ice. Frost glittered through the dark memories, illuminating nothing but pain. An ocean of dark water enveloped her—nearly as cold as the vessel itself. She was lost in the vast sea, an invisible fragment among the waves, tossed between each swell, tumbled over reef and stone. There was the feeling of grit, rough against her…
Sand.
Breathing.
Just… breathing. Air sputtering between gasping lips. Heaving as her body expelled the water to make room for every life-giving breath it fought for.
Exhaustion.
More darkness.
Him.
Two hands hoisted her up and liberated her from the soggy grave she had consigned herself to. Arms covered in a delicately embroidered coat that her fingers would know anywhere wrapped around her, sure and warm.
A voice that resonated with her very soul.
Her hair was smoothed away from her face. She was still damp, and felt perhaps this would be her existence from now until forever. Air sucked the moisture from her, setting her body to shivering. Her brow couldn’t dry; it was constantly slick with sweat.
Fever raged through her. At least, she thought so. Maybe he told her so.
Cold, hot, cold.
Mumbled words, sparks of light, more darkness.
Time persisted like this. For how long, Vi couldn’t quite say. She was alive, but hanging by determined, ragged threads and a body too stubborn to give in.
She screamed herself hoarse as her wounds were ripped back open—something muttered about her clumsy healing needing to be “reset”. She gasped as agony ebbed and flowed and her tissue was mended anew. Salves were smeared on her and potions poured down her throat; she had no choice but to drink or drown.
Every time her eyes opened, they stayed that way a little longer. Slow blinking seconds connected in her reforming consciousness.
Wind rattled against the drawn shutters on the sole window of the hovel where he’d stashed her. There was a hearth at her right side, always burning. Too hot, or not warm enough, never right in the middle. But the flames were a familiar and welcome companion. They were the only thing that made sense to her.
At her left was Taavin. He would curl up, leaning with his back against the door, light always surrounding him even when he looked as though he were sleeping.
How was he here? And where exactly washereanyway?
If she stretched far enough, she might be able to touch him. But Vi had neither the strength nor the energy to try.
Sometimes, she would wake to find him fumbling around in a trunk, open like a clam against the wall opposite the fire. She would hear the sound of corks popping before bright herbaceous smells cut through the briny air.
Other times, she opened her eyes and he was hovered over her, lips moving fast and soft. Most of the words she could identify if she thought hard enough—and thinking was very difficult. But a good many she couldn’t. So Vi didn’t expend too much effort on identifying which was which. She’d forget the next time her eyes opened anyway.
Vi blinked into the twilight.
This time was different than the others.
Her mind was sharper—clearer. She was present in the moment and keenly aware of her own excruciating existence. Her thoughts were still jumbled, but now felt like pieces she could put her fingers on and begin to snap back together.
Vi turned her head toward a soft clinking sound.
“Taavin?” Her lips stretched painfully, and the iron taste of blood swelled where the delicate skin cracked.
