“I… have to be,” I say, motioning with my useless hands, trying to see past him. “Is she…”
No. Don’t say it. She’s okay. She has to be. It can’t end like this. Ormarr’s eyes tighten, looking away from me, he inhales deeply. My stomach sinks, and cold chills run down my arms.
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “She’s tough. I know she’ll be okay. Just… how long do you think she needs… to recover? We should probably talk to Rosalind and Visidion. We’ll need to go to the City—”
Ormarr shakes his head and meets, my eyes and I lose my thought.
“Drosdan,” he says, placing a hand on my arm.
“She’s fine,” I insist.
“No,” he says. “She’s not. She’s been hurt, badly. I’ve done all I can, but she’s human. Bailey has tended to her as well, we’ve done all we can.”
“You haven’t,” I say, my voice rising. I grab his arm and squeeze. Ormarr winces at my grip as I shake him. “What does she need? Name it. What do you need to help her?”
“We have to get her to Draconov. The machines there will let us see what’s happening inside. It’s our best chance.”
“Fine, let’s go,” I say.
“Drosdan, you’re exhausted, how long have you been up? How far did you travel across the desert carrying her?”
Cold certainty swells through me as I meet his eyes. Gripping both of his arms in mine I jerk him close lifting him off his feet, glaring.
“Get her ready,” I hiss.
He meets my gaze for a moment before he drops his eyes and nods his agreement. I drop him to the ground, push past him, and kneel next to her.
She’s pale. There’s almost a gray color to her skin. Her hair is plastered to her face and head. She’s breathing shallowly, but I don’t hear the hitch in her breathing she had before. I brush the errant hairs from her face, lean in, and kiss her forehead.
“I love you,” I whisper in her ear.
She sighs, or it seems she does. In that sigh, I hear her response. She loves me. She is my treasure. This is a test, and I will not fail. She is mine, and nothing will stand in my way. I will save her.
20
Sarah
Pain.
Blinding, white-hot pain.
My mind cringes back from it, and darkness comes and washes it away. It’s too much to deal with, and I welcome oblivion as it takes the pain away.
Time passes. I don’t know how much, or how I know it has, but it feels later. Awareness comes slowly. Pain is there. Pain, but not as much.
A scraping sound, then something cool touches me. The cool sensation moves across, tracing lines on… something, my body. Right, that’s me. It’s heavy. So heavy.
Eyes, open, come on. Damn they’re so heavy. Aren’t they supposed to do what I say?
There’s a roaring sound. Ears. Right, it’s in my ears, something pulsing, pounding like a dull rush. What is that?
Oh. Its blood, pushing through my body. Right. So I’m alive? Death can’t hurt this much, right?
“Sarah?” Drosdan’s voice comes from some unimaginable distance. The far side of the universe, perhaps. “Sarah, wake up.”
His words are a golden trail cutting through the darkness. Latching on to them I follow, pushing through the heaviness, resisting the pull to sink back into the black. Focusing, following the trail of words, there’s something lighter. Yes, there, follow it. Open eyes, damn you, open!
They do, and then bright light stabs in, and I close them in immediate regret.
“Sarah!” Drosdan exclaims.
Mouth is dry. So, so dry. Opening and closing my mouth, I try to work some moisture in. I can’t answer him. Words won’t form past my parched throat. Something wet and cool passes my cracked lips, sweet relief, quenching my thirst. Better, so much better. Okay, let’s try the eyes again. When I open them, they’re dry, but by blinking a lot, the hazy blur that passes for vision slowly comes to focus. Drosdan is hovering, inches from my face.
“Hi,” I say, but it sounds more like a croak.
Swallowing hard, I force a smile. His scales are edged with a dull yellow-orange shade I’ve never seen on him. My hand doesn’t want to obey at first, but by concentrating hard I lift it to his face, cupping his cheek before the effort becomes too much, and I let it drop back to the bed.
