16
It was nightfall when they reached the edge of the Muravo Mountain Pass, a journey that was supposed to have taken two and a half days cut to one. Having encountered only one more sand serpent that Valine sent to its grave immediately upon its emergence kept their pace quick. She felt more ill after the feat and Sarim grew more panicked.
Black scattered her vision, her nose was steadily bleeding, a slow leak, and her taupe linens were ruined by the rust and claret stains. She hadn’t told Sarim, but blood had begun to seep from her ears and eyes, too. The rolling movement of the horse was simultaneously soothing and nausea-inducing. All she wanted was for it to be stopped and for her to be lulled to slumber, but too often, Sarim checked on her, and too often, her responses were less than satisfactory. Those replies caused the gallop to increase.
“I’m going to tell you a secret only because I hope it’s the only thing that’ll keep you awake with me.” Sarim’s voice was a rumble through her chest and mind. She was drawn to the sound, like a moth to the light. “I do love someone, but I fear revealing it. If I tell them the truth, they can use that to hurt me. And I don’t mean deliberately, I mean simply that if they do not feel the same and they know I yearn for them, it would kill me inside. I couldn’t imagine that truth hanging between us at all times while we have to operate within the court daily. To wish and want and hurt. It’s better to stay quiet, playing with the fantasies where I never have to worry.”
There was silence, but Valine mumbled, urging him to continue.
“I think I pushed at your feelings for Malik harder because I was too afraid to act on my own. It was easier to take myself out of the equation. Saints, it’s such a double standard.” He snorted. “It feels stupid now, those feelings, especially since we almost died. That was fear unlike any other, and my hesitation towards revealing my feelings feels so insignificant in the grand scheme of it all. I don’t know why I waited so long…and now I think I might chance it. Because if I die without even having tried...I think that’s almost worse than any other response.”
Finally, they stopped. Sarim jumped off the horse, reaching up for her as she virtually tumbled from the saddle. Scooping her up in a carry like one would handle a newborn babe, Sarim held her against his chest, his heart thundering beneath her ear. She began to close her eyes for the thousandth time, and this time Sarim let her. She had the sensation of darkness gliding above them as they crossed into the alcove carved into the mountain. Sarim deposited her on the rocky ground, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
Time must have passed because she awoke to the sound of Sarim’s quarter horse nickering nearby, chuffing happily at the moment’s rest.
Through the sliver of rock they were wedged in, Valine could see the star-flecked night sky, Talloh’s third moon replacing the burning sun. It was stunning to see the three white spheres glowing in the sky, arcing over the Twilight Sands. It had always been a wonder to her why Talloh was the only kingdom that possessed a triad of moons. Why not Ixaitha? Ixaitha was just as northern as Talloh was, just on the eastern side of the continent. She didn’t know what pull Talloh had over those orbs among the stars, but she thought it unlikely she’d figure it out.
Sarim touched her hand and gently set a canteen into it. Valine shakily brought it to her lips, cool water running over her chin. She took a small mouthful and swished before she spat, removing the taste of the blood that had leaked down her throat and past her parted lips. Returning the tinny metal to her lips, she drank slowly, steadily. She’d expended herself too far, first with her magic, then with the first touches of dehydration. She knew she was in perilous danger if she did not see a healer or vitamancer soon.
She set the water down beside her, the echoing slosh bouncing around their hiding place. She mumbled to herself incoherently, and she heard Sarim’s boots send rocks skittering. Strange, she must have closed her eyes again.
She was hardly lucid when Sarim lifted her and settled her in his lap, draping a blanket over them. He took her discarded canteen and took a pull from it, carefully sipping. It was the only sound around her now. Her vision was unreliable, and all she could smell was blood. Touch was only Sarim and the blanket. Taste was still blood. She wondered why she suddenly felt so cold. But she didn’t bother pondering it because Sarim’s voice abruptly sounded so distant, and why did he sound so frightened?
Valine thought it didn’t matter and then suddenly nothing did.
When she woke next, she felt like death warmed over. She felt like she’d been torn right from Mrithun’s doorstep by Vitus himself. Valine wondered if she really had died and something brought her back. She didn’t move, but slowly she collected herself, carefully orienting her body.
