“Oh, it’s nothing. Just something I heard when I was stationed at the ports,” he says.
“What did you hear?” I ask.
“That elm’s breath. I’ve seen it before. We’d have people try to smuggle it in. They called it Mara’s flower, though. The people from Ashendune might have different names for things but we have the same gods.”
Mara’s fucking flower?
It takes everything I have to keep the scream that’s clawing at my throat from breaking free. My jaw hurts from how tightly I’m clenching and my fingernails bite into my palms. Why didn’t anyone mention that sooner?
Caiden and his captives are no longer in view. I weigh my options. If I chase after him, I might be able to ask some questions of my own, but there’s a possibility he’s already killed them. If I go in the opposite direction, I might be able to get enough privacy that I can demand Mara show herself.
“And he’s still in his tent?” A guard walking by asks the other man with him. They don’t seem to notice me standing there.
“You’d think he’d be the one torturing the traitors,” the second guard responds.
“Maybe he touched the plant,” the first suggests.
All my anger sluices away and fear makes my blood run cold. I glance around quickly, taking in the layout of the tents. Then I see it, the tent that’s just a little beyond the others.
The legionaries who’d been guarding my tent have started talking with the newcomers. I back away, toward my tent, then slip around it, hoping they think I returned inside.
Then I race toward the end of camp, sticking to the shadows. If what they were saying has any hint of truth, Brevan could be in serious trouble.
I don’t hesitate to dart inside when I reach the tent I suspect of belonging to the enforcer.
There’s a lamp glowing in the corner, illuminating the tiny space. He’s on the ground in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, lips blue.
I’m on my knees by his side in an instant. “Brevan? Brevan, wake up.” My fingers move to his throat, desperate to find a pulse. I lean closer and notice the beginnings of black veinlike markings spreading from his lips.
“No.” I brush his hair from his eyes, then grasp his face in my hands. “Wake up, Brevan. I am not letting you die. Understand? You are staying here. I am not ready to give up on you.”
His breathing is shallow, but it’s there. He’s not dead yet. I refuse to allow him to leave me. “Mara, you can’t have him. Do you hear me? You will not take him from me.”
Tears stream down my cheeks and rage burns in my chest but the goddess doesn’t respond. “I hate you. You’ve given me nothing but burden. You wasted your gift on me. I won’t do what you demand. You hear me? You take him from me and I will do whatever I can to make sure you never get what you want.”
I trace the black markings with my fingertips, as if I can brush them away and stop the poison that’s spreading though his veins. I try to think back to the books I read. There’s an antidote for elm’s breath, but this isn’t the normal reaction. This is like the poison that took those Juliette and we still don’t know what caused that.
I lean over him and press my lips to his. They’re freezing cold, and he doesn’t respond at all to my touch. My tears drip on him and I take hold of his face again. I’m breathing too fast. The room feels like it’s spinning.
“Brevan, can you hear me?” There’s a part of me that expects to hear his corpse speaking to me any second. I swear I can feel the tiniest thread of his life flickering like a dying ember.
It radiates though me, a little pulse of life, growing weaker by the second. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on it. If I letit go, I think he’d be gone. As much as I want to speak to him, I can’t let go of that pulse. I’m not ready. I hold on tight, fighting to keep it burning as it tries to sputter and fade.
My whole body heats, and I imagine that I’m wrapping my own warmth around that pulse, feeding it, protecting it, fueling it. There’s a buzzing in my ears, soft and soothing. I lean into it, letting it course through me, growing it until it’s more like a roar than a buzz. But it’s empowering rather than dangerous.
The flicker intensifies, burning stronger and brighter. It’s not pulsing anymore. Instead it hums. A new sensation emerges that I can’t identify. Fear, surprise, curiosity. Satisfaction.
That’s when I realize the skin against my hands isn’t cold anymore. My eyes snap open and I stare down at Brevan. His lips are pink, his skin is regaining its color and warmth. The black veins are gone and his chest rises and falls in steady cadence.
My lower lip trembles and I move my hands away. Was that me? Did I do that? Did I save him?
“Still want to curse my name, daughter?” Mara asks.
I flinch when I see her standing in the corner.
“I told you to stop fighting your power,” she scolds.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” I say.
