Chapter 70
Chapter Seventy
Something wet lands on my cheek.
A dense fog envelops my senses like an oppressively heavy blanket is draped over my mind. A dull ache throbs in my chest, and I have to fight for every shallow breath.
It’s a monumental effort to crack my eyes open.
But I’m glad I do. Mayah hovers above me, face wet with tears, hands poised over my sternum.
I follow her gaze and—Skies damn.
There’s a hole in my chest.
Why doesn’t it hurt more? She must’ve numbed the pain. How did I end up with—
Then I remember.
Tormik. Where is he now? What hap—
“My reserves are empty,” she whispers, eyes wet. A tear drips onto my jaw. “Stay here. Don’t die. I’ll—I’ll find food—”
She starts to rise, and from somewhere deep inside my broken body, I find the strength to touch her hand. I try to grasp it, but I can’t convince my fingers to close. It’s enough, though. She stops. Waits.
Slowly, so slowly, I reach into the pocket of my cloak, spread out beneath me. My fingers find the apple I stashed away earlier in the night. Hand shaking, I manage to retrieve it. I nearly drop it twice as I press it into Mayah’s open palm.
A broken sob tears from her throat as she takes the apple from my trembling hand.
I remain awake long enough to see her bite into it.
Then darkness claims me once more.
“…over here!”
Mayah’s panicked voice yanks me into consciousness. I’m on the ground, head in her lap. An ache throbs in my chest, but the gaping hole is gone.
A groan escapes me as I struggle to sit, drawing Mayah’s attention.
“Don’t move!” Her hands clamp around my shoulders, and it’s embarrassing that I don’t have the strength to break her grip.
“I’m not sure if I finished healing you.
My reserves ran out again.” Gentle fingers comb through my hair, tears limning her eyes.
“I-I killed him. I wielded his blood, and I killed him.”
My heart aches at the pain in her voice, at the fucking guilt swirling in her pretty blue eyes.
“Mayah—”
A loud rustling in the underbrush cuts me off, and then Tumaas, the blond woman, and several heavily armed rebels emerge from between the trees. The rebels form a protective circle around us, weapons drawn. I don’t recognize any of them.
“Mayah!” Tumaas bolts over toward us, eyes assessing. “Are you—”
“Tell me you have food.” Her voice is a desperate plea.
Tumaas kneels beside Mayah, reaching into his cloak, and hands her a thick strip of dried meat.
Mayah’s entire body sags with relief. She finishes it in three bites, cheeks bulging as she chews furiously. Eyes closed, she tilts her head back, hands already glowing.
She sets her palms against my neck. No. Her wounds are still bleeding, she should—
I try to speak, but my tongue feels coated in sandpaper.
Her healing power flows through me, a gentle, cool stream that flows toward the center of my chest. The throbbing pain slowly eases, each inhale less painful as it enters my lungs.
The tendrils of her power branch out through my limbs, through every nerve ending, cocooning me in their miracle until every ache is healed away.
“Enough,” I rasp. Her hands don’t move, but I have enough strength now to sit up. “Heal yourself. Now.”
For once she doesn’t question me. Tumaas, the blond woman, and the armed rebels watch us curiously, but no one says a word.
Her hands glow bright, and when the bloodied wounds on her shoulder and thigh knit closed, I take a true, full breath.
“Can you stand?” Mayah asks softly, rising to her feet.
I nod, even though I’m not certain. My legs sway beneath me, unable to bear my weight, and I would’ve crashed to the ground if not for Mayah and Tumaas darting in to hold me upright.
They balance me between them as we head back to the camp.
Two of the rebels carry Tormik’s contorted body, and Mayah pointedly stares straight ahead, throat bobbing.
“The camp’s secure,” Tumaas tells us. “The rebels from the other camps arrived an hour ago. All the Arbinji soldiers are dead. The—the Tundraynis, too. We found Faramir’s corpse—” My feet falter, and Mayah cuts me a worried glance.
“But we couldn’t find you. Tairna’s been losing her mind.
What happened? Mayah, your … father, he—” Tumaas finds a shred of common sense and shuts up.
Mayah doesn’t answer his question, her fingers tightening on my bicep.
My mother waits, pacing the rubble-strewn ground in front of the infirmary.
A soft sob escapes her when she catches sight of me, her sandaled feet pounding into the dirt as she runs toward us.
Her arms wind around my neck, great, heaving sobs shaking both our bodies.
After a few moments, Mayah gently pushes her away.
“He’s all right. He needs rest, though.”
Tairna wipes her tears. A deep, shaky breath before her spine straightens. She’s truly a fine commander. “I need to meet with the other camp leaders. What is your update?”
“Tormik and Faramir are gone,” I rasp, still dangling between Mayah and Tumaas. “My father, too.”
My mother’s brows shoot into her hairline. “You’re certain?” Her low voice is a whisper of disbelieving hope.
I can only manage a weak dip of my chin. Mayah tugs my arm, jaw set tight, and Tairna steps back, nodding to herself. “Rest. Eat. I’ll return soon.”
The infirmary is overflowing—rows and rows of askew cots filled with the injured.
Blankets are spread across the floor with sleeping patients nestled wherever they could find space.
Mayah and Tumaas had helped me onto a cot near the entrance—Mayah insisted on it, so she could assess new patients without leaving my side.
She forced me to eat half a loaf of bread and three more strips of dried meat before letting me sleep.
When I wake, I’m uncertain how much time has passed, but Mayah still sits on the edge of my cot, murmuring softly as she heals a young woman’s wounds.
The cot creaks as I sit up, and Mayah swivels toward me, brows drawing tight. “Lay back down! You need—”
“I’m fine.” The thin blanket rustles as I push it back and swing my legs over the edge of the cot.
“Zev—”
“Really, Mayah. I—” Words fail me as I gaze down at her pale face, etched with concern. A quiet “thank you” is all that passes my lips.