The cut was deep. I perceived that instantly, in a detached sort of way. Vision blurring white at the edges, I stepped backward, the movement unsteady. I braced myself with the rod to keep from falling.Cyan snickered, the sound cruel and dark and victorious. My wound was fatal; I could see it in the glint in his eyes.
Swallowing a knot in my throat, I brought a hand to my side. The slash was horizontal, from above my hip to just beneath my navel. The cloth of my cloak stuck to my body, and the sickly-sweet iron smell of blood filled the air.
I leaned forward, caught in a wave of dizziness. Blood flowed from the wound and splattered the packed dirt. I vomited, and the bitter, foul taste of it lingered in my mouth.
Raising my eyes, I looked at Cyan through the haze of my vision. The puff of his chest spoke of his confidence. The man was a stain on this earth. A disgrace. And if I were to die, I would take him with me.He’d hurt no one else, never again force himself and his seed upon another girl.
Waiting for Cyan to begin his speech, I watched him through hooded eyes.
Just as the edge of unconsciousness threatened, Cyan sheathed his sword.He opened his mouth, boastful arrogance written in the set of his brows and the curve of his lips.So fucking predictable.
Before he could speak, I lunged forward and drove the rod into his chest and up through his heart.The muscles in my arms jerked, strained, and I crumpled at the effort of the movement as my legs gave beneath me. On my knees, I braced the rod up at an angle despite my clouded vision.
Impaled, Cyan grasped the rough metal; his lips worked at wordless gurgles. His blood splattered my face as gravity propelled him toward me, further embedding the rod. I blinked the burning red from my eyes.
My arms shook as I released the rod, pushing it to the side. Using the last of my strength, I rolled to avoid his form falling atop me. The motion sent heat searing through my veins even as the wound itself had gone numb.
I stared into Cyan’s eyes as we lay side by side. Two men of the guard, brothers in that right, dying at each other’s hands. My breath came in rasps, and even the clawing of my beast weakened within me.My right eye burned, and red smeared my vision. Blinking, I tried to clear Cyan’s blood from it, needing to watch him die.
When the rise and fall of his chest ceased, I lay encompassed by the moment. In his empty eyes, I saw the man I killed all those years ago for my first blooding. I’d wiped the crooked grin from him as well. Such men had no honor, no values, and were worse than my monster.
I rolled to my back. Stars speckled white and silver in the endless inky darkness above me. There was such a vastness to the sky. It made me feel small in that moment, somehow insignificant. It was a horrid, sinking feeling to experience death’s calling, its promise a hiss on the wind.
Though weariness tugged at me, I held to that hopeless emptiness. “I’m sorry, brother,” I rasped to the solitude. To Harlan and to Thatch. “I’m—”
“Neirin!”
The call of my name grounded me, brought me back from the verge of relenting to the endless sleep. With great effort, I turned my head. The cool caked clay beneath my cheek lent a chilling and a belonging. The inevitability of returning to the earth.
Through hazed, delayed vision, I made out the form of Calix some thirty paces away, barely detectable among the shadows of the trees. The boy held his gloved hand to his face, covering his nose, though even then, I was certain the pull would be intense for him. Had he been near all along, waiting for me to return to the inn? Or had he distanced himself and returned only at the irresistible scent of my blood?
The following moments came in fractured clips and sensations. My feet prickled in my boots. Numbness consumed me. Even my lips tingled. There was a dizzying rush of movement, and then the world no longer lay horizontal.
Maerel held me up, bracing herself under one of my arms, struggling to manage my weight, slurring curses into the night.
From a distant place, I drew strength and forced my legs to hold my weight, even as I relied heavily on the innkeeper’s offered support.
In the next moment of recollection, my eyes focused on the crimson splatter of blood on the steps that led up from the kitchen to my room at the inn. Another curse, a rush of dizziness. Then I was alone in my room, sprawled out on the bed. The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows on the ceiling and walls. Stretched, elongated, lacking any computable form.
“Harlan—”
A woman’s voice responded, though I could not make sense of the words. They held no importance.
The crackling life of a fire in the hearth dispelled the shadows across the ceiling, and I contemplated the concept of death. Though I knew I was not immortal, my quick healing had spared me more than once. This was beyond that. Where was the stillness of death’s approach I’d heard so much about? The release of worries, of burdens? Without sound, I choked on the emotion, on the weight of all I was leaving behind. Would Harlan’s fate mirror my own? Had I failed him just as I hadfailed Thatcher? It was almost too much, more painful than the wound that drained my life with each breath. Evera, at least, would be safer without me. Wed to a man she held no desire to marry, yes, but safe at least. Bitterness soured my throat, and I pushed the thought aside, for it too was too painful, in a different sense.
Vaguely, I was aware of the door closing and of the hollowing aloneness.
I lay on a quilt, its pillowed surface beneath the prickle of my fingers too sensitizing. Gasping for breath, I drew a hand under my cloak and shirt.Slick and sticky blood pasted the cloth to my skin. My fingers found my wound, a cavity of broken flesh, and I shuddered. Each beat of my heart pulsed in my ears, and a slippery, heated sack of flesh protruded from the crevasse. At the touch of it, my head spun, and panic choked at my throat.
Withdrawing my hand, I squeezed my eyes closed as tears welled. My body trembled as I cried. There was no physical pain, at least. Though the clutch of regrets, of failures, of remorse harbored greater suffering than anything of touch or sensation.
Wheezing, I lay in the darkness, terrified of the unknown. And from a deep, distant place, I detected my monster’s presence. Not a clawing, for he had no fight left either. It came as a quiet voice. A goodbye.
With no reason left to fear him, I released my power to him on a breath. And when the shift came, the heat was liquid warmth. My bones didn’t crack or shatter; they swelled and shifted with a strange fluidity. And then everything went white.
31
EVERA
