As I lift Lyra, her weight is suddenly far too heavy.
I look to find her eyes are still closed, face relaxed.
“Lyra?” I shout. But she doesn’t open her eyes.
“Quick, pull them out!” Aelia barks.
Several of the women help me drag Lyra out just enough to lay her on her back. I move my ear near her mouth, searching for a breath. Not finding one, I stop wasting precious seconds looking. I straddle her, placing one hand over the other and firmly pounding themagainst her chest.
“Come on, come on,” I grunt through each thrust. Her body accepts each push limply. “Don’t die on me, Lyra. Don’t die!”
I lurch forward, checking for a breath that doesn’t come. Grabbing her head, I tilt it back to open her throat. Pinching her nose with one hand, I grab her chin with the other and open her mouth. Then I lower my face to hers, giving her a slow, steady breath. I pull away and inhale, then press my palms back into her chest.
I may need to use that dragonsblood. There will be consequences for using it around these other women, but—I can't let her die.
I can’t.
And the Gods wouldn’t waste the magic of a Seer on someone meant to die so young. Right?
I need her—she’s my best bet at setting my brother free.
As I pump her chest with my hands, finally on the fifth time her chest inflates. Her eyes flutter open, and she curls in on herself, coughing up water.
I nearly laugh in relief, cupping her cheek and lifting her face so I can see her eyes.
They’re half-lidded and heavy when they rise to mine. But blue.
And alive.
Thirty-Eight
- LYRA -
At the dinner table, my chest still aches with each breath, reminding me of the hands that had compressed it. The mouth that had breathed life into my lungs.
I slowly draw my gaze down across the table, then up to her on my left. She’s conversing—or arguing, I suppose—with Aelia, about why those in Millton shouldn’t be subjected to taxes. And while it seems completely at odds with the traumatic trial we just had earlier today, the normalcy of the conversation comforts me somewhat.
I watch the way her thick eyebrows furrow, those brown eyes sparking with defiance. Her soft lips moving quickly as she balances articulate and intimidating sentences.
She had saved me.
I still fight against the light trembling in my body. Despite having changed out of the scaled armor and dried my hair, I can’t shake off the lingering terror. The memory of the fire dragon sweeping through the maze, filling the paths with fire. Then being plunged into the water before I had time to draw a breath. How everything blurred, then faded.
I had thought I was dead. And even still, I still saw the flashes of visions. But this time with the river and two crosses, and a small, quaint home tucked in the hills. Pine trees. A sun that warmed me even in the depths of near-death.
Marcella stops mid-conversation as her eyes slide to me, then widen. Her lips move, but I can no longer hear her.
A river with two crosses.
Gardens, wilting and rotting.
The fog reaching through the forest?—
Marcella shakes me, and then everything snaps into focus. “Lyra, are you alright?”
Taking a quick breath and opening my eyes wider to clear away the sense of distance, I respond, “Yes. Sorry.” I shake my head and look down at my plate, stabbing a slice of cheese with my fork and bringing it to my mouth. Another opportunity to not say anything as the flashes fade away.
Aelia looks at me with worry. She reaches across the table for me, then stops as Lady Bethany heads in our direction.
