Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
- AYC -
A yc curses Lora and pleads with her while she looks at him with unemotional eyes, until at last, Marcellus calls a couple of priests. At first, Ayc fights against them, but quickly realizes that the more he struggles, the more he bleeds. He lets them lay him on a stretcher. One of them drips something down his throat. It makes the world go fuzzy and soft, and soon, he’s unconscious.
Fragments of reality break through the darkness: pain in his side, hands pressing into him, murmuring voices, someone crying, a voice that sounds like Lora: “He will not die. I promise you; he will not die.”
Ayc tries to speak, but only manages a grunt before he’s pulled into an unwilling slumber once more.
He wakes an unknown time later to the sight of two Peregrins, sitting beside the bed where he lies. Both Peregrins wear scowls so deep Ayc is convinced it’ll leave a permanent imprint. Strangely, Ayc doesn’t hurt, but he’s freezing, despite the fur blanket that covers him.
His teeth chattering, he tugs the blanket higher. “F-fuck, you th-think with two of you n-now, one of you would have l-it a fire.”
“What?” the two Peregrins say.
Ayc shuts his eyes and reopens them again. Only one Peregrin frowns down at him now. Fuck, it seemed so real.
“N-nevermind,” Ayc says quickly. “Where are we?”
He looks around the room. It looks like any generic tavern he’s ever been to, except far cleaner. Pristine almost. The walls are a crisp white and the floor gleams as though scrubbed. His bed lies in the center, and a fireplace stands on one end, devoid of any fire. The room is dim, lit only by lamps on either side of his bed. Outside the one window, open to let in a cool breeze, the sun hovers near the horizon, but he isn’t sure if it’s sunset or sunrise. How long has he slept?
“You’re at a hospital in the village near to the temple,” Peregrin says. “The priests brought you here.”
“You only bring p-people to hospitals when you think they’re going to d-die. Oh.” Ayc presses a hand to his forehead, finding it damp and fiery to the touch. “You all think I’m d-dying.”
Peregrin’s throat works visibly as they swallow. “You are dying. But you will not die.”
“B—” Ayc grinds his teeth to keep them from chattering. “Because you actually trust Marcellus to keep his word?”
“We have no choice but to trust him.” Peregrin rubs their hand over their face. Their skin matches their gray armor; crevices form beneath their eyes, as purple as a bruise. “The Lux Aester healers have been very knowledgeable and attentive, and they are running tests, but so far they have not been able to identify whatever poison was on Marcellus’s blade.”
“Or they are under orders not to reveal it.”
“True. We sent Tempest with a message to get a Totus Omni healer. Hopefully, they’ll be here soon.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Peregrin lifts their cane to gesture at a door at the side of the room. The one near the front is barred close. “They are in an adjoining room meant for waiting families. Marcellus left his First, Erech, to watch us and make sure that none of us leave.”
“You need to talk to Lora,” Ayc says, trying to put force behind his words. “Tell her this is foolishness. She shouldn’t risk everything for my life. She?—”
Peregrin cuts him off with a slicing gesture. “We’ve all talked to Lora. She understands the risk she is taking. She is certain of her choice.”
“But why?” Ayc demands.
Peregrin pinches the bridge of their nose, their eyes pressing closed. “Boy, if you don’t know, I can’t tell you.”
Ayc opens his mouth, but no words come out. He's much too tired to argue. And too cold. He pulls the fur blanket up to his chin. The room blurs at the edges, and he isn’t sure if that’s the poison or a side effect of whatever medication he’s been given. A rattling sound ripples through the room, and it takes a moment to realize it’s his teeth chattering again.
“C-can we s-shut the window?” Ayc asks.
Peregrin rises, leaning heavily on their cane. They close and latch the window. “I’m going to go get the healers. I think your fever has returned.”
Ayc says nothing as Peregrin exits through the side door. He lifts the fur to inspect what has become of his wound. He’s shirtless and his abdomen is bound with dressings, covering the laceration. He vaguely remembers the sharp sting of a needle as someone sewed him back up, but the memory slips away like sand through his fingertips.
