9. Astra
Astra
Kieran reached for the water.
I filled the cup and brought it to him. His fingers closed around it, then opened again without warning.
The cup struck the stone floor. Water ran beneath the bed.
Hale was moving before I understood what had happened. He caught Kieran by the shoulders as his body folded forward.
“Kieran.”
Kieran tried to answer. His mouth formed the first sound, but no voice followed it.
The green-gold line showed through his shirt.
It had been a narrow burn along his shoulder when I left for the water. Now light spread beneath the cloth in branching lines, crossing toward the center of his chest. His back arched once against Hale’s arm.
“Pull the cord,” Hale said.
Caspian crossed the room and pulled it hard enough to strike the wall. The cord gave him nothing.
I climbed onto the bed beside Kieran and took his face between my hands. His skin was burning.
“Look at me.”
His eyes found mine and slipped away.
Hale pressed two fingers beneath Kieran’s jaw. His other hand spread over Kieran’s ribs. “His pulse is too fast. Kieran, breathe out.”
Kieran’s chest shuddered. The breath came, thin and wet. He could not draw the next one.
“Again,” Hale said. His voice stayed level, but his hand shook against Kieran’s ribs. “Come on.”
Caspian opened the door and shouted into the corridor. “We pulled the cord. Get someone in here now.”
The attendant appeared at the far end. She saw Kieran in Hale’s arms and ran.
The movement startled me more than the shout had. Until then, no one in the Tower had hurried for us.
Kieran’s fingers dragged weakly across the blanket. I caught his hand and held on.
His grip closed once around mine. The silver-green light flared across his chest, then dimmed so quickly that the room seemed darker after it.
Hale swore under his breath.
The woman from the bridge entered with the reader who carried the leather case and two stewards bearing a narrow stretcher. She went straight to the bed.
“How long?” she asked.
“Less than a minute,” Hale said. “Loss of grip first. Then speech. He stopped drawing breath after that.”
The reader opened Kieran’s shirt at the shoulder. The green-gold line had spread below his collarbone in thin, uneven branches.
Her face tightened. “This wasn’t present at review.”
“No,” Hale said.
“Give me the silver vial.”
The woman from the bridge held out her hand. The reader passed her a small bottle from