by C.K. Bryant
Chapter Seven
Kira pressed her fingertips to her forehead and tried to rub away the dizziness that had returned. That’s why Lydia wanted her to go home. Lydia knew exactly what Octavion had in mind—that he’d convince Kira to help save his sister’s life and die in the process. Instead, Lydia was willing to sacrifice her life to prevent Kira from risking death.
“If I do this, will she live?” Kira asked.
“Yes.”
The next question was harder and she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask it. She took in a quivering breath. “And I will die?”
Octavion lowered his eyes to where he held Lydia’s hand, tenderly running his thumb across her knuckles. “I am not certain. I was with Serena when she healed Lydia and she felt great pain, but then I had to leave her. My place was with my sister and seeing to her safety. Later, my father brought me the news of Serena’s death, saying she had a weak heart.” He paused for a long moment, as if reliving the scene in his mind. “It will be dangerous, that I do know.”
Great pain. Death.
Kira looked at the Crystor again. If this was Lydia’s only chance, could she tell her no? Could she sit here and watch her friend die. “I don’t have a weak heart, so I should be okay, right?” She swallowed hard, trying not to think about what could actually happen if she decided to do this. It didn’t help. This could mean the end of her plans for her future—her dreams. Her life. This one decision could end all that, not to mention the pain it would bring her mother if she died in the process. A sinking feeling crept into her heart. This wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare.
Before he answered, Lydia began thrashing around again. This time, her screaming sent Toran scrambling to the other side of the cave. He collapsed in the dirt, obviously spent from taking most of her pain. The full force of Lydia’s injury came crashing down as she grabbed her side and let out another pain-filled moan.
Octavion drew her into his arms. “Altaria, please. Stop fighting her. You might be able to help.”
When Lydia pushed Octavion away and lay back on the animal pelts, her face was no longer her own. Once again her eyes were the color of blue ice, piercing the subtle glow from the candlelight with their beauty and fury. There was no weakness in her facial expression as she scowled at her brother with the same hostility she’d shown her attackers.
She took a fistful of his vest in her hand and pulled him closer. “Don’t let me die, Octavion.”
Lydia’s kindred spirit—Altaria, he’d called her. The stark difference in the person Kira saw now and the Lydia she knew was startling. It wasn’t just the change in her appearance, but her attitude was different as well. Kira tried not to think about how all this was possible, how one person could really be two.
“I won’t,” Octavion said. “But what you are asking . . . are you willing to live with the consequences? You know how much Lydia values this friendship.”
“I care nothing for this . . . commoner,” she said. “But I would rather spend eternity locked in this body than . . . join the gods of Lor.” She tried to sit up, but Octavion held her in place by putting gentle pressure to her shoulders.
“So she holds your freedom over your head. She is a smart one.” Octavion let go and pulled the blanket back to check her wound. He removed the poultice to find it soaked with blood.
“Altaria, you have reopened the wound. Stop moving about.” He growled.
The entire altercation had mingled with Kira’s thoughts about Lydia and their friendship. Kira didn’t know this strange girl who obviously hated her, and she certainly didn’t know Octavion. But somewhere in their exchange, Lydia struggled to live, despite her willingness to sacrifice her life.
Kira didn’t want this decision to be anyone’s but hers. If she risked her life to save the only true friend she’d ever known, then it wouldn’t be forced on her—not even at the point of Octavion’s knife. Not that she thought it would come to that, but then . . . she still wasn’t sure how much she could trust him.
Trembling, Kira picked up the Crystor and held it in her hand. The chill it brought while coiled in her palm sent a shiver up her arm, as if its powers already seeped into her skin. When Octavion held it, the charm simply settled into the creases of his hand, then stopped, perfectly satisfied with being still, its silver remaining vibrant and cool. But in Kira’s hand, it seemed restless—as if it searched for something to cling to, changing from silver to red, then to a shimmering light blue. She closed her fingers around it in hopes it would relax, but instead, it warmed, sending a spark up the length of her arm and into her head. She cried out when the pain met the base of her skull.
“Kira, no!” Octavion yelled, his gaze locked on the tiny strand of silver that crept out from under Kira’s fingertips and found its place around her wrist. Both ends unraveled into several fine silver threads that came to life, seeking out the other until the bracelet intertwined the two ends together and tightened, leaving barely a finger’s width between it and her skin.
An instant later, Octavion cradled her against his chest—more gently than she would have ever thought possible. But it gave little comfort and no relief to the pain.
Kira felt as though ice raced through her veins as the skin around her wrist burned cold. The tiny sparks she’d felt before exploded like bolts of lightning, shooting up her arm and radiating throughout her entire body. Her muscles ached and her head felt as though her skull had been crushed.
As Kira’s body began to shake uncontrollably, a second surge of pain rippled through her, this time radiating out through the tips of her fingers. She pushed Octavion away, thinking his embrace was what had caused it. She clenched her fists and drew them into her stomach, hoping the pressure of her body would help ease the pain. Instead, it only worsened. She gasped a ragged breath, then fell forward onto her knees.
“Help me. I . . . can’t make it . . . stop.”
Octavion lifted her chin with his fingers. “Kira, I need to see your eyes.”
She tried to obey, but even the tiny bit of light from the candles caused searing pain. “I can’t.”
He took her face in his hands. “Yes, you can. Try taking deep breaths. Focus on the pain and will it away.”
At first, she fought him, trying to pull his hands away from her face, but then she felt their warmth easing the pain in her head. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was right. With each breath, the intensity seemed to lessen.
“Again,” he ordered.
She gripped his massive shoulders to steady herself and tried again. This time, the warmth coming from his hands not only took the pain, but replaced it with a strange feeling of euphoria. It was as though she floated on a cloud. She tried opening her eyes again, surprised at what she saw. The look of concern on Octavion’s face mirrored the one he’d given his sister. And for the first time since meeting him, she could read his eyes. He cared for her—a lot. It didn’t make sense. If he was so eager to sacrifice her life to save Lydia’s, why the concern?
Octavion searched Kira’s eyes for a moment, then sighed deeply. “Are you well now?”
“I think so. You didn’t say that part would hurt, only when I healed.”
He shook his head. “I did not know. When I bound Serena to my sister, she did not feel pain, and the Crystor did not change color or move on its own.”
Octavion stood and helped Kira to sit on the bench. He took her right hand, pushed up the sleeve of her jacket, and examined her wrist. It still held a faint red mark where she’d first felt it burn. He brushed it with the tip of his finger. “Perhaps its powers are stronger than before.”
Amidst the commotion, Altaria had switched back to Lydia and managed to push herself to her knees, using the crate for support. She clumsily stood, knocking the water basin onto the ground and splashing both Octavion and Kira.
Octavion jumped back. “Blessed Zi’ah, Lydia! What are you doing?”
She leaned over, holding her side. Fresh blood soaked her oversized shirt. She g
lanced at the cave opening before turning back to find her brother’s questioning eyes.
“Releasing you from your obligation,” she whispered. Then she simply faded away, leaving a fine white mist in her place.