Xylie rushes through the door and closes it behind her. She pauses to assess him before she makes her way to his side. Like Peregrin, she appears worn, her eyes drooping and a frown creasing her cheeks. “You’re awake.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“About fourteen hours. It’s morning now. The healers have wanted to keep you unconscious and calm. They think it’ll slow down the poison.”
Ayc catches movement and turns to look at the end of the bed. He blinks, trying to make sense of what his eyes are seeing. “Xylie, when did the dragon’s egg hatch?”
Xylie follows his line of vision, her frown deepening. “What are you talking about?”
“The dragon. It’s at the end of my bed. It’s really cute. I think we should name it Muffin.”
She searches over his face, then turns away briefly, just long enough to run the edge of her sleeves over her cheeks. Then she says sternly, “We’re not naming the dragon Muffin.”
He casts her a glare. “You never let me do anything fun.”
She brushes her fingers over his forehead, an uncharacteristic touch. “You should go back to sleep. You need your strength.”
“Bossy,” Ayc mutters, but no matter how he tries to fight them, his eyes fall closed, anyway.
- LORA -
“He’s hallucinating,” Xylie signs as she reenters the room, her hands weaving around her head.
Lora blinks her weary, aching eyes at Xylie. Bronwen, who has been snoring softly on Lora’s shoulder, sits up at the sound of the door. On the floor, Tavish curls around Saga on a bedroll within the circle of chairs, the only furniture within this room. But his eyes are open, too. None of them have slept much, and Lora doesn’t think Peregrin has slept at all. They are currently out of the room, speaking with the healers.
Marcellus’s First has positioned himself upright against the door, slumbering with loud snores, but jerking awake at every word they speak. Erech adjusts his hand on the sword that lays over his knees, an ever-present threat. If one of them attempts to break Lora’s deal, it’s not any of their necks he’ll aim for. It’s Ayc’s, laying helplessly in the next room.
It’s been less than a day since Ayc was stabbed. The healers are doing all they can, and Peregrin has been dissolving gryphon feathers and dripping the tea down Ayc’s throat. Still, per the reports Lora has gotten from her four who have been taking shifts, he is fading: the color leaching from his face, sweat pasting over his skin, a fever that comes and goes. Lora has remained outside for most of it, after she was certain the healers here would not harm him. She feared her presence would only make him angry if he woke to find her, and the healers have warned he needs to be calm.
But also, she simply cannot watch him slip away.
“We should tell the healers about the hallucinations,” Lora says, pushing to her feet. “Maybe it will give them an idea of what the poison is.”
Erech shoves to his feet the moment she steps toward the door, instantly awake. “You know the rules. Only one of you out of this room at a time.”
“Then open the door and yell for a healer,” snaps Lora.
“I don’t take orders from a woman. You can wait until the gryphon rider returns.”
Lora advances a step. Rage boils through her blood. She doesn’t have her weapons. She and her Five voluntarily surrendered them when they stepped into the hospital, but she would go into Erech with her teeth if she could. She longs to hurt someone, hurt them the way Ayc is hurting, the way she is hurting. The idea of him dying is already a permanent hitch in her side; she feels it with every move, every breath.
As though sensing her thoughts, Erech wiggles the blade in his hand. “Or I can visit the human now.”
Silver floods Lora’s vision. “If you touch him?—”
“Lora,” Bronwen warns softly.
It’s enough to rein Lora in. If Marcellus returns to find his First dead, he will never hand over the antidote. Lora marches back to Bronwen, Tavish, and Xylie. The door wheezes as it opens, and Peregrin stiffly limps into the room. Their movements seem particularly painful today. Peregrin once admitted that stress and emotion can make their physical pain worse, so Lora can only imagine they are suffering.
A young girl follows. She’s dressed in the modest garb of the Lux Aester women, a gown buttoned high up her neck and hiding all but her fingertips and the tip of pointed shoes. She looks scarcely older than seventeen, and Lora hasn’t seen her before. She carries a bottle as Peregrin leads her toward the door to Ayc’s room.
“Who are you?” Lora demands.
