My mother gasped and threw her arms around me, shaking me so violently in her disbelief that I almost toppled over. Warren clapped me on the back after a moment of jaw-dropped blinking. Maurice gave a morose nod of approval from where he’d risen from his seat.
“That’s incredible, Adrian,” my mother cried. “I can’t believe it. The second Trial! You’ve passed the second Trial!”
“Let me guess. Dante did all the work,” Warren teased.
I threw a playful punch his way, which he dodged before holding his hands up in mock surrender.
“We have to celebrate,” my mother said. “I know you have to train for the next one. That frightful old man won’t let you stay away for long. But maybe we can convince him to give you an afternoon off. I can invite Roger and Jenny, and I’m sure Sarah would bake a pie or—”
“Help!”
Everyone on our side of the deck turned toward the violent cry. The scent of salt water wafted toward us. I scanned the crowd, almost dizzy from the overwhelming sting invading my nose. I shouldn’t have been able to see clear across the Deck, all the way past the fourth tunnel, but I could. My vision was somehow sharpened, stronger than ever before.
I whirled to find Dante.
Do you smell that?I asked.
Heightened senses, he said as if that were all the explanation that was needed.That must be the Blessing we were given for succeeding in the second Trial.
Blessing?
“Please, by the Geist, someone help me!”
Our mental communication was interrupted by another shrill scream. Chaos broke out around us. People were moving toward the desperate shout and, once I realized where it was coming from, I was moving too; running.
Dahlia.
Dante—
I’m coming.
I sprinted across the deck, Warren hot on my heels. Several others had beaten us to the fourth tunnel, but they had come to an abrupt stop on the outer edge. Whispers and murmurs rang out along the deck, horrified gasps as mothers turned their children away. My heart hammered against my chest as I pushed my way through the gathered crowd.
Then I froze too.
Soaking wet, her brown hair plastered to her pale cheeks as she limped out of the tunnel, Dahlia dragged a hulking mass behind her. She was sobbing, tears flowing freely down her face as she fell to her knees and bent over the thing she’d been dragging.
No, not athing, I realized, with a terrible shiver. It was Cyrus.
He was unconscious, his skin a pallid blue, bloated and unmoving.
Dahlia let out a horrific, guttural cry and fell onto him, her arms draping over his chest as she stared into his sightless eyes. “I’m here, Cyrus. I’m here. We’re out now, okay? We’re out. Wake up, Cyrus. Please wake up. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
A priest rushed forward. And another. They knelt beside Cyrus’s unmoving form. One of them lowered his ear to Cyrus’s heart. Then he started pressing forcefully down on his chest, again and again.
“What are you— No. Stop. Stop it!” Dahlia shrieked. “You’re hurting him. What are you doing to him?”
She swung at the priest, knocking him over. He gaped up at her but then Dante was there. He curled over Dahlia's limp partner and pressed his lips to Cyrus’s, blowing air into him. The other priest pushed Dahlia back and tried to explain that Dante was helping. But she must not have understood him through her grief. She swiped at the priest and sent him sprawling across the pavement. Then she ran for Dante.
Warren looked my way and nodded. We sprang forward as Dahlia pulled back her fist, taking aim again. Warren grabbed her from behind. He pinned her arms up above her head and whispered into her ear to calm her down. But she was too strong. Somehow, two years younger and at least fifty pounds lighter, she hauled herself free. I darted in front of her, pushing her back so Warren could grapple her again. I held firm as I tried to reassure her.
Dahlia gasped. “Why ishehere? What are they doing?”
I turned. Dante was still kneeling over Cyrus, blowing air into his lungs. Beyond him, more priests had arrived, all in flowing green robes. They began to push the gathering crowd back, giving Dante and Cyrus space. Two of them rushed forward to help as Warren, Dahlia, and I looked on, dumbfounded.
“They won’t hurt him, Dahlia,” Warren promised. “They just want to help. Let them help.”
She finally stopped fighting and deflated. Dahlia dropped to her knees, chest heaving, sobbing as she watched, helpless.
