My fingers curled into a fist and fell from Ferris' chest. He dropped my wrist and pulled me into a hug, tucking my head below his chin. His fingers brushed my neck, plunging us into our shared world of water and winds.
I froze, arms hanging by my side. A cool, damp breeze caressed my cheek and rippled the endless sea.
When was the last time someone had hugged me?
I always followed reckless instinct. So I wrapped my arms around Ferris and held on tight.
Chapter 62
Mare
Radiant light cascaded over my hand. Unbearable pain tore up my skin—from the burns and the healing magic.
The healing magic that did not work on a child of the dark.
Reese pulled his hand back. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” I panted, cradling my hand against my chest. “Go heal the others—I’m a waste of your time.”
He lingered by my side, refusing to drop my hand.
“Reese, go,” I pleaded, pushing him.
With reluctance, he released me. The once lavish fort was filled with the injured, some so severely burned I doubted they would survive.
Reese rolled up his sleeves and knelt beside the nearest victim—a young Solheart woman.
Tightening the cloak wrapped around my back, I winced as it dug into my wound. It had stopped the bleeding, at least.
Nausea and anxiety twisted in my stomach. I hadn’t seen Liam since the phoenix fled.
The door scraped open, and Bláth pulled herself inside, limping, hand pressed to her arm. She set down a bag of medical supplies on the table beside me. “I can’t heal,” she said, hands shaking. “But I know a little about medicine.”
Uncorking a poultice, she poured it onto a cloth and wrapped it around my hand. It stung like hell, and I gritted my teeth.
“Keep that on there.” Bláth touched my arm. Grabbing her bag, she ran to help someone else.
Pressing the cloth down, I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sounds and smells in this room—burnt flesh, wailing, crying.
I couldn’t take it. Stumbling to my feet, I fled the building, though the world outside was no better.
Embers still danced in the sky. Heat clung to my breath.
This fort might be forever changed—like Tirnanog.
A single oak, standing on the far side of the fort, remained untouched. Trudging across the burnt landscape, I slumped against its trunk and sank.
Brighid had been consumed by flame. Her corporeal body had vanished into the phoenix. And in Vaf’s play, the Diath had turned into a blazing dragon.
Could all Diath do the same?
I stared at my uncovered hand, picturing shadows consuming my being, tearing me apart, turning me into something else.
Into a monster, I supposed. The truth I hid inside.
Here, amongst piles of death, I didn’t feel much like a Paragon. I didn’t feel like a spy, either.
Now, more than ever, I had no idea who I was or where my path would lead.
