Page 55 of The Space Between Stars

“I…” Her tongue was thick in her mouth. “Of course I am.” She couldn’t lose a limb. Couldn’t. “I am the daughter of Captain Keane. I am the White Flower.” She spoke to convince herself, more than anything. Pitted against a true Ruxian, she was nothing. “I am the Queen of the Raiders. I am the Shadewalker’s Hand.”

“You are the ocean. You are the storm.” His voice shook like the boat beneath them.

She closed her eyes. Felt his fingers holding hers. Heard the wind and the rain and the sea.

Fankalo woke on a cot in the Dreiden base’s warehouse. A dull ache echoed through her lower half.

Night blanketed the windows. Dark, silhouetted palm trees swayed beyond them. In the moonlight, Drogus sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, facing the door. His position reminded her of the Ruxian boy. Her chest clenched.

She should have died.

Because of Mitek’s insistence, several others had died for her.

“Drogus.” She wouldn’t have recognized that rasping voice as her own if she hadn’t been sure she’d spoken.

Drogus leapt to his feet more nimbly than ought to have been possible from a man his size. “Fankalo.” An easy smile touched his lips. “Preservation, is it good to see you.”

“Have you been sitting there with your eyes closed, then?”

A grin split his beard, stretching to eyes that betrayed his worry. “And you still have your snark about you.”

She wished she didn’t. She wished she could grieve properly for the lives she had lost instead of speaking in quips. But she had learned from her father’s mistakes: reveal no weakness, not even to her Hands. The ocean did not grieve.

“But do I have my limbs about me?” She looked down at her left leg and tried wiggling her toes. The pain flared, but nothing moved. Her gut turned over.

Drogus nodded towards her bandaged limb. “It’s been restrained and pasted with an anesthetic, so you should stay numb for a while yet. The doctor suspects nerve damage.”

“Is it broken?”

“Very.”

Kretch. “Prognosis?”

“You may not keep it. You may not walk.”

She could depend on Drogus for pragmatism; it was best to be realistic about these things. ‘May’ was damn near hopeful. She wouldn’t dwell on it. “How long have I been here?”

Drogus moved around to her good wrist and felt for her pulse. As if it needed monitoring. “The gig arrived a few hours ago.” He raised eyebrows at her. “When they brought you in, we thought you had bled out.”

Hours ago. That was testament enough to her stability. “Who is aware of my condition?”

“Only the doctor, Mitek, and the three who survived.”

Three? Her veins ran cold. Had it not been for her abilities, that single child would have taken out a full squad.

“Where is Mitek?”

“He left only a moment ago to get some sleep. Sat next to you until the doctor confirmed you would recover. I offered to take a shift.” He said it like she was on a death watch. Preposterous; it was just a knock. A small setback.

Footfalls sounded beyond the wall. “No, I’m here!” Mitek staggered in. His usually perfect hair was plastered to his head. Shadows ringed his eyes. He wore the still-damp clothes from their journey.

“He’s here,” Drogus said flatly, eyes glinting.

Fankalo sat up. The motion was nauseating. Mitek strode to her and pressed her back onto the cot. “Lie down, Brat! You’ve already given me one heart attack today. Exsanguination, the medic said. Rest, the medic said. A ten-day, minimum, before you leave that bed!”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I sure as hell will if it’s in proper service to you. That’s my job.”