Once a pint had been drawn, I felt the second needle enter. First, I felt a coolness at the bend of my elbow, then a slow wave of tingling traveled up my arm, into my shoulder, creeping toward my chest. My teeth chattered faintly. I bit down hard to stop it.
Across the room, a monitor blinked and whirred, displaying numbers I didn’t understand. I wanted to lift my head, to watch the healer’s face for any flicker of concern, but I felt heavy, not pinned, just sinking.
A soft, chemical smell filled my nose—sharp, metallic, laced with something sweet and sickening. My tongue tasted faintly of copper.
“Breathe normally,” the healer said, adjusting a dial on the machine. “It’s normal to experience lightheadedness, chills, or a metallic taste.”
Normal. I almost laughed.
Nothing about this felt normal.
If this was what it meant to be purified, I wasn’t sure how much of myself would be left by the end.
Chapter 30
“Faith does not exist without hope.”
- The Old Book
Karina had to physically escort me back to my quarters because I could barely walk and had lost consciousness twice during the transfusion. It wounded my ego a little, but I didn’t have the energy to fight both the dizziness and her. So, I begrudgingly accepted the arm around my waist.
I lay on my back in bed, my breathing shallow. My entire body was so sore that I felt like I’d gotten kicked by a horse. I was also unbelievably cold. Tremors wracked me. My body had refused to stop shaking since the moment the second needle came out of my arm.
A nearly silent knock sounded at my door, and an all-too-familiar figure opened it and walked in.
Rowan.
My pulse sped up at the sight of him.
The light from the hallway framed Rowan’s figure for a moment before the door clicked softly shut behind him. His boots barely made a sound against the floor as he crossed the room, his expression unusually tense.
“You look awful,” he murmured, crouching beside the bed. His eyes swept over me, quietly assessing the damage.
“Thanks,” I rasped. My voice was hoarse, my throat dry and raw.
“I was coming to get you for training, but it seems you’re indisposed at the moment.”
The corners of his mouth tightened.
I tried to lift my head, but the movement sent a sharp ache down my spine. Wincing, I let it fall back against the pillow.
“I think you’re right.”
Rowan’s brow lifted momentarily before dropping and furrowing. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against my hand where it peeked from underneath the blanket. His touch was warm, and I fought the urge to curl into it.
“The chills and soreness are common after the transfusions. It’s your body adjusting. It’ll pass.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s reassuring.”
Rowan’s thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist absently, almost as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I’ve seen many go through this. You’ll be fine. You’re stronger than most.” His words sounded reassuring, but I wasn’t sure that they were meant forme.
A small wave of vulnerability washed over me.
“I’m not sure I feel very strong right now. Just look at how fragile I’ve become.”
His hand stilled, fingers curling briefly into a loose fist before he pulled back. “Strength isn’t just fists and swords.”
I closed my eyes briefly and exhaled through the tightness in my chest. I was trying my best to stay angry—though my fire had dimmed, stay determined—though my will had wavered, and stay alive—though my body was breaking. When I opened them again, Rowan was still there, still watching, still not leaving.
