I expected to wake up at the bottom of it. Or to not wake up at all.
Before the golden energy seized me, I was kneeling on Antony’s chest, pinning him down, my fiery hand around his throat, ready to take his head off.
I would have succeeded if my mind hadn’t been dragged from my body.
Now, he’s the one looming over me, but his head is raised, his focus on a point far off to my right, his hands held close to his chest, his biceps bunched as if he, too, had been pulling with all his might.
His fists close around empty air, and then his focus snaps to me.
He shouted Thyra’s name at the same time as I did.
It seems he might have just now realized it.
I launch myself up and away from him, arms defensively raised, fire crackling across my palms.
The power that took hold of me—I’m now certain it took hold of him, too.
Antony doesn’t remain on his knees for long.
Rising to his feet, he lowers his empty fists, exposing his chest.
Blood trickles from an angry wound gaping across his heart, a much wider fissure than the cuts I tore into his flesh.
I didn’t give him that wound.
Before I can speak, he gives voice to the fear whirling around my mind. “Thyra’s in danger.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thyra
Afierce jolt wrenches me awake.
In the heartbeat between deep sleep and wakefulness, I inhale the scent of dust, hear the echo of my name—Thyra!—and experience a rush of unexplainable fear.
Which vanishes as I open my eyes to find myself cocooned safely in Stellen’s arms.
I’m upright. Somewhat. My legs are bent at an uncomfortable angle while the stone wall rises at my back.
Stellen’s hand cradles my head, his arms cushion my spine, and the wrench I felt moments earlier feels like some sort of dream, its impact quickly vanishing.
He’s breathing hard, and his question is startlingly urgent. “Are you hurt?”
I try to find my voice, the frantic tension in his face filling me with unease.
“I’m fine.” I’m far from hurt. All wrapped up in his arms. And he looks much better than he did. No more blood around his mouth, so I’m certain he’s feeling better…
Although he’s holding me so tightly that he’s crushing me a little. “Why would I be hurt?”
The last I knew, Stellen had fallen asleep, his head in my lap. I drifted off at some point, slumped a little, and expected to wake up with a sore neck. My brief glance past him tells me the Alak-Teah haven’t reappeared, the rock pools are calm, and the mist is quiet and still.
“Thyra,” Stellen says, his thumb brushing the side of my neck where I’m certain the bite marks will scar, his unearthly eyes dull, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “You should never trust me.”
Of all the warnings he’s given me…telling me that his people wear their cruelty openly, urging me to become numb and uncaring, cautioning me never to ask for help, reminding me he’s heartless… This warning unsettles me most because I have no immediate context for it.
Dear Goddess, what did I miss?
My lips purse around the questions I need to ask, questions on the tip of my tongue, but I’m suddenly struck by how cold my hands are.
