by Erin Beaty
Flames spewed from the top of the pile of earth. The stones themselves seemed to be melting, though it was hard to tell through the waves of heat. Molten streams advanced slowly, sputtering out of cracks between the rocks near the base. He needed to move her, but how to pick her up? If he cradled her on her left, he would grind against her wounds, but he could shelter them better. From the other side he’d still have to hold her, perhaps centering pressure in places that would damage her further.
“I need a blanket,” he shouted to Casseck. His friend pushed to his feet and ran. Alex put his arm under Sage’s shoulders and pulled her up and against him, putting his mouth to her ear.
“I’m here, Sage,” he whispered. Her back arched, and her eyelashes fluttered against his neck. “Stay with me. I’m getting you out of here.” He pressed his lips to her soot-smeared forehead.
Spirit above, it was just like Charlie—
The sound of a sword being drawn from a scabbard made him look up. Casseck stood between them and a Kimisar fighter dressed in Demoran clothing. Swirling tattoos decorated his exposed forearms. The man raised his hands, palms out, then slowly reached up to push the hood of his cloak back. He wasn’t very much older than Alex himself, but he looked much wearier. His brown eyes looked past Casseck to Alex cradling Sage, and there was recognition, though Alex couldn’t recall ever seeing this man before.
“Get back!” Casseck shouted through the roar of fire and smoke. They didn’t have more than a minute to get Sage out of here.
The man shook his head and pulled his hands around to undo the clasp at his neck. Slowly and deliberately, he shrugged off his cloak and held it out. “Take it,” he said in Demoran. “Carry her away.”
The Kimisar was armed with knives at his belt, so Cass reached for the cloak without lowering his sword. As soon as Casseck had it, the man retreated, hands in the air again, until he faded into the smoke.
Alex didn’t even consider that it might be a trick, but Casseck never turned his back on the spot where the man had vanished as he brought the cloak to them. After a moment’s hesitation, he jammed his sword in the ground and spread the rough cloth next to Sage.
Alex grabbed an edge and pulled it under her torso and rolled the rest of her onto it so she lay on her uninjured side. Then they folded the end around her, making a hammock. Alex grabbed his sword and stood, and they lifted her together.
“This way!” he shouted, tugging his end. Casseck followed him into the smoke.
110
SHE LAY AT an angle, so her weight rested on her right side and her back. Her left side was almost too painful to comprehend. It both throbbed and stabbed with a thousand daggers. Yet it was better than the first time she woke, when they’d been cleaning sand and dirt from the wounds. Her jaw still ached from biting down on the leather strap they’d put in her mouth. She’d screamed and thrashed at first, until she became aware of Alex holding her against him where he could. He was whispering in her ear, trying to soothe her, but his own choking sobs were impossible to hide. She focused on his voice and managed to quiet down and also stopped fighting, other than the twitches and jerks she couldn’t help, and tears from Alex’s face fell and mingled with hers.
Now a moist fabric lay over her body to keep her wounds from drying too much. Most of the outside of her leg, her hip, and the middle section of her arm had been burned to huge, painful blisters that ran into one another and burst before sloughing off, leaving weeping rawness behind. A spot on her thigh and another on her calf, plus one on her upper arm, had burned to the point of charring. Her hand, though, protected by her thick glove, had only been comparatively singed. She only ever looked at her burns once. That was more than enough.
Alex took almost exclusive care of her, being gentle when she needed it, but also tough when she resisted. Every few hours he spread a pungent, oily balm over her burns, murmuring apologies for hurting her, but she no longer needed the strap to get through it. Twice daily he forced her to stretch and move her arm and leg in multiple directions, saying it was necessary to keep muscles and tendons and skin limber. During those exercises she unleashed torrents of obscenities at him, but he only smiled and told her she needed to be more creative. Every hour he made her drink water and broth—laced with sedatives, she was sure.
Clare was often there as well, stroking her hair as Alex washed away the dead skin every day. Her friend’s face was drawn and pale, and her red-rimmed eyes never focused on Sage, even as she talked to distract her from Alex’s work. Despite the haze of pain and medicines, Sage was never able to forget Lieutenant Gramwell or how he’d died, but she didn’t know how to tell Clare how sorry she was.
“Did we stop the invasion?” she asked Alex one day.
Alex nodded. “Once the army was severed, most of the Kimisar scattered. I don’t think Casmun or Demora needs to worry about an invasion through here for many, many years. There’s a wall of black glass blocking the way, thanks to you.”
Another time she asked about Gramwell, but she wasn’t surprised when Alex said they hadn’t found him. He was probably buried under the wall of melted stone.
Her beautiful sword, too, was gone. She was the only one bothered by that. Banneth said he’d have a new one made as soon as they returned to Osthiza. “Like your friend, it perished in saving us, and there is no greater honor,” he told her.
That sentiment wasn’t likely to console Clare.
It was almost two weeks before Banneth and Alex agreed that Sage could be moved. They traveled slowly for the benefit of the wounded, of which there were many. All told, over a dozen Norsari had been lost either on the ridge or in the bowl, plus ten other Demoran soldiers. Banneth would be leaving behind about forty of his own men, and Sage cried for a day when she heard Darit had survived, but lost his left arm.