Bed. I’m on a bed. A real bed, not a make-shift thing like we had at the village or the piles of furs they use at the caves. There’s a beeping sound too. Darting my eyes around because moving my head is entirely too much effort, I can tell there are machines around me. We’re in the City.
Shit, Rosalind.
“It’s fine,” Drosdan says, brushing a hair away from my eyes as if he read my thought. “Trust me, it’s okay.”
“The City?” I ask, my throat is sore and talking is uncomfortable.
“Yes,” he nods. “Ormarr and Bailey did all they could for you. I had to bring you here.”
He has heavy, dark circles under his eyes. Poor Drosdan, an ache in my chest forms behind the overall pain my body is feeling.
“Oh,” I say, letting my eyes drift close mostly of their own accord. I know the room isn’t bright, especially by Tajss double-sun standards, but it’s still hurting my eyes.
Drosdan’s finger trace along my forehead, down my cheek, then back up and over again. He brings a cup up to my lips and tilts so a drop of water touches them. Drinking it, grateful for the sensation of sand being washed down my throat, easing and cleansing the dryness.
“Easy love,” he says, voice soft. “A little at a time. Jolie says not to overdo it.”
It’s like the nectar of the gods, and I don’t care what Jolie thinks, nothing has ever been sweeter than this. I gulp at it, straining to get more, until suddenly my stomach clenches tight and I’m spluttering as my body convulses. Coughing and choking. Drosdan hooks an arm behind me, lifting me up and tapping lightly on my back.
“Damn it,” I mutter, regaining control. “Don’t say it.”
“You’re fine,” Drosdan lies, a smile playing across his lips.
“Liar,” I say.
“He’s not lying,” Jolie says, appearing next to the bed as if summoned. “You’re fine, not great, but you know, okay.”
She smiles, laying a hand on my forehead then my cheeks. She turns and stares at a monitor next to the bed that has symbols dancing across it which make no sense—to me at least.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
Jolie glances over her shoulder before putting her attention back on the monitor. She and Drosdan exchange a look that doesn’t feel like it bodes well.
“You’re going to be fine,” she says, not looking at me.
“Okay, then… what?” I ask.
“How’s the pain?” Jolie asks.
“Tolerable,” I say, taking a moment to assess. “My chest hurts, but I can breathe, and it no longer feels like something is stabbing me every time. Head hurts too.”
Jolie nods as she turns back to me. She pulls back the blanket off my chest and lifts the gown I’m wearing. Only now do I see the wraps around my ribs and the bruise that stretches out from underneath it. It’s an ugly dark purple edged with yellow. No wonder it hurts so much.
“All to be expected,” Jolie says.
“Ouch!” I exclaim as she touches my side. “How about not doing that!”
“Sorry,” she says. “You broke four ribs, and one of them was puncturing your lung. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Damn,” I say, grabbing Drosdan’s hand and squeezing it.
What she really means is, I’d be dead if not for him. Drosdan smiles, squeezing my hand back.
“I’ll need to monitor your progress, but it seems to be healing well,” Jolie says. “So that’s good.”
“Yeah,” I agree, staring into Drosdan’s eyes.
Worry lies heavy on him. The air is thick with unspoken words. If nothing else, Rosalind has trained me well in reading a room. All the little signs, body language, feelings, looks, they
tell a story. I’ve made my life out of reading them and trusting my gut. There’s a whole lot not being said. It doesn’t take any brilliant insight for me to guess what it is.
Rosalind and Visidion.
They can’t be happy with Drosdan or me either. Facing their wrath isn’t going to be fun. In the end we did what we had to do, but explaining that to Rosalind… she’s reasonable. She’ll get it.
Eventually.
First, we have to get past her anger. She will be righteously pissed. I can’t blame her, or I won’t anyway.
“Oh, ow, uh,” I mutter sighing. Deep breaths aren’t a good idea it seems.
“Take it easy there, tiger,” Jolie says, looking me in the eyes for what must be the first time.
