Iryana slowly opened the door, peering anxiously into the waiting darkness. She could just make out the shape of the bed and the small window.
She could smell the faint bitterness of dried herbs and sweat, and beneath that, the faint hint of blood.
“Hadima?” Iryana whispered, voice raw and brittle. Tears clung to her lashes, threatening to fall.
Please,she begged silently.Let her be okay.
There was no answer.
She crossed the room, her steps dragging. Every part of her resisted, afraid of what she’d find when she closed that distance. When she came to the side of the bed, she paused. Reaching her hand out, she slowly and carefully lowered it onto the bed. Her fingers touched the worn fabric of her sister’s quilt, and she felt her sister’s body beneath the blanket.
“Hadima?” she asked again, urgency creeping into her voice.
At first, there was no answer, just a slight rustling that Iryana thought she might be imagining. But the voice that followed was real, dry and rasping.
“Iryana?”
Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the side table to keep herself upright. A shuddered breath tore out of her as relief swept through her body.
“It’s me. I’m here,” she said, the words catching in her throat.
“What are you doing—can you light the lantern?”
“Yeah.” Iryana wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, fumbling for the lantern on her sister’s table.
Light erupted into the shadowed room.
She turned, almost afraid to look. The only sound was the slide of her shoes as she slowly turned.
Hadima looked awful, but very much alive. Darkening purple bruises speckled her face and the scoop of neck visible above her nightdress. Pillows were propping up one of her legs. She seemed thinner than she had before; an exhausted weariness in her eyes. Eyes that were watching Iryana with a sad intensity.
Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to start. Years of regret and pain, so much pain, there was too much to say.
“I—” she started, but guilt choked her.
Hadima filled the silence. “Tonhald said you carried me all the way back.”
“You were unconscious,” she murmured, twisting her fingers together.
“He said you were barely standing. That you almost collapsed.”
“I’m fine.” But the words came out too fast, too defensive. “I was just tired.”
Hadima frowned, and then shifted, trying to sit up—but the movement caused her to cry out.
Without thinking, Iryana rushed forward to ease her back down against the pillows. But as soon as she was comfortable, Iryana retreated to the far side of the room, putting distance back between them.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had to come.” She swallowed, looking away. “To apologize. Before I go.”
“Go?” Hadima’s voice sharpened, panicked. “Go where?”
Iryana stared at the floor.
“I’m not coming back to the post.”
“What?” Hadima started trying to sit again, wincing. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill him. I’ll try again—don’t give up on us yet.”