Before they put her in the wagon, Alex wrapped her burns in bandages for the first time and helped her into an outfit Clare had tailored to cover her where her skin could be touched. It was an awkward-looking affair that laced in strange places to make it easy to get on and off, but it was better than the blankets that kept slipping. Until they were moving, however, Sage hadn’t appreciated being as still as they’d kept her. The constant rocking of the wagon set off waves of pain reminiscent of the first few days, and after an hour she begged for more of the opiates Alex had been weaning her off of. Alex frowned but allowed it.
By the tenth day of travel she needed higher and more frequent doses to keep the pain at bay, and she’d grown to like the hazy hours when she didn’t have to think or remember what had happened. When Sage asked for a sedative that night after they’d stopped and Alex refused, she screamed at him. He tried to gather her in his arms, and she fought him until the pain was too great, and she collapsed against him, weeping.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he rocked her. “I shouldn’t have let it go on as long as I did, but I couldn’t stand to see you in pain.”
“Then let me have it,” she sobbed. “I want to forget.”
Alex looked stricken. “Forget what, Sage?”
“Gramwell, Charlie…” She kept going. “The guards in the barracks, the men on the river, the Kimisar in the pass—I killed them all.” Alex said nothing but continued to hold her. “And me,” she finished.
“You?”
It was selfish. She was alive, and she should be grateful, yet that wasn’t how she felt.
He kissed the top of her head. “You’ll heal, Sage. It just takes time.”
Sage didn’t want to say it, but she was in too much pain to stop the words. “I’ll be scarred all over.”
“Yes, probably.” Alex’s lopsided smile was belied by the tears in his eyes. “You’ll have me beaten for battle wounds. I don’t know if I’ll be able to live that down.”
She tried to laugh, but instead the fears and emotions she’d drugged away for the last weeks came rushing in at once, demanding to be felt. Sage could only cry uncontrollably as they hit her in wave after wave.
> Alex remained silent but held her to him even after she fell asleep, exhausted.
111
THE NEXT DAYS ran together in one long, terrible stretch of time. She was dimly aware that Alex insisted on stopping for her, but Banneth and Clare and most of their group moved on. The only pain relief Alex would let her have was that which came from the burn salve he still applied several times a day, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Her mood swung wildly between rage and depression, and very little of what she ate she kept down. She tried appealing to Casseck, but he shook his head sadly and sided with Alex.
No one would listen, so Sage screamed and threw fits and lapsed into sullen silence for hours. Or she lay weeping, too sad to even lift her head.
At times she was so cold she shook as though caught in a blizzard. Then suddenly she would be gasping with heat, sweat soaking her hair and dripping into her wounds, burning like molten lead.
And there was pain. Always pain.
Pain that itched and pain that stabbed. Pain that rolled like thunder and struck like lightning. Her skin felt like it was sewing itself together or crawling with insects. They tied her hands and feet together like a slaughtered hog to keep her from scratching.
Nightmares, too, came.
She dreamed of fire, of being trapped under a melting wall of black glass. One night she dreamed of cutting her burned limbs off and of the look of horror when Alex saw her. Yet even in her nightmares, he never left her, and he was always there when she woke, hoarse from screaming.
Once she saw her father, or thought she did. He walked into the camp and sat by the fire without looking at her, even when she called out to him. Then Alex came over and forced her to look in his eyes while she tried to tell him what she saw, and he insisted she was wrong. When she looked again, Father was gone, and she cried all night.
Then one morning she woke feeling clearheaded and alert—and hungry. She carefully pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing with the pain, and looked around. They were camped at the base of two stone columns—the Protector’s Gate. So they were near Osthiza.
Alex lay nearby, a bucket she remembered vomiting into repeatedly near his head. There were dark circles under his eyes and dirty trails of tears on his cheeks. Movement by the smoldering campfire caught her eye, and she saw Casseck squatting next to it, coaxing it back to life in the gray light of dawn. He jumped a little when he saw her.
A few seconds later he was untying her wrists and giving her a cup of water to drink. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.
“Like a newborn foal,” she answered. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but it was different from how they’d shaken and writhed for the last few days. It felt cleaner somehow. “What happened?”
“We had to let the medicine work itself out of your system. I’ve heard of it being done with those recovering from severe injury, but it’s quite different to watch it happen.” Cass glanced over at Alex. “He never left your side.”
Memories surfaced in her mind, but she wasn’t sure which were real and which were hallucinations. “Did I ever hit him?”
Cass smiled ruefully. “Once or twice. Mostly you scratched. But with your injuries it was hard to restrain you too much.”
Her cheeks burned with shame. “How long did it take?”
“This is the eighth morning.”
“Eight days?” She dropped the cup and put her hands over her eyes, her left arm throbbing with the movement.
Alex stirred and sat up, instantly awake. “What’s happening?”
“I think she’s finally out of the woods,” Cass said, refilling the cup with water.
