“Does that bother you?”
He slants me an exasperated look. “Yes.”
I smother a smile and for a fraction of a second I can picture it: Theo and me doing this every day. The banter, the flirting, the being-on-the-same-continent.In the same palace.I close my eyes and let myself sink into the fantasy, and for the first time in months, my future shimmers with exciting possibility. I look down and am startled to discover that in my daydream, I’m wearing a gown.
I shake my head and snap back to the present.
Across from us, Victoria rolls an uneaten passion fruit between her hands before dropping it on the untouched pile at her feet. I watch her out of the corner of my eye for a while and am surprised that she’s not eating. Instead, she continually dips her hands to the stream to gulp more water from them. She drinks so much that it’s no shock when she grabs her stomach like she’s in pain. My eyebrows pinch in worry, but she glares at me and stalks off by herself into the woods. I glance at Theo, wondering what he’d make of this.
“Will the fruit help your sister?”
“Maybe? I don’t know. She needs to eat, but not too much sugar…” He exhales heavily. “What she really needs is her insulin. If she doesn’t get it, she could become hyperglycemic, which could lead to diabetic ketoacidosis.”
“What would that look like?”
His eyes stray to the spot in the trees where she disappeared. “She’ll get tired. Blurred vision. Increased thirst. Nausea. Her breath might smell weirdly fruity. And then…” He trails off again, the worst-case scenario left hanging in the air like a fog.
I try to swallow my terror, but Theo’s not done talking.
“I really hoped I’d be able to find her purse in the water. There was so much other stuff floating around, I thought there was a chance.”
My head snaps up. “Her purse?”
“Yeah. It had her insulin in it. That’s why she asked us to look for it.”
Passion fruit churns in my stomach as I replay the crash in my head.
The backpack strap around my ankle, pulling me under. Victoria asking for her black Prada bag. Thinking she was just being spoiled. Kicking toward shore. Looping Victoria’s purse around my body. Letting it sink anyway because she was rude to me.
The truth covers me like a wave, until I’m drowning in it.
This is my fault. Victoria’s in danger because of me.
We finish eating and continue toward the center of the island. The evergreen trees start to thin, the ground sloping upward at the base of the volcano. I stay at the back of the group, my eyes fixed on Victoria like a hawk, my thoughts bouncing between her and Naomi back at camp, wishing I could push us faster, worrying whether Victoria will be able to keep up, and stressing over whether I should tell Theo about Victoria’s symptoms. Every time he tries to talk to me, I feel worse. I can’t even look at him without thinking about Victoria gulping that water like she couldn’t get enough.
I spend the next hour alternating between fantasies of being rescued and making myself sick with worry that we’ll never be found. I count the steps we take up the slope of this Portuguesevolcano, wondering what fate has waiting for us on the other side.
When I can’t stand the sound of my own thoughts for one more exhausted step, I sidle next to Victoria and Comet. I hold her back until the rest of the group has passed us, although Theo raises his scarred eyebrow and swivels his head to watch us. I wait until he’s out of earshot.
“We need to talk.” My pockets are filled with passion fruit, my fingers sticky with juice and dirt. My arm throbs where it was sewn back together, and the wound has started to swell. I’ve never felt so hideous in my life, but somehow Princess Victoria is rocking the shipwrecked look in a pencil skirt that she’s ripped to her thigh.
“Pass,” she says, before bringing her hands to her mouth like she’s going to be sick all over the forest floor. Her complexion is a worrying shade of gray.
“How are you feeling?”
“Do us both a favor and stop asking me that.”
I try again. “Theo told me that increased thirst and nausea might be symptoms of—” She cuts me a warning glare, and the rest of my sentence gets caught in my throat.
“And?” she demands, a hand on her hip. “What’s there to do about it?”
“Let us know if you feel nauseous or tired or you need a break—”
“I can take care of myself.” She throws me a sidelong glance. “I don’t even know you. You’re just some random girl—”
I’ve been trying to be nice, but my temper flares. “That your brother married.”
Her eye roll is epic. “You’re not staying married. The Firm would never allow it.”
