Ten more compressions, and I’m sick to my stomach. Too long, my everycell screams. It’s already been too long. After I give her mouth-to-mouth again, I shout out instructions. “Go get Dr. Walsh.” He’ll know what to do. Because I’m beyond scared I’m not using enough force or I’m going to crack one of her ribs.
“We can’t,” Shelly responds, her voice seeped in misery.
I curse and refocus.You aren’t giving up. You’re not stopping until she’s breathing.
“Farren, can you hear me.I need you. I need you to come back to me.”
Like a miracle, Farren jolts and spits up water. Yes.Yes!My heart clenches. She’s alive. I turn her slightly as she retches even more water. Eyes half-open she looks at me for a half a second. “James?” she gasps.
“It’s me. It’s me,” I cry.
Her eyes flutter closed, and all that happiness gets swallowed up. What am I missing? Lack of oxygen? Head wound? Blood loss? “No, stay with me, Farren! Stay with me.”
Shelly’s delicate hand clutches my forearm. “She always carries a vial of gold in her pocket,” she urges. “It’s already pulverized down for consumption.”
Of course!
“That won’t—We can’t,” Jeffrey stammers.
I’m not listening because I can do it, craft that gold. I just need the same vial from when she saved me. It’s the reason I’m alive after all. As I’m reaching toward the sides of Farren’s short and roughly cut skirt, Shelly directs me to the bodice. “It’s here. We had the seamstress sew a hidden pocket.” Shelly fumbles with the vial before offering it to me.
I squeeze the tube between my fingers. But when I knock the cap off and pour the metal flakes in my hand, I falter.
“Go on. We can’t make a tea and we don’t have time,” Shelly says.
The weight doesn’t seem quite right, but more than that, my crafting senses tell me what I’m seeing isn’t matching what I’m feeling. “This… this isn’t gold.”
“What?”
“This is iron…paintedgold.” I rub at the fine pulverized metal. It smudges under the sweat and oil of my fingertips.
Beside me, Shelly cries out with a sob. “No, no, no! It should be gold. Farren always carries gold.”
More chilling are Jeffrey’s words, laced with misery. “What have I done?”
“What?” Shelly yells. “What?”
“It’s all my fault,” Jeffrey whispers.
It makes sense now. It all makes sense. Why I’m holding iron instead of gold. How Shelly looked so healthy today. A jolt runs through me. How my father and his men learned a golden dragon existed.
“I’ve killed them both,” Jeffrey cries.
Finally, I look up at them. Hair disheveled. Dirt and a mix of emotions running across their faces. Then I look down at their wedding clothes. They’re covered in blood.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWOWHEN THERE’S NOTHING LEFT
FARREN
Someone’s holding my hand. I don’t know why that sensation comes first, but it does. When I find the right button in my brain to wake up, it triggers the groggiest and most undignified of arousals. My eyelids heavy. My skin damp with sweat. My head overstuffed.
“Farren?” a hopeful voice says. A voice I know well. “Farren!”
A worried, handsome face greets me. James Murphy. He’s sitting next to me as sunlight casts his curls in a glow so bright his hair appears red.He’s not supposed to look so good.
“I’ll go get someone.” He rises and I clutch on to him tightly.
“What are you doing?” But that’s not what I want to ask. I examine the white walls. Where am I? Why do I feel run over?