Alex crawled toward her, and Sage reached out to touch the streaks of red on his face and neck. She had done that. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.”
“No, no,” he said, pulling her carefully into his strong arms, the way he’d learned to do over the past weeks. “It’s over, love.” Alex rocked her and stroked her hair as he kissed her again and again. “I’m just glad to have you back.”
112
THEY STAYED IN Osthiza two more weeks. By then most of Sage’s burned skin had grown over, shiny and pink—and itchy as hell. At least she was wearing full clothes again. She still craved the relief of the opiates they’d given her. Twice she’d broken down crying. Alex stayed with her when that happened—never judging, just holding her tightly and whispering that he knew she was strong enough to get through it, telling her over and over until she believed it, too.
Clare avoided her most of the time—so much that for the first two days after Ambassador Gramwell, Colonel Traysden, and Nicholas left for Vinova, Sage had thought she went with them. She’d been afraid to ask, not wanting to admit her friend had left without saying good-bye, but on the third day, Clare appeared in her doorway. Sage was sorting dresses and trying to decide which to take back to Demora. At the sound of Clare clearing her throat, Sage looked up in surprise and dropped her handful of silk. For a half minute they looked at each other awkwardly, then Clare strode in and stopped in front of her.
“I hate you,” she said. “I hate you because you lived and he died. I hate you because he died saving your life. I hate you because you still have Captain Quinn and I have—” Clare choked. All Sage could do was stand there as her friend fought to bring herself under control. “Lani told me to say all that. She said it would make me feel better.”
“Do you feel better?” Sage asked.
Clare shook her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I feel worse now because I don’t mean it. I’d miss you just as much as him. More.”
“Clare, I’d do anything to bring him back. If I thought I could go there and dig him out with my bare hands, I would.”
“I know,” said Clare, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“How can you be so forgiving?”
Sage sat on the edge of the bed and shifted her dress around the sensitive skin on her leg. “Because I understand. When Father died, I hated everyone, even those who took care of me.”
“How long did it take for you to get over it?” Clare whispered.
“Years. Sometimes I think I’m still not over it.” She squeezed Clare’s hand. “But it really didn’t get better until I talked about him with friends. You’re way ahead of me.”
* * *
Banneth threw a banquet for Sage’s last night in Osthiza. Lani had all Sage’s favorite foods prepared and wanted to talk the whole time about Sage and Alex’s wedding plans.
“Lani, it’s still almost a year and a half away.” Sage glanced nervously at Clare, whose grasp of the Casmuni language was good enough to understand what they were talking about.
“I think I will come visit you next summer so we can plan it.” Lani tossed her long black braid over her shoulder.
“You are welcome in Demora anytime, but it gets very cold in the winter.”
“Then I will have to find someone to keep me warm,” said Lani airily. She cast her eyes on Lieutenant Casseck, who was eating at her right hand, completely unaware of what had just been said. Sage nearly choked. Lani shrugged. “I’m in no rush, though. Demoran men can’t marry until they’re twenty-four anyway.”
“That’s only Demoran army officers,” Sage gasped after she swallowed her mouthful.
“Same difference,” Lani said, taking a sip of wine. She caught Casseck’s eye and smiled. He blinked in surprise and smiled back, oblivious.
Banneth leaned closer to Sage and spoke in a low voice. “I suggest you teach that one more than please and thank you before we meet again. Otherwise she will talk him into something he doesn’t understand.”
* * *
The journey north was uneventful. Banneth accompanied them until they reached the last major town along the Kaz River. From there, they headed north to Vinova, but Ambassador Gramwell wasn’t there, so they rested briefly before pushing to the Jovan Road. Over dinner at an inn one n
ight, they were met with a number of dispatches from Tennegol.
Alex passed out dozens of scrolls to the men with him. Every Norsari received a commendation from the king, and Sage and Clare had ones specially addressed to them. Alex read Sage’s over her shoulder from his seat next to her on the bench while she blushed and nudged him away with her shoulder.
“Not bad for an eighteen-year-old,” he said. “Of course, I had two or three of these by your age.”
“You did not!”
He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “No, I didn’t.”
“What are the rest of the messages about?” she asked.
“Let’s see…” Alex dug through the satchel. “The last two have seals of official orders rather than those fancy ribbons. For me and the Norsari here, and—” Alex broke off as he saw the two silver pins attached to the scroll.
Sage leaned over to look. “Promotion to major, huh? Not bad for someone your age.”
Alex shook his head. “It’s unheard of.” He pulled the pins off and stuffed them in his pocket. “Don’t tell anyone. I can’t even wear them anyway since I don’t have a uniform. They’d look really strange with this.” He gestured to his Casmuni breeches and vest.
“What’s the other one?” Sage asked.
Alex squinted at the writing on the outside of the second scroll. “This one’s yours. Uncle Raymond has plans for you, apparently.”
“Interesting,” Sage said, taking it. She broke the seal, and a smaller, unofficial-looking note with three distinct handwritings fell out. Sage opened it first, finding a personal letter from the queen and the two princesses.
