Not a tree branch. An antler. A sharp, spiked antler glazed and crusted in blood. He points it at the shadows behind us with a shaky hand, huffing and panting in great distress.
At this, Niklaus and I look back to the shadows under a dying tree. Nothing, I see noth—
“Back!” Vrath howls.
Dellilian emerges, crouched low with speckled paws lifted and stepping slowly, preying on the man in front of us as if he is some insignificant rodent she’s hunting for game. A fine mist of coal and glimmers of amethyst light orbit the small, black wolf. A charred cloud of night and an eerie quiet that eats away at the natural sound of the forest.
He’s scared of Dellilian?
Abruptly, Vrath reaches into his coat pocket in a burst of energy—fumbling with something wet and the color of a pale peach. It’s spread like a starfish, dripping, shining with a single piece of jewelry.
Oh my god, it’s a severed hand!
A woman’s hand!
I shriek as he squeezes what’s left of the chopped wrist until a small drizzle of dark cherry blood drenches his antler. Vrath quickly marks the dirt with his deranged weapon coated in a woman’s blood. And in a contained explosion of winter air, umbral clouds, and ink that breathes over us before we have a chance to run—he travels.
It isn’t like the few times I’ve triggered the ability. My moments seem to suck me in like a tornado. This way of traveling doesn’t feel right in any sense. It feels like the cold side of eternity has a gaping wound that Vrath invades like a virus. A place where light goes to rot.
And before I know it, that infectious ink blasts over us, dragging me into that festering wound without any opportunity to resist. My hands find Niklaus’s elbow, and I latch on until my knuckles turn white. I can’t risk the possibility of me leaving him behind since I’m not the one calling the shots.
“Think of where you want to go, Spitfire! Think of somewhere you’ll feel safe!”
29. Krimson Arthur Valdawell
Sapphire
The dream comes again.
The cliffs. The storm. My brother screaming my name.
It’s more vivid and ethereal than any dream I’ve ever had. The jagged, glass-like rocks cut into my palms, extracting thick streams of blood to rain down my arms and into my shirt. And the sting of my skin peeling from my hands as I begin to lose my grip from the downpour, shaking my head to fling the water and wet hair out of my eyes.
“Krimson! I’m over here!” The louder I yell, the weaker my voice becomes.
“Sapphire! I’m here! I’m coming!”
I cry out as white and pink lightning crack across the gray sky.
I’m going to fall! I can’t hold on much longer!
Tears burn my eyes. I can hear those heavy footsteps splashing through the mud.
He’s close. He knows where I am. He’s going to find me. He’s going to save me!
“I’m slipping, Krimson! Please don’t let me fall!”
Skylenna
It feels like I haven’thad much sleep in twenty-one years.
Tonight, though, I blame my restlessness on the fact that Krimson and Sapphire have yet to return home from their night out on Main Street. It’s not that I’m worried about them—I’ve made sure to raise them strong. Both physically and mentally. It’s what Kane and Dessin would have wanted. But I think it’s the loneliness that keeps me awake these days. Chekiss goes to sleep fairly early after helping me clean up after dinner. And after that, I usually do some reading on the front porch swing while the sun goes down. So often I would imagine Kane sitting there with me, reading out loud while I rest my head on his lap and let his soothing voice caress me to sleep.
But after so many years, those thoughts have made me unbearably sad. Even though I try to hide my sadness from my children, they are too smart to fool. They have his brilliant mind, and I’ve known I’d have trouble getting anything past them since they were born.
Tonight, I tried to fall asleep alone in my bed. But something about the soft sheets rubbing against my legs made me cold. It triggered a memory of the nights in the forest, on the run, Kane would let me tuck my cold toes into the backs of his knees. I’d shiver against his warm back and nuzzle the icy tip of my nose against his hot neck. It always made him chuckle no matter how exhausted he was.
A couple of hours lying in the darkness, I got out of bed, put on my robe, and went to Dessin’s room. I massage his legs, move his arms to prevent muscle atrophy, and kiss his hands while I pray for God to bring him back to me. Most of the time, taking care of his body in this coma is a ritual that keeps me sane. I’ll change his clothes, brush his hair, and ensure he has clean sheets. How could I not? He’s my soulmate. The love of my life. I will take care of him until the day I die. There will never be anyone else.
