Chapter 31
The fight drains from my body, and I shove the dagger in its sheath. I turn my back to Kressa and bring my hand to my hair, pulling out the bun. The ends hit my shoulders, short and blonde. I’m still Harriet, mostly.
But how long do I have? Minutes? Seconds?
I stare at the horizon. Gemma can’t reinforce the glamour from here.
My throat seizes up.
Kressa takes a step and stumbles, falling to her knees. That’s when I spot it—the black shirt clinging to her side. The shredded fabric. The thick blood gushing from a deep puncture wound.
“Kressa,” I breathe. My heart thrashes against my chest, my power yanking at its chain.
She follows my line of sight. “The selkie bit me.”
Before I can stop myself, I scramble to her. “You’re losing too much blood. You—we can’t make it to the mountains.”
I retreat a step. I shouldn’t care. Alliance be damned, I should sink my blade into her for killing those selkies.
One less competitor. But a knot in my chest loosens.
She could have walked away after killing that selkie, but she didn’t.
She thought she was saving me, and did so for Briar’s sake. For me.
Her blinks grow heavy. “I think the forest is an illusion. Or a distraction. From the Sopor.” She pushes her foot into the sand and goes to stand, but her legs buckle beneath her.
She deserves freedom. I wish I could give that to her.
I swallow. I can’t let her die. Not like this.
“Take off your shirt,” I say, dropping to the sand.
Her fingers fumble with the buttons, and I brush away her hand. “I’ve got it. You just breathe.”
I make quick work of the buttons, and her shirt falls open, revealing an expanse of light brown skin.
Blood coats the white fabric wrapped around her chest and drips down her waist in rivulets.
I bite down on my cheek, easing her arms out of the sleeves.
My fingers brush against her bare skin, and my power roils at the touch.
If she feels it too, she doesn’t show it.
“Your eyes,” she whispers, lids heavy, “they look like Briar’s.”
My stomach hollows. “The blood loss is getting to you.”
I angle my head away from her and run my dagger through the center of her shirt, ripping it into two strips.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Blue, like the depths of the ocean where the sunlight barely filters through. Before it plummets into darkness.”
My hands pause, gaze drifting to her pale face as my chest flutters. I shove down my power singing from its cage.
Focus. I have to get us out of here.
I crumple one strip into a ball and press it flush against the wound. She winces, but doesn’t resist as I wrap the other strip around her middle and tie it tight, staunching the flow of blood.
“I’m not going to let you die,” I say, double knotting the fabric. I lay her down and jump to my feet. “Stay here.”
I sprint to the top of the dune and stare out over the forest. It’s too far to the mountain. She’ll bleed out before we make it there, or we’ll run out of time. And even if we made it, the glamour will be long gone. I’d be arrested the moment I appear in the arena.
What am I missing?
I whip to the churning waves. They’re a stormy black, yet there are no clouds, no wind. Just a bitter bite in the air. My attention lifts to Aethra, twinkling in the sky.
The breath catches in my lungs.
Her arrow, the one pointing toward Delterran, has flipped—the constellation a mirror of itself. As if it senses my gaze, the stars rotate until the arrow points straight down. To the water.
We haven’t been transported somewhere else, or at least not somewhere real. This isn’t the ocean.
I sprint down the dune, sand flying as I slide to a stop in front of Kressa. Her eyes are pressed shut, and I drop to my knees, shaking her shoulders. “Kressa?”
She doesn’t budge.
I shake harder. “Kressa, wake up!”
Nothing.
My breaths grow ragged, and I check her side. A pool of blood soaks the sand, and her chest shudders with every inhale.
Muscle and bone shift under my face. I bring my hand to my jaw, where the harsh angle gives way to my rounded cheeks. My nose shifts, and the slight slope returns. I swallow and glance at the crest of the dune.
If I left Kressa, I could make it. I could run into the water and break through the veil before the glamour wears off completely. Gemma could snap it into place before anyone sees. Only one trial would separate me from freedom.
Kressa lays prone, unmoving. Not yet dead, but close.