“Right,” I agree, wincing at the continuing pain.
“I can give you something for the pain,” Jolie offers.
“No,” I say. “It’s fine, I’ll push through it. How’s Rverre?”
Jolie’s face lights up so bright the suns could be shining into the room. Her smile is ear to ear, and she laughs.
“You won’t believe how much she’s growing! She’s runs after Illadon determined to do whatever he does but better. He decided to climb up a dresser yesterday and leap from it to the bed, which is at least eight feet away. I walked into the room just in time to see him flying and her halfway up the dresser right behind him.”
“Oh no! Was he okay?” I ask.
“He was fine, he’s every bit as tough and strong as his father,” she says, shaking her head. “And as fearless. I wish he would learn just a bit of fear. Nothing scares him and any idea he gets in his little head he acts on.”
“Sounds like you and Calista have your hands full,” I observe.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jolie says. “It’s okay though. We have lots of help. Everyone is always willing to babysit. I swear it’s almost as if I have to book time with my own kid!”
I laugh and instantly regret it as pain stabs through my chest. Holding my side I push away the humor, smiling instead.
“Okay, no laughing,” I say.
“You’re going to hurt for a while,” she says. “We’ve got the ribs back in place and they’re fused together, but I can’t speed up the healing of the bruising and trauma.”
“It’s fine, thank you,” I say.
“Okay, well I should go,” Jolie says.
“Thanks again,” I say.
“I’m glad I could help,” she says. “Calista and some of the others are wanting to check in on you, if you feel up to it?”
“Of course, I’d love to see them,” I say. “Maybe after a nap though?”
Exhaustion lies heavy across my body. I’ve done nothing, but it feels like I’ve run a marathon.
“Sure,” Jolie says, opening the door to leave. She stops and turns back around. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yeah?” I ask, anticipation sending cold tingles and making goosebumps on my arms.
“Rosalind wants to see you… first,” she says.
“Yeah, I kind of figured,” I say. “Whenever she wants.”
Jolie nods and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“You should rest,” Drosdan says.
He hooks a stool with his tail and it scrapes loudly as he drags it closer.
“How pissed is she?” I ask, closing my eyes.
“It will be okay,” he says.
“So, really pissed,” I reply.
“Rest my love, I am here with you,” he says.
“I know, thank you,” I say.
“You have nothing to thank me for,” I say.
“I have you to thank for everything,” I say. “Saving me, saving the survivors, we got them to the village, right?”
He doesn’t answer me immediately so I open my eyes and look.
“We did, right? I remember… being close,” I say, digging through the hazy memories of the last few days. Still, he doesn’t answer, staring at the floor and not meeting my eyes. “Drosdan…”
“We did…,” he trails off, staring at the floor.
“Drosdan?” I ask, sitting up the best I can.
“I left them half a day away,” he says, hunching his massive shoulders. “You were getting worse, there was no time.”
“No,” I whisper, unable to make a louder sound.
A cold hard ball sits in my stomach. He left them, starving and alone in the desert. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Damn it, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t mouthed off to the guard, he wouldn’t have hit me. I didn’t think things had gotten as bad as they had. If I’d known Gershom was dead, I would have been more cautious. Asshole or not, he did keep some modicum of control over the more radical of his followers.
How many of them survived? Are they infiltrated in with the other survivors? If not, where are they? Shit, this is exactly the kind of questions Rosalind is going to have, and I don’t have any answers for her.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” he says. “We weren’t far when I left them, and I had the male Jackson take the lead. The group agreed to follow his direction.”
“You got that group to agree to follow Jackson?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes,” he says, glancing up and meeting my eyes, but only for a moment.
“Well that’s impressive,” I say. I collapse back onto the bed, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“We can check on them, once you’re feeling better,” he says, taking my hand again.
“Yeah,” I agree, closing my eyes and waiting for a wave of pain to pass. “First we’ll have to talk to Rosalind and Visidion. I know they’re pissed, how bad is it?”
