CHAPTER 22 TYCHO #2
I reach for the bolt, but it’s buried in my shoulder, and I can’t see anything. I can’t breathe.
But then Jax is there, appearing through the smoke and flames like I conjured him out of the air. He’s got his bow in one hand, Teddy’s reins drawn up tight in the other.
“Get up,” he says breathlessly. “Get on. I don’t know if I killed it, but I hear them coming.”
I’m able to find my feet, but when I reach for the saddle’s cantle, my shoulder screams at me.
I’m dizzy again, pain stealing my breath in an entirely different way.
But Jax throws the bow over his shoulder, then grabs hold of my good arm and pulls.
Awkwardly, I swing onto Teddy’s back behind him.
My breaths are coming too fast, and it’s like I’m keening with every exhale.
“Grab hold of me,” he says.
I cough hard, but I grab Jax around the waist with my good arm.
I wish I could reach that crossbow bolt.
Did they set it on fire? The pain is like something alive, and my vision swims. I don’t know if it’s the smoke, or the fact that I cracked my head into the tree, but neither is helping me right now. “Go,” I choke out. “Go.”
His weight shifts, and Teddy leaps forward. I grip tight and press my face against Jax’s armor. He smells like sweat and leather and Jax, and my breathing almost hitches. That was too close.
It’s still close.
Because I don’t know where Mercy is. I don’t know what happened to the others. I don’t know if Xovaar survived.
But Jax rode back through the flames to find me.
Not just to find me. To save my life.
“Thank you,” I say. “Jax— thank you.”
He puts a hand over mine where it rests along his waist, and he gives my fingers a squeeze. “Always, Tycho. Always.”
For much of the day, the pressing heat in the air felt like a weight I couldn’t escape. But getting away from the raging fire in the woods is such a relief that the summer night air feels like a cool balm against my cheeks.
My shoulder won’t stop burning, and it feels like a white- hot steel poker has been driven into my body.
I’ve been shot before, but it’s never ached like burning acid was injected directly into my bones.
Combined with the awkward way we’re riding double, the pain keeps making me want to pass out.
I’ve been trying to summon magic to heal it, but I can’t heal around a bolt from a crossbow— if that’s even what this is.
I’m desperately hoping it’s not tipped with poison.
The instant I have the thought, my head spins, and I’m worried I’m going to vomit down the back of Jax’s armor.
“Tycho. Tycho.”
It’s too late. I’m falling.
No. Wait. Someone caught me. I’m half on the horse, half off. Jax grunts with strain. His horse sidesteps, trying to accommodate for my slide.
“Help me, damn it,” Jax growls, and I think he’s talking to me.
“Sorry,” I slur. “Sorry—”
“No— not you. Seph, give dagger belt.” His voice is harried, impatient. “Give now. Help. Tie to me.”
Then I’m shoved upright again, and I practically faceplant into Jax’s back. It jars my shoulder, and I cry out. They ignore me. A belt is strung around my waist, jerking tight, pinning me to Jax.
Leo speaks, and his voice sounds distant. “Should we pull that out of his shoulder?”
“Not yet.” That’s Malin. “We need to move.”
“Please,” I murmur against Jax’s back, but he doesn’t respond. The horse leaps forward, and I try not to fall off again. My fingers are slick with sweat, but I try to grip at his armor as the horse runs.
Every now and again, his hand presses over mine. “Almost there,” he’ll say.
But it’s meaningless. Almost where ? It’ll take days to make it back to Ironrose— and we’re more than half a day’s ride from the Crystal Palace. And that’s not even considering the fact that his horse carries two.
I think of my brave mare, pushed past any common courage by a scraver in the air and a fire all around us. I don’t even know if she made it out of the woods. A pulse of worry joins the ache in my shoulder and the pounding in my head.
“Mercy?” I murmur.
I don’t think Jax will answer, but he says, “Malin has her. His horse took two in the hip.”
“Oh,” I say, and my breath hitches. “Oh, sweet Mercy.”
Jax gives my hand another squeeze. My heart gives another lurch.
Then the pain in my head takes over, and darkness swallows me up.
When I wake, I’m facedown in bed. My head aches like I’m hung over, but it’s nothing compared to the brutal fire that seems to have replaced my shoulder joint. I have no idea where I am, but I’m not in chains and I’m not dead, so at least I’ve got that going for me.