The girl jumps. “I, um, sorry,” she stammers. Her pale face flushes a brilliant red. “I— my husband is the head healer, and he’s resting, so he asked me to bring the tonic for the patient’s fever.”
Husband? Lora met the head healer. Age is subtle in the fae, but he is marked with it, beneath his eyes and around the corner of his lips. He has to be a century older than her. Maybe even two. Lora’s lip curls in disgust, and Bronwen gives a sympathetic sigh. Peregrin nods in confirmation of the fae’s identity.
“I’ll go with you,” Lora says. Peregrin steps aside as Lora moves toward the door.
“A-all right,” the girl says, as Lora passes her.
Lora opens the door carefully and peeks in. Sweat shines on Ayc’s brow, but his eyelashes drape softly, peacefully. Good. He’s asleep. She releases a breath as she enters the room. As she slips past, the girl turns sideways to keep her body as far from Lora as possible, like Lora is a frightening monster. Like she still wears the blood of all those priests on her face.
The girl stills her trembling when she reaches Ayc’s bedside, instantly seeming a little more confident. She pulls a dropper from the bottle she holds. The others have simply dripped medicine onto his tongue, prying his mouth open at times. But she gently slips a hand behind his head to steady him. His eyes fly open, and he jerks back.
She squeaks and whips her hand away. “I’m sorry. They said you’ve been so sedated you would not notice my presence. I brought you medicine. ”
Ayc squints at her, a sliver of blue peering behind his lashes. Lora doesn’t move from the door, hoping Ayc won’t notice her.
“I th-think I know you,” Ayc says, his teeth chattering. He yanks the blanket up to his chin. Lora has not heard his teeth chatter so hard since they were twelve, and she held a sword at his spine.
The girl gives a slight smile. “We met only once. At the celebration for the Sovereign.”
“Avabeth.”
“Yes.” She flushes and ducks her head. Her hair comes forward like a veil. “Thank you for my wedding cake. It was beautiful.”
Lora remembers now. The night she came to ask Ayc to be one of her Five, she found him dancing and laughing drunkenly in the kitchen. She paused to watch him at the door, transfixed by the light in his face, his eyes, before she forced herself to enter. She remembers the letter and the exquisite cake and how she hadn’t been surprised at all. Baking a cake for a Lux Aester girl sounded exactly like something Ayc would do. He's always been far too kind for his own good.
Ayc studies the girl’s face. “Are you h-happy?”
“I—” Avabeth begins, and then says swiftly, “My husband is a good man.”
He manages to make his voice firm. “That’s not what I asked, Avabeth.”
Avabeth looks down at her feet, making a sound like honesty strangles her. Then she simply says, “Please. I brought you medicine. For the fever.”
He sighs, but when she offers the dropper, he takes it and drops the medicine onto his tongue .
Avabeth stands. “That should help with the shivering, but I’ll get you more blankets.”
She bolts for the door. Lora twists to follow, relieved he did not notice her, when he barks, “Lora, don’t you d-dare leave without talking to me.”
Lora steels herself and closes the door. She supposes she’s avoided him long enough. She faces him but keeps a safe distance like always. Like she’s afraid of him. And with the way her heart hammers, of course she’s afraid of him. Him and deep bodies of water. They are the only things that can make her heart do these strange things.
“What are you doing?” he growls. It’s a voice she hasn’t heard often, deep as a dragon’s roar, something that doesn’t sound like him at all. It makes her heart bound harder, and something deep in her stomach clench. She shakes off the feeling. Or at least, she attempts to. The feeling sticks to her skin like glue.
“You need to stay calm, Ayc,” she says. “The healers say?—”
“Fuck the healers!” He pushes himself upright, leaning heavily on one of his elbows. Agony ripples across his face as he does, and she rushes a step forward before halting. “You should never have agreed to Marcellus’s trap.”
Her jaw tightens, and she clings onto the flash of anger. That’s a simpler emotion to deal with. “So, I’m supposed to let you die?”
