The next day passes the same—Zevayr carrying me through this never-ending forest as we get closer and closer to leaving Rebellion territory. Fever blazes through my body, trapping in a haze that swallows most of the day. By the time Zevayr stops for the night, I’m surprised his teeth haven’t cracked from how hard his jaw is clenched.
Wordlessly, he lifts my tunic. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. I glance down and realize why.
The wound is swollen, angry red starbursts radiating out across my torso. I stretch slightly, and the resin seal cracks easily, yellowish pus clinging to the edges like molten wax. A foul, metallic stench curls into the air—iron and rot, sharp enough to sting my nose.
His eyes are panicked. “Try to heal yourself,” he rasps, voice wavering.
I call to my power, but the block is still there. And even if it weren’t—the infection has weakened me significantly. Even if all the iron had left my system, I doubt I’d have the reserves to heal myself.
“Skies,” Zevayr curses. He rakes a violent hand through his dark locks, and when that doesn’t soothe him, he paces the campsite like a feral arctic wolf.
I watch him, too weak to do anything else.
He stops mid-step and tilts his face to the sky, as if asking for strength. His steps are measured when he returns and crouches to my level.
He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, gray eyes fixing again on my infected wound.
“Are you familiar with … power sharing?” he asks quietly. His eyes are dark and ringed with panic.
A grimace tugs at my lips as I try to sit up, but darkness pools at the edge of my vision. The world tilts, and I pitch sideways before Zevayr catches me. My hands tremble helplessly, the wound gone completely numb. That isn’t a good sign.
“There was a man and woman,” I rasp. My voice is slow. Labored. “Caught power sharing. It’s forbidden. Too much power to one person. Unnatural. Dangerous.”
He nods quickly. “That’s true, yes. If one wielder channeled enough power into another, it would weaken him temporarily and strengthen the other.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath. “But that’s not the only reason it’s forbidden.”
My brows furrow.
“It also acts as a strong … stimulant. For the wielder receiving the power.”
“Stimulant?”
He hesitates, raking his teeth over his lower lip.
“Aphrodisiac.” His lips press into a thin line. “If performed without consent … it makes it incredibly easy to take advantage of someone.”
Father’s angry outburst in the council meeting flits through my mind, painting his reprimand of Sorka in a different light.
“How do you know about this?”
A heartbeat.
“I’ve shared my power before.”
Oh.
“And you want to channel your power into me.”
He nods, carefully wiping the sweat from my brow. “Just a little. Enough to fight through the lingering iron so you can heal yourself. I’m—Skies, Mayah. I’m terrified.” His voice cracks. “Wecan keep going, but you’re getting worse. This would save you. But you need to know what will happen after.”
He’s right—we’re still too far from the Arbinji base to wait for medicinal herbs to help fight the infection.
A healer killed by a flesh wound.
A panicked laugh claws from my throat, and Zevayr’s brows draw together.
“Maybe—maybe it won’t have that effect on me. Maybe I can fight it off.”
“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. You’re strong, Mayah. You can do this. And even if you can’t, even if you start feeling … strange, it’ll just be my power flowing through you. I’ll know it’s not anything real.” His voice has gone oddly flat.
