I’m strong enough. Come on!
I managed to pull myself up to my elbow. Yeshar kicked my jaw and for a heartstopping moment I nearly blacked out.
“Stop!” A familiar voice cut through the mist. “What the hell are you doing?”
Fog stirred in the wake of another presence. Henrik strode forward. Yeshar retreated a step back, surprise slapped across his face before a calculating slyness replaced it.
“Leave,” Yeshar said. “You didn’t see anything. I’ll forgive your debt.”
My heartbeat doubled its already frantic pace.
Henrik froze, complex emotions flickering over his face like shifting seasons. A crease folded the smooth space between his eyebrows.
“Your entire debt,” Yeshar said, wiggling his fingers in an imitation of something fading away. “Erased. Gone.”
Henrik stared at me, expression flat, and I knew I was dead.
He looked up, his chin set.
“No,” he said.
I strained to hang on, whining with pain as my elbow slipped and my arms pulled taut again.
“What?” Yeshar glanced between us, scowling. “Don’t be absurd, you owe me more than you’ll ever repay. She’s practically dead already. Take the deal.”
“No,” Henrik told Yeshar, advancing toward us.
“Is crazy contagious?” Yeshar gave me a displeased glance before focusing his disgust back on Henrik. “I’ve already afforded you one extension. You’ll be as dead as she is if you don’t pay me back in full before the next Mistrun. Her life isn’t worth yours, and the total sum of your debt!”
Henrik took measured steps toward us, fog cloaking him like a cape. “No,” he repeated, determination evident in every step.
“Run,” I said. “He’ll kill you too.”
“He won’t,” Henrik said with conviction. “If I could hear your screaming, others did too. They won’t be far behind, and that’s too many witnesses.” He angled himself so his forearm was hidden behind his body, visible only to me, shifting his arm. The Acumen Skinscript stood out against his skin.
He was bluffing.
For the first time, fear entered Yeshar’s expression.
Sweat and blood made my knife impossible to hang onto.
My grip slipped.
A warm hand grabbed mine, holding me inches above swirling death below. I clung to Henrik’s hand, tense with fear.
He tugged me up, bracing me when I wobbled onto my knees.
I heaved for breath, cradling my injured hand.
“You’re both insane.” Yeshar shook his head as if to clear it, tapping a beat against his arm. Then, he turned and fled into the fog.
“Come on,” Henrik pulled me back down toward the shoreline when he saw my crooked fingers, raised foot, half-melted boot, and how I hunched over my ribs. “Georlan isn’t far.”
He half-carried me as I swiped at my eyes with my elbow. My memory of the ripping pain from the Restoration was overshadowed by a torturous mental replay of what had just happened.
Yeshar had tried to kill me, and almost succeeded. Even after Georlan healed me, the mottled welt of miasma burn remained on the side of my ankle, a permanent memento. The effort of Restoring me had left Georlan barely-standing.
Henrik stayed by my side.