“Yes!” The medicine must be helping swiftly, because he's not shaking anymore, though his hands still fist the blanket at his shoulders. “Don’t you realize what happens if Marcellus’s wins? The freedoms he will take? The people whose lives will be lost because they can’t bear the world he’ll create? My life is not worth all of theirs. ”
“For divine’s sake, why do you have to be so fucking noble? It’s obnoxious.”
Ayc throws up his hands. The blanket tumbles to his waist. Lora’s instinct is to snap her gaze to anything other than his bare chest. But it’s too late. Her focus gets trapped there. She’s used to shirtless males. Male students at Adamant, like Wylder, never seemed to be able to keep their shirts on when sparring and training. Lora is familiar with the hard lines of muscle, the way they do not give under a punch or even a caress.
Ayc is not built like them. There’s strength to him, yes, from all that time swimming in the hazardous waves of the Bellum Sea. But there’s softness there, too. She could touch him, and he won’t break, but he will give. Smooth and soft and strong. She’s never been able to see him and not have her fingers ache to touch him. She nearly did in the river a few days ago, but instead grabbed the leviathan’s tooth—the one that still hangs around his neck. Now, she fists her hands at her side.
Perhaps, if she touched him, he wouldn’t feel like stone like the men before. Perhaps, he would feel alive.
She rarely ever lets herself look at him, but now that she’s begun, she can’t seem to stop. She drinks him in, savoring every detail: the earrings across his curved ear, the chipped paint on his fingernails, the lines of his shoulders and chest, the fullness of his lips that, sadly, don’t hold their usual smile.
“Are you listening to me?” Ayc snaps.
“Yes,” she hisses. A lie.
She drags her attention back to his face. That is not necessarily safe either. His long hair clings to his face, and he should not look handsome when he is so sick. But he does.
“Then explain to me why you’d want to save me when you hate me so much. I heard what you said to your grandmother. I’m only here to fulfill the prompt, the one about having someone you hate. And you chose poorly. I’m utterly useless. Even your grandmother knows that.”
Lora’s heart stutters, and she presses her eyes closed, afraid he might see how wrong he is. Her grandmother needed only to be in the room with Lora and Ayc, and she knew what Lora tries so hard to hide.
Lora doesn't hate Ayc.
Not even a little.
“I’m not good enough to be one of your Five,” Ayc continues, and she hates every single word coming out of his mouth, but she does not hate him.
“Stop,” Lora snaps. “This won't make me change my mind.”
He doesn’t stop. “I’m the reason that Marcellus found us at Somnia Ignis. I told Wren where we were going. I didn’t mean to. She laced her kiss with truth weed, and I didn’t realize it. But still, I didn’t listen to you. She was using me, and you tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen.”
Lora tenses. He’s hurling the words at her like he thinks this is the thing that should change her mind. But it’s nothing she hasn’t sorted out already. She’s had a lot of time to sit and think and put pieces together.
“Do you want to hear me say I’m angry with you, Ayc?” Lora asks, letting heat singe her words. “Fine. I’m angry with you. After you survive this, I’m going to kick your ass. You should have listened to me. If you had, you wouldn’t be poisoned right now. So yes, Ayc, I’m fucking pissed at you. But I’m still not changing my mind.”
“Fuck.” He buries his face in his hands and growls in frustration. Good, for once, she’s not the only one driven to distraction by their conversations. Or maybe she is, because in the silence that descends, she’s left thinking about him and Wren. Yes, Wren was using Ayc, but Ayc was only with Wren because he wanted to be. And that’s a knife that still twists in Lora’s gut.
“Did you love her?” The question is out before Lora can stop it. She wants to claw it back, to plug her ears and never hear the answer.
I’m not jealous, she tells herself.
He snorts and drops his hands. “No. I didn’t even really know her. I just hoped that I could be… something to someone. But I’m not. I’m no one, and nothing. I’m certainly not worth sacrificing everything for.”
The way he’s talking about himself hurts. Every word slices against her skin, and she wishes she could rip apart everyone who has ever made him feel that way. Except, she’s probably on that list.
Lora draws in a breath, making sure her expression and voice are stone. That they give nothing away. “I can’t let you die, Ayc.”