I blink hazy eyes and try to figure out where I am.
The room is dim and full of shadows, and I’m facing a wall I don’t recognize— though it seems vaguely familiar.
The air smells musty, but the bedding beneath my head is soft and clean.
I try to move, and every muscle on my frame protests.
Or maybe that’s just the ache in my head.
My shoulder and chest seem tightly bound, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m bandaged.
A low sound comes out of my throat, and it’s so raspy that I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve had a drop of water.
That’s enough to force me to lift my head to turn and face the other way.
And then, all at once, awareness snaps into place. This is Jax’s bedroom. Or . . . it was. We’re at his old forge. The window is partially boarded over, and a few sheets have been thrown over the furniture. Dust motes hang in the air, caught in the shafts of moonlight.
Jax himself is asleep in a chair, his upper body half collapsed on the end of the bed, his hair a mess of wild tangles. Dried blood is in streaks and stains all over him. On his cheek, on his tunic, on his hands where they lie against the mattress.
Blood. Maybe he’s not actually asleep. I nearly sit up in alarm, but my body instantly protests.
“Jax,” I croak out, bracing my good hand against the mattress. “Jax.”
He wakes with a start, nearly sliding out of the chair before realizing he was already half out of it. When he rights himself, he chokes on his breath and stares at me. Then he exhales like he’s been bearing the weight of the world for hours, and he’s finally able to set it down.
“You’re awake,” he says— and there’s a note in his voice that tells me he was worried I wouldn’t.
“I’m awake,” I say, and it still sounds like I’m speaking through gravel. My gaze narrows. “But you’re hurt. Where are you—”
“You think I’m hurt?” He huffs a laugh without any humor, then glances down at his bloodstained forearms. “No, Tycho. All this is yours.”
I stare at him for a solid minute, but then I have to put my head back down. I clench my eyes closed, wishing the pain in my head would go away. “What about the others?”
“They’re fine. Sleeping.” He frowns. “We lost Malin’s horse, and Sephran’s is lame. Malin intends to send Leo on to the Crystal Palace at dawn, so long as there’s no sign of the Truthbringers.”
My thoughts don’t want to process all that. “Mercy?” I press.
“She’s fine,” he says, his voice gentling a bit. “I swear it. So is Teddy. They’re tethered in Callyn’s old barn.”
A little of the tightness around my heart eases. “What . . . what happened?”
He runs a hand down his face. “I don’t know for sure.
They didn’t chase us long— though I don’t know if that was because of the fire or because we shot the scraver and they were worried about your magic.
You had a pretty bad hit to the head, though.
We didn’t even know about that until we got here.
It was so dark, and the arrow wound was so much worse—”
“Hit to the head?” I reach for my head, and I’m surprised when I find hair that’s matted and sticky— with blood, presumably— but no pain when I press along my scalp.
Jax nods, then shifts so he’s sitting beside me. “Just here.” He runs a hand along my hair, and just that light touch makes me shiver. Then he says, “It bled a lot— but just as Malin was talking about field sutures, it began to close over.”
“Magic,” I murmur. That’s happened before— when my magic flared to keep me alive, even without my conscious awareness.
“Yeah,” says Jax.
I brace my hand against the mattress again, but my whole body feels like it’s been trampled by a horse, and I let out a breath.
“Do you need to get out of bed?” he says.
I’ll need to attend to human needs soon, but I’m not sure I can manage it yet.
I shake my head, and I’m glad when the room doesn’t spin— but the movement makes my skull pound.
I desperately want to call magic to see what else I can heal, but I’m too worried about Xovaar and the rest of the Truthbringers that were on our tail.
For now, I just want to sit up, and that alone seems insurmountable. “Just— water?” I whisper. “Please.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He disappears, but only for a moment, returning with a dripping stein. I’m so thirsty I can almost smell it. “Here,” he says. “I’ll help you sit up.”
“No,” I rasp. “I can do it.” But when I push against the mattress again, my head pounds so badly that I just want to lie down. Sparks and stars flicker in my blood, my magic eager to repair whatever it can, and I do my best to tamp it down.
If a scraver attacked us right now, I wouldn’t be able to fight at all. I can still see Xovaar descending through the smoke, ready to tear me apart.
Too close.