FIFTY-THREE #2
I’m still here.
The words rise from somewhere deep inside me. I send them through the bond.
The response is immediate.
I feel him hear me and the relief that follows.
A hand breaks through the surface above me, reaching down into the darkness.
Reaching for me.
Gods.
I see it.
I reach up, my fingers stretching toward his. They tremble with the effort, but I force them higher. Our hands meet and he pulls me upward.
Up.
Up.
Up.
The darkness begins to peel away. The weight lifts. The water dissolves into light.
Then I break through the surface.
Gasping.
Air slams into my lungs like fire and life all at once. Sunlight floods my vision, too bright and too sharp, and suddenly the world is sound and breath and color.
I’m supine on the battlefield.
I roll onto my side, coughing violently. My body convulses as I choke and gasp, heaving up water as though I had truly been drowning, as though the black sea inside my mind had somehow filled my lungs and was now pouring out.
Every breath burns. Every cough tears through my chest.
But I’m breathing.
I’m here.
Alive.
Hands steady me. One presses against my back while another pulls my hair away from my face as I retch black water onto the scorched ground. It pours from my mouth in choking bursts, thick and bitter and wrong.
My body rattles with each cough. My arms tremble. Pain radiates through my chest and ribs until I think it might never stop.
Eventually, it begins to ease. The coughing fades. Air still scrapes through my lungs, but I can breathe again.
I drag in a shaky breath. Then another.
Water and ash cling to my skin. Every muscle aches. There is a deep throb in my injured arm. My heart hammers against my ribs.
But I’m still here.
And then I’m being pulled into an embrace. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me so tightly it feels as though letting go isn’t an option. I know who it is before I even lift my head.
Cedar.
Leather.
Thane.
The scent of home.
Of fire and strength and the person who has become the center of my world.
I bury my face against his chest, still gasping, still trembling. But safe. Anchored.
When I finally glance over his shoulder, still fighting to control my breathing, I find Rowena standing a few paces away.
She’s laughing. And crying at the same time.
Tears stream down her face, carving clean paths through the soot on her cheeks. She rocks backward and drops onto the ground as though her legs have finally decided they are finished.
“Fuck, Amara.”
The words burst out of Rowena like a sob wrapped inside a curse.
Then she’s on me.
Her hands cup my face, trembling as she presses kisses to my cheeks again and again.
“Gods, you stubborn thing,” she chokes out. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
A weak smile tugs at my mouth.
“I think . . . ” My voice is barely more than a whisper. “I like this better than the slapping.”
Rowena lets out a laugh that dissolves into another sob and presses her forehead against mine, still holding my face as though she can’t quite believe I’m real.
Then I hear it.
Thane.
Laughing.
A rough, broken sound tangled with tears and relief.
I pull back from Rowena and look at him. My breathing is still uneven, and every part of me trembles from the amount of magics I poured into the battle and fighting this blackness.
Tears stream down his face, unashamed and unstoppable.
I lift a trembling hand and brush them away. He leans into the touch, eyes closing.
The poison may be gone, but the fear of almost losing me still lingers between us. I can feel it in the bond, woven through the relief and exhaustion that pulse between us.
Thane rests his forehead against mine. His breathing is still uneven, and his heartbeat echoes through the bond.
Softly, I reach for him, mind to mind.
“I saw you reach for me. I saw your hand pull me out of the black water.”
His eyes squeeze shut. Another tear slips free, landing on my cheek instead of his. When he speaks, his voice is steadfast in my mind.
“I will always reach for you.”
I remember my arm and immediately look down. The right sleeve of my leathers is in shreds.
My first thought is, no. Not my new Elemental leathers.
Then my eyes widen.
The wound is smaller than I remember. Much smaller. I no longer see bone. What had been a gaping tear through flesh and muscle now looks more like a deep slash running the length of my arm, as though the edge of a blade had carved through it.
What happened?
Rowena pushes herself to her feet.
The grief and relief are still there, written plainly across her face, but she tucks them away beneath the steel spine she wears so well. Tears cling to her lashes, yet her voice is already shifting back into command.
She steps into motion as though a switch has been thrown, and suddenly she’s ordering her little brother around the way she always does when they aren’t standing in the middle of a battlefield.
“Thane,” she snaps, already turning toward the ruins and the wounded.
And just like that, the command shifts to her.