He presses his fists to his forehead. “Dammit, Lora, what can I say to get you to change your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Why not? Because I’m divina and my death might anger the divine? Then let me make it easier for you. Evander lied. I am not divina, and I never have been. It’s all a trick. All of it!”
He stares are her, his hands fisted in the blanket, waiting. Like he knows he has thrown down a card that will finally, finally win him the game.
But she only shakes her head. “I know.”
“You…” he starts and then trails off. Understanding slowly dawns on his face. “Fuck. Peregrin told you, didn’t they?”
“They felt they had no choice. I needed to understand that Marcellus might truly kill you.” Lora pulls back her sleeve and approaches so he can see the quest that is no longer written on her arm.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. He sags back on his pillow, glaring hard at the ceiling. “I suppose your mother got what she wanted. She’ll kill me when she finds out.”
Lora’s canines sharpen at the thought. She drags her tongue over the points, giving herself time so that she can temper her tone. “If I have my way, the bitch will go to her grave not knowing. A premature one, hopefully.”
A single beat of a laugh escapes from his lips, but it’s followed by a groan. He clutches his side, and Lora’s hand spasms as she restrains herself from reaching out. She grasps for her swords instead, but they aren’t there.
“Either way,” Lora adds, “I’ll end her before she harms you again. She’s hurt you enough.”
He does not speak, nor look at her. Instead, he stares up at the ceiling, and she follows the rise and fall of his chest, counting his breaths to distract herself from all the emotions broiling within her. Emotions are such painful, complicated things, and he makes her feel more than anyone.
“There’s really nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?” he asks.
“No. ”
He turns his head and captures her with his endless eyes. She’s never been able to decide what shade of blue they are, whether they more closely resemble the sky or the ocean or polished gems. Maybe because they are all those shades put together.
“But, why?” he asks.
Fuck, she hates that question. What is she supposed to say? The truth? She can’t even admit it to herself, let alone face the consequences of what might come after. He is mortal human, and she is immortal fae. She can’t surrender to what she feels, knowing she will one day watch him die. It would doom her. It already does. Denial is her only chance for survival.
She shrugs and says the closest thing she can say to true. “I owe it to you after everything, don’t you think?”
He cringes, fisting a hand in his blankets. Perhaps she should find a healer or Avabeth, for another pain tonic, but before she can move, he asks, “What will you do? When Marcellus wins?”
A shiver passes down Lora’s spine. The rest of her Five have asked her the same thing. To them, she lied and told them he wouldn’t. That he would fail at whatever his quest and come back in three days to release them, and then they’d fight to finish the Trials. But she’s too tired to lie right now.
“Then I’ll protect my people,” Lora says. “Even if that means leading a rebellion to overthrow him.”
Ayc turns his head to look at her. The smallest of smile breaks against his lips. “Sounds very villainous of you.”
Her heart flutters at that ghost of a smile. And maybe she’s wrong. Maybe, she does hate him a little, for making her feel like this .
Ayc surges upward. He barely angles himself over the side of his bed before he heaves. Hot green bile splatters on the floor. She rushes to him, reaching out to sweep the hair from his face, but before she touches him, he snarls, “Get out!”
He vomits again, coughing, his body trembling. Trembles that turn into convulsions. He writhes on the bed, his eyes rolling back into his skull, his teeth bared.
“Help!” Lora calls. She leaps on the bed and tries to hold onto him, but his movements are so violent she can’t contain him.
The door slams against the wall, and Avabeth flies across the room, dropping an armful of blankets. “Turn him on his side!”
Lora rolls him over, and Avabeth cradles his head. Lora hears Erech barking from the next room as Xylie and Bronwen run in. Peregrin and Tavish ignore him and follow shortly after. Peregrin hurries to call more healers.
Lora clings to Ayc harder. “It’ll be all right,” she says, in case he can hear her. But she doesn’t know that. She looks up into the faces of her friends. Xylie is crying again, like when they first brought Ayc here and Lora promised Xylie that she wasn’t going to lose him. And now, Lora isn’t sure.
They still have two and a half more days.