We head east, her head resting against my shoulder, arms wrapped around my neck. She’s feverish, her body warmer than mine for once.
Mayah drifts in and out of sleep, her face nuzzling my chest.
Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
My heart refuses to believe it.
I’ve carried her all throughout the morning and afternoon, but I barely register the ache in my arms. Not when I’m looking at her pale face, sweat gleaming on her forehead, her slight frame propped against yet another tree. The Arbinj base, with its medics and supplies, is still at least a week and a half out.
“I need to check the wound.” I lift her tunic and swear. The jagged gash is inflamed at the edges, significantly worse than yesterday. Could the rebels have laced it with poison along with iron?
“Maybe my power will be back tomorrow?”
I clench my jaw. “Bastards must have double-coated the arrow. Maybe triple-coated. The effects shouldn’t last this long.”
If I ever find the person responsible, they will beg for death.
She tugs her tunic down, brow pinched with pain.
My teeth grind together. “I should’ve killed them slower.”
“Howdidyou kill them?” she rasps. “You didn’t summon lightning.”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I lift her tunic back up, massaging a mint-based ointment around the edges of her wound. It should help numb the pain.
“There are small particles of lightning in the air,” I explain. “Sometimes more, sometimes less, but always present. I harnessed those to kill them.”
“Have you—have you used it in battle?”
Yes. When I killed your friends.
I swallow hard, meeting her gaze for a heartbeat before the guilt becomes too much. “Just once. I can’t do it at will. Only when I’m enraged—too far gone to think. It’s like something else unlocks inside of me.”
“Oh.” A beat. “Was that when Lev died?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, bitter self-loathing coating my tongue. “Yes.”
The next day passes the same—Mayah still can’t heal herself.
“Hey.” I jostle her slightly in my arms, where she’s dozed off again.
“Mmmm,” she moans, head lolling against my shoulder.
It would be adorable if not for her raging fever and the fact that she can’t remain awake for more than fifteen minutes at a time.
“Tell me about Tundrayn.”
“No,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. “Tired.”
“Baby,please.” I’m desperate. Desperate to keep her talking, keep her awake, keep heralive.
But it’s no use. She doesn’t even hear me, just falls back into a fevered sleep.
Later at night, I make camp.
When I check her wound, I suck in a startled gasp. The wound is angry and swollen, red starbursts radiating out across her torso. She stretches, and the resin seal breaks, yellow pus clinging to its edges. A foul, metallic stench curls into the air.
“Try to heal yourself,” I rasp, voice cracking with fear.
