Rain needlesmy face and salt splashes my mouth. I gag, then cough, but the coughing awakens a sharp burn that makes me hold as still as humanly possible.
I try to pry my lids open but fail. Through blistered lips, I sip in a tiny, cautious breath that burns like Fae-fire. I settle on inhaling through my nose, which hurts a smidge less.Lore?
Yes.His voice sounds rife with nerves.
What’s happening?
Daya is swimming you to safety.
The cage?
She’s hooked it to her tusk.
Your crow?
Still inside, my love. Still inside.
He sounds like I feel—shattered.
Lore?
Rest, Behach Éan.
Has my skin puddled around my bones?
No.
Would you have kept loving me if it had?
I would love you in any form.
Even skinless?
With a quiet smile, he murmurs,You don’t seem to mindmeskinless.
I grimace because his version of skinless is dark and smoky, whereas I’d have been bloody and bony.
Rest, Behach Éan. You need to rest.
I smile as I collapse back into oblivion.
A sweet one this time.
* * *
I’ve stopped moving,and though my bones ache, my lungs feel . . . I take a tentative breath. The air snakes down my throat like a sharp blade, then rubs against my insides like sandpaper. I guess they don’t feel that much better.
I spread my fingers, which sink into something cold and grainy—sand?
Though my eyes feel full of honey, I manage to heft my lashes up a fraction. Above me sprawls a white sky, and against it, two pitch-black faces—one made of shadows, the other, of runny makeup.
I carry my hand up to my neck to feel for the chain, but my fingers encounter no beads, only dry skin and hardened, stretchy black material. “The—cage?” I croak. “Where’s—the cage?” My voice is so scratchy it sounds as though it’s clawing itself out of my mouth.
“The cage?” My father’s complexion deepens, cutting a brighter contrast with the wan sky.
“Please tell me—it’s here.”
“Oh, it’s here all right.”