“Get her back to the capital. I’ll stay here and see to things with Garrick, Rian, and Jarek.” She glances back at him once. “Go.”
He nods, the movement sharp and decisive. Through the bond, I feel the urgency he refuses to put into words.
Then his arms slide beneath me, careful and stable. He lifts me as though I weigh nothing at all. Without another word, he turns and calls for Xaroth. Moments later, we’re airborne.
The wind rushes around us, cooler at this height. Far below, the battlefield begins to fade into the distance. Fires still smolder among the ruins, and smoke curls into the sky as we turn north toward the capital.
I sit in the saddle cradled against Thane’s chest, too weak to ride on my own. The dull throbbing in my arm makes my breathing shallow, and I find myself focusing on the steady rhythm of Xaroth’s wings instead of the pain.
One of Thane’s arms holds me securely against him while the other braces across the front of the saddle. Xaroth’s magics wraps around us. Enchanted straps lock us safely in place, and I can feel the power of them beneath me, alive and protective.
Even Calryx doesn’t protest.
She flies close beside Xaroth, wingtip nearly touching his, matching every shift in his flight as though she can feel each change in my breathing.
I catch glimpses of her through the drifting smoke. Her emerald eye remains fixed on me, watching from across the space between the dragons.
“How did you get me out? What had me? What was that? I thought I was drowning in this thick black water,” I ask Thane through the bond, my voice weak and barely more than a whisper in my mind. Speaking aloud feels like far too much effort.
“It was a nasty poison. Your ability to heal. Yourself and others. That’s how.”
As he answers, I feel the brush of his fingers against my cheek. The touch is gentle, carrying relief, wonder, and an endless well of love.
“Yes, but how exactly?” I ask, still slumped against his chest as Xaroth carries us north. “Every other time I healed myself, I was conscious. I willed it.”
He is quiet for a moment, considering the question.
When he finally answers, his voice is low and thoughtful, carrying something gentler than certainty.
“Valen once said the Spiritborn didn’t just channel the Elements. He said they are the Elements.” His fingers brush my cheek again, absent and gentle, as though he still needs the reassurance that I’m really here. “Maybe healing isn’t something you do anymore. Maybe it’s something you are.”
He rests his cheek against the top of my head. He doesn’t need to watch the sky ahead. The battle is over, and Xaroth knows the way home.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer.
“Rowena and I placed our hands over your heart and your head, the way the healers do. We were calling to you.”
A long, quiet breath passes between us.
“And then you started glowing.”
He hesitates, almost shy. Just enough for me to feel it through the bond.
“The way, you know . . . the way you glow when you and I . . . ”
A tired smile tugs at my mouth.
“I know,” I whisper.
“And I could feel you coming back to me.” His voice in my mind is no longer frantic, though the raw edges are still there. “I kept reaching through the bond. Again and again. But it was like you were asleep. Like you couldn’t hear me.”
He swallows, his arms tightening around me.
“The bond was still there, but it felt distant. Thin.” His voice grows quieter. “And then suddenly I heard you. I felt you. It was as though you were real again. Here. Just like you are now, in my arms.”
A faint smile touches my lips.
“Then you opened your eyes and started coughing.”
The relief that washes through the bond at the memory is almost enough to make my chest ache.
“I think you healed yourself. But . . . ” His chin rests lightly against the top of my head. “I think that because of the bond, you stayed tethered.”
His arms tighten around me again.
“To this world.”
A beat passes.
“To me.”
I nestle deeper into Thane, the bond between us quiet now as though it’s as relieved and exhausted as we are. Bone-deep fatigue and the lingering effects of the poison pull at me, urging me toward sleep.
And beneath it all, the deep ache in my arm.
My eyes begin to close, but I force them open one last time.
“Is it okay now for me to sleep?” I ask, my thoughts slow and unsteady.
I remember his earlier command to stay awake. I remember Rowena slapping my face hard enough to keep me from slipping away.
Before he answers, I feel it through the bond.
Relief.
Love.
The gradual easing of a fear he has been carrying since the moment I fell.
Then his voice reaches me, low and warm.
“Yes, my little zephyr. You can sleep.”
I close my eyes and sink into the warmth of him around me.
“I love you,” I whisper.
And before he can answer, darkness folds around me, soft as velvet.
This time, I let it take me.
And I sleep.