I blink hazy eyes and try to figure out where I am. The room is dim and full of shadows, and I’m facing a wall I don’t recognize— though it seems vaguely familiar. The air smells musty, but the bedding beneath my head is soft and clean. I try to move, and every muscle on my frame protests. Or maybe that’s just the ache in my head. My shoulder and chest seem tightly bound, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m bandaged. A low sound comes out of my throat, and it’s so raspy that I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve had a drop of water.
That’s enough to force me to lift my head to turn and face the other way.
And then, all at once, awareness snaps into place. This is Jax’sbedroom. Or . . . it was. We’re at his old forge. The window is partially boarded over, and a few sheets have been thrown over the furniture. Dust motes hang in the air, caught in the shafts of moonlight.
Jax himself is asleep in a chair, his upper body half collapsed on the end of the bed, his hair a mess of wild tangles. Dried blood is in streaks and stains all over him. On his cheek, on his tunic, on his hands where they lie against the mattress.
Blood.Maybe he’s not actuallyasleep. I nearly sit up in alarm, but my body instantly protests.
“Jax,” I croak out, bracing my good hand against the mattress. “Jax.”
He wakes with a start, nearly sliding out of the chair before realizing he was already half out of it. When he rights himself, he chokes on his breath and stares at me. Then he exhales like he’s been bearing the weight of the world for hours, and he’s finally able to set it down.
“You’re awake,” he says— and there’s a note in his voice that tells me he was worried I wouldn’t.
“I’m awake,” I say, and it still sounds like I’m speaking through gravel. My gaze narrows. “But you’re hurt. Where are you—”
“You thinkI’mhurt?” He huffs a laugh without any humor, then glances down at his bloodstained forearms. “No, Tycho. All this isyours.”
I stare at him for a solid minute, but then I have to put my head back down. I clench my eyes closed, wishing the pain in my head would go away. “What about the others?”
“They’re fine. Sleeping.” He frowns. “We lost Malin’s horse, and Sephran’s is lame. Malin intends to send Leo on to the Crystal Palace at dawn, so long as there’s no sign of the Truthbringers.”
My thoughts don’t want to process all that. “Mercy?” I press.
“She’s fine,” he says, his voice gentling a bit. “I swear it. So is Teddy. They’re tethered in Callyn’s old barn.”
A little of the tightness around my heart eases. “What . . . what happened?”
He runs a hand down his face. “I don’t know for sure. They didn’t chase us long— though I don’t know if that was because of the fire or because we shot the scraver and they were worried about your magic. You had a pretty bad hit to the head, though. We didn’t even know aboutthatuntil we got here. It was so dark, and the arrow wound was so much worse—”
“Hit to the head?” I reach for my head, and I’m surprised when I find hair that’s matted and sticky— with blood, presumably— but no pain when I press along my scalp.
Jax nods, then shifts so he’s sitting beside me. “Just here.” He runs a hand along my hair, and just that light touch makes me shiver. Then he says, “It bled a lot— but just as Malin was talking about field sutures, it began to close over.”
“Magic,” I murmur. That’s happened before— when my magic flared to keep me alive, even without my conscious awareness.
“Yeah,” says Jax.
I brace my hand against the mattress again, but my whole body feels like it’s been trampled by a horse, and I let out a breath.
“Do you need to get out of bed?” he says.
I’ll need to attend to human needs soon, but I’m not sure I can manage it yet. I shake my head, and I’m glad when the room doesn’t spin— but the movement makes my skull pound. I desperately want to call magic to see what else I can heal, but I’m too worried about Xovaar and the rest of the Truthbringers that were on our tail.
For now, I just want to sit up, and that alone seems insurmountable. “Just— water?” I whisper. “Please.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He disappears, but only for a moment, returning with a dripping stein. I’m so thirsty I can almostsmellit. “Here,” he says. “I’ll help you sit up.”
“No,” I rasp. “I can do it.” But when I push against the mattress again, my head pounds so badly that I just want to lie down. Sparks and stars flicker in my blood, my magic eager to repair whatever it can, and I do my best to tamp it down.
If a scraver attacked us right now, I wouldn’t be able to fight at all. I can still see Xovaar descending through the smoke, ready to tear me apart.
Too close.
Without a word, Jax crawls onto the bed beside me. Almost before I’m ready, he loops an arm around my chest under the bandages. It pulls a little whimper from my throat, but he tugs me upright anyway, then eases me against the headboard, holding me there loosely. It leaves me leaning against him, gasping a little from the effort. Sweat blooms on my forehead, and I clench my jaw shut so I don’t make another sound. But despite the pain in my body, I am acutely aware of the warmth of his arm against the bare skin of my back. I can feel each individual finger where his hand rests against my waist.
When he picks up the stein and holds it to my lips, I feel helpless and ashamed.