My throat constricts. She came to my defense when that prisoner grabbed me. She wants to give me freedom, but little does she know—in the last decade—my power has only felt this free with her.
I can’t leave her.
Stepping near her head, I thread my hands under her arms and heave her up the side of the dune. My power goes frantic, thrashing, as if it can sense her life depleting.
Blood trails behind her, and my shoulders scream at the strain, but I dig my feet into the sand and fall onto the crest of the dune, pulling her up with me.
The ocean beckons on the other side.
I suck in a breath and grab her feet, carefully guiding her body down the embankment. My head pounds, and a searing pain grips my chest. I fall to my knees and we roll down the slope, slamming into the bottom.
Blood pulses from the deep wounds in my arms, dying my shirt a deep ruby. I groan, lifting my head.
I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair. Still short. Only a few more feet and we’ll be in the water. We’ll either survive the trial or die together.
Kressa’s eyes open to slits. “Briar?”
The cold air on my face freezes over.
She reaches out and brushes her fingertips over my cheek. Her head sinks back to the sand, and a wave shoots up, caressing her hair. “Am I dead?”
I run my fingers over her knuckles. “It’s just a dream.”
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers, eyes falling shut.
“I won’t.”
Head throbbing, I push to my feet and drag her toward the water, each tug a screaming pain in my muscles.
A wave crests as my feet sink into wet sand. I suck in a deep breath and brace myself. If I’m wrong, I’ll die. My knees tremble, and saltwater shoots up the shore, but I don’t dare close my eyes. If it kills me, I want it to be the last thing I see.
Please, I beg the ocean. Please let me be right.
The waves swallow my ankles and knees, but I’m not wet. My clothes remain dry.
The sweat soaked strands on my head lengthen and brush against my collarbones.
No no no.
I hoist Kressa up and throw us into the surf. The ends of my hair reach my chest, and with a final lunge, I throw myself under the water, dragging Kressa down with me.
My back slams into hard ground, and dirt billows around me in a cloud.
Blaring cheers replace the roaring of the ocean, and the muscles and bones in my body shift and stretch and twist. I scream, but it’s swallowed by applause.
The dust clears.
In the stands, Gemma digs her nails into the seat in front of her and rises, as if she’s going to jump in the arena.
My gaze falls to the body beside me, shrouded by long grass.
Kressa.
I scramble to her. Her chest rises on a labored breath, her lips purple, and I put pressure on her wound. The shirt is soaked through with blood. I raise my head, searching the stands for a healer.
A strangled cry comes from my throat. Even if there was a healer, they wouldn’t save her. Not in The Gales.
Beneath my hand, Kressa’s chest shudders.
The back of my throat stings, and my power jolts toward her. “Don’t die,” I whisper, my eyes welling with tears. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
I swallow, and my power stutters, as if it senses her life snuffing out.
Her chest stops.
No.
A scream builds in my chest I grapple for my power. If I can just sink a sliver of my power into her, it just might bring her back. As long as her heart hasn’t stopped.
I grab her wrist and order whatever dregs of my power are left to sink under her skin. A single tendril slips out and weaves through my arm in a dim cobalt glow. It floats over my palm and into Kressa.
It dissolves into her body, and I hold my breath, staring at the spot where her chest should be moving. I glance to where a pulse should thrum on her neck. Nothing.
A dim, emerald glow appears over her heart, and the hair on my arm stands on edge. It travels down her shoulder, twines around her bleeding forearm, and crosses her wrist.
Before I have a chance to let go, it shoots into my hand.
Lurching back, I grab my wrist as the light disappears under my sleeve, weaving like a warm caress over my aching muscles. It climbs my chest and sinks directly into my heart, where my power would be if it wasn’t locked up tight. A ripple goes through me, like a pebble dropped into a pond.
Earth. Fresh rain. Trees.
I inhale fresh grass and flowers and the first hint of a spring morning.
Kressa heaves a breath and leans on an elbow, coughing out mouthfuls of blood. She groans, and fall back into unconsciousness.
I sit, motionless, as her breathing regulates.
Caelus was right.
Kressa has power. And we exchanged it.