Valine lay on her side on rocky ground, her face pressed into her hand, a rough blanket cast over her prone form. Her face and fingertips were cold, but everything else was warm. More blood had leaked from her nose in slumber and crusted there, but it had stopped some time ago. It had slipped down her throat and thickened her breathing. It’s when she took stock of her hearing that she heard Sarim’s voice.
“Alastair! Quickly, Valine needs you.”
She heard the distinct sound of hurrying steps, and suddenly, the scent of sunshine, blackberries, and cedar washed over her. The scent of Runell, of Alastair, and his lower notes of mint and tobacco brushed her senses. She tried to smile but failed. She tried to open her eyes but found herself unable to.
Valine felt panic lace her blood.
“What happened?” Alastair’s sonorous voice demanded, and she could’ve wept from the relief of hearing such familiar cadences.
“We were attacked by sand serpents and she killed them.”
“She what? How?”
“She’s a necromancer, that’s how,” Sarim snapped.
“She told you?”
Valine swore her heart stopped at that voice—that dark, rumbling voice that carried notes of formality and casual air. She knew the king’s voice already, the tone and flow of how he spoke, and she recognized that royal Adraalian accent by the soft slip of the letter S.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of flesh meeting fabric-covered flesh—a shove. Who was shoving who?
“You sent us on a fucking suicide mission!” Sarim.
There was a second sound, a sharper noise. This time it was flesh on flesh—a punch. Was Sarim fighting the king? Surely not. Surely, he wasn’t punching his best friend over her.
Valine managed to open her eyes, and everything was hazed with pink. She found Alastair’s blurry form directly in front of her, bright red hair wild and sky-blue eyes filled with worry. Beyond him, she saw Sarim and Malik facing off, the latter with a red mark on his jaw. Sarim had hit him.
“What are you talking about? She can kill without a touch; the sand serpents shouldn’t have even got near you.”
Valine noticed Alastair stiffen and turn slowly. “Mal,” he started softly, pityingly. The king whipped his gaze to the Runellian. “Life and death mages can’t touch animals.”
“What?” Malik asked, shocked and hollow.
Alastair shook his head. “We can’t affect animals with our magic. The fact that she did…she’s more lethal than any necromancer I’ve known.”
“She almost died doing it. I don’t think she’ll be trying it again any time soon,” Sarim bit out harshly, glaring daggers at Malik.
“That’s not possible, she—but she’ll be okay, right?” Malik questioned softly, dangerously. There was an unnamable emotion overlapping his words—it was something akin to fear.
“I don’t know. Vitamancers and necromancers can nullify each other. I’ve never heard of them keeping a symbiotic bond, but I’ll try.”
Did they not notice that her eyes were already open? Or were they so bloody they couldn’t tell the difference?
Alastair’s hands hovered over her body, sapphire light glowing from between his fingers and trickling into her chest. The sensation was warm and buzzing, she felt it from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Alastair continued to cast his hands slowly over her, grazing her clothing, and he stopped directly over the center of her sternum.
“Holy saints,” Alastair cursed.
“What is it?” Malik asked, moving closer. She could make out that the dark clothing he was wearing was viridian and gold—Adraali colors.
“She made a tether.” He turned his head to Sarim as if following the line from her to him. “Her necromancy is attached to you right now. It’s quite literally the only thing keeping her alive.”
“Why would she do that?” Malik asked. “What does that mean?”
“A precautionary measure,” Sarim echoed her earlier words. “She told me she did something. She asked me to take off my medallion and to hope I never find out why.”
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it done,” Alastair marveled as his hand hovered between her breasts. “If you had died for whatever reason, she could pull you back immediately, and whatever fatal wounds you would have had would disappear once she broke the tether. Had you died, you would have come back as you and not a mindless servant to her.”
“And because she did that, my being alive is keeping her alive.”
“Correct.”
“Fucking hells,” Sarim exclaimed softly, fisting his hands in his hair. “So, what do we do?”
Alastair paused, thinking, and it was when Valine saw a light in his eyes that she gained hope. He turned away from her, drawing his vitamancery back into his core. Gazing at Sarim, he smiled.
“I’m going to heal her through you.”