“They’ll get over it,” Drosdan says.
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s going to be quite that easy,” I say.
The door squeaks as it opens, and I look to see who’s coming in. That falling feeling as if I’m falling through the bed comes over me as Rosalind enters. Mostly I wish I could sink through the bed, the floor, and be anywhere but in front of her. I’m not worried about her anger, anger I can handle. I’m worried that she’s going to look at me in disappointment. That I don’t know how to handle.
She steps in and Visidion comes in behind her. Rosalind is in her immaculate white space armor, of course, and her beautiful dark hair hangs perfectly down past her shoulders. The air she carries around her is one of total control. She dominates any room she walks into without a word. Her sharp eyes lock on mine, and I barely notice Visidion behind her. The Zmaj Commander is big and burly, but nothing compared to Drosdan. Still, he has the same ability to command a room, unless Rosalind is there. I’ve worked with both of them, and I know he chooses to give her control.
“How are you?” Rosalind asks, stopping next to the bed opposite Drosdan.
“Better, thank you,” I say, wanting nothing more than to drop my eyes but unable to. She’s locked onto me, and I’m frozen, mesmerized by her.
“Good,” she says. “Do you mind?”
She motions at my chest, and almost imperceptibly I nod my agreement. She slides the blanket aside, lifts my gown up, and inspects the bandaging and bruising. She nods sharply as if satisfied then replaces the layers.
“You’re very lucky,” she says. “If Drosdan hadn’t gotten you here when he did, we’d have lost you.”
“Yeah,” I say, at a loss for words. This isn’t going anything like I expected.
Rosalind takes a step back from the bed, and I’m able to breathe easier. Anticipation is killing me. I’m waiting for her to yell or… something. Anything. Display her displeasure, her disappointment in some manner. Visidion stands next to her with his arms crossed over his chest staring between Drosdan and me. The tension in the room rises as the four of us stare, waiting for someone to speak or act. Minutes tick by but it feels like hours until at last I can’t take it any longer.
“I’m sorry,” I burst out.
“Sarah,” Drosdan says, clenching my hand tighte
r.
“I’m sure you are,” Rosalind says, and Visidion clears his throat.
Drosdan looks at Visidion, and something passes between the two Zmaj on a non-verbal level. Drosdan’s shoulders slump and his tail goes still. His grip on my hand relaxes as his eyes drop down to stare at the bed.
“It all worked out,” I say. “Gershom is dead. He was taking epis and went into withdrawal when he couldn’t get any more.”
“Idiot,” Rosalind says.
“Yeah, well, that left his followers floundering. They were dying, so we had to save them.”
“Did you?” Rosalind asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes!” I say. “We had to! I know you would have told me the same thing if you were there. We need them.”
“Why didn’t you bring them back to the City? I would have welcomed them here,” she asks.
“They wouldn’t,” I say.
“You gave them a choice?” she asks.
That stops me. Swallowing hard, I think over my next words carefully.
“Yes,” Drosdan interjects. “We did. We’d found a village that was in relatively good shape. I led them there.”
“A village?” Visidion asks, speaking for the first time.
“One of the old mining communities,” Drosdan answers. “There is water and buildings, enough for them to survive. They need to learn to hunt for food. I will help them.”
“Will you?” Visidion asks.
Drosdan’s wings rustle and his tail drags across the floor back and forth as he squares his shoulders and meets Visidion’s gaze.
“Yes, I will,” he says, a finality to his voice.
He and Visidion match each other stare for stare.
“What happened to you?” Rosalind asks, ignoring the men as if nothing is happening.
“One of the guards,” I say. “I didn’t realize the situation had changed. Said something I shouldn’t have.”
Rosalind grimaces, shakes her head, and then sighs.
“Okay,” she says, voice tight.
Her stare drills into me. Cold, hard, I’ve seen her do it so many times I thought I’d be immune to its effect but no such luck. Her face gives away nothing. Is she mad? Happy? Resigned?
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