“Ash,” she choked. Someone prodded the sore spot on her head. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” he said. But his face was a terrifying shade of gray, his eyes too bright.
“It’s the curse,” she mumbled. Someone was pressing a cloth against her face. It smelled of wet leaves and made her sleepy. She pushed it aside. “It’s the curse. It’s the curse … don’t die, Ash. Please, please don’t die.”
He leaned over her, smoothing her hair. “I’m fine. I’ve only broken my arm. People do not die from broken arms.”
“But they will try again.” A hand fumbled with the cloth on her nose and she shrieked, “Get that away from me!”
“Leave her alone,” Asherton snapped.
“The drowserjaw will calm her,” said a voice that sounded miles away.
“No!” Magdala tried to sit up. “I can’t … I need to be awake!”
Firm hands pressed her shoulders into the mattress.
“Relax, Mags.” Asherton’s voice wafted to her through thick mist. “It’s alright. I’m safe. You’re safe. I’m right here with you.”
A needle pricked her forehead, but she hardly noticed. “They’re going to try again.”
“We’ll worry about that later.”
“We need to leave here. I want to get you out of here. I want to take you home.”
“I will take you home, and we’ll never leave Elegy as long as we both live.”
“I just want to go home with you,” she said, and tears soaked the bloody sheets. “But the curse …”
He hushed her, stroking her cheek. She had to make him understand—to take her seriously. He wasn’t listening.
“Please don’t die,” she pleaded. She was acting crazy—the blood loss and the hammer in her head were muddling her brain, but she believed that, if she fell asleep again, she would wake up and find that the assassins had found him. “Please don’t die.”
“I’m not going to die.”
“Please …” It was as though she sat on a dragon’s back, mounting into the sky, as Asherton and the attendants and the whole room faded away. She tried to fight, but her strength ebbed.
At last, Magdala collapsed into a deep sleep.
Chapter 39
Magdala awoke in a panic. Her first thought was that they had moved her back into the servants’ quarters — away from Asherton. But when she opened her eyes, it was the same gilded ceiling, the same brocade-curtained bed she’d lost consciousness in.
How could she have fallen asleep? The physician, the chambermaid, the cook in the kitchen far below them — all possible assassins. She needed to be awake and watchful.
A soft grunt pulled her attention, and she found Asherton lying next to her, asleep. His arm was swollen, marbled purple, and splinted, but it still had that unnatural shape, his hand twisted the wrong direction. There was a slight crease between his brows, not typical of him when he slept. Her heart stuttered; was he in pain?
“Ash?” she whispered. He didn’t stir, so she turned his good hand palm up and placed two fingers on his wrist. His pulse beat steady and even, and she lay her head on the pillow and indulged in two exhausted sobs. But there was no time for crying. They were still trapped in a den of wolves, and Asherton was injured.
Magdala wiped her face with her sleeve, steadied her breathing until the lump in her throat eased, and tried toplan, but the odds were impossible. The people still raged outside the palace gates, and the royal guard was still under Huxley’s thumb.
As the sun receded across the floor and faded to darkness, Magdala lay beside Asherton for a second night in silent watchfulness, again counting every flutter of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest. Her terror and guilt twined around her like a cloud of noxious smoke.
You should not have allowed this to happen, a voice whispered in her mind. She did not know if it meant the assassination attempt or her love. Both were true in equal measure.
Zephyr came in with food and tea. Pulling a chair beside the bed, he passed his hand over his eyes and groaned. Even the duck on his blue sweater looked tired.
Magdala refused to make any apologetic movement away from Asherton. For a few gut-wrenching moments that morning, she’d believed she’d lost him. The terror still thrummed in every nerve, and she wanted to find some way to stitch him to her so they could never be parted again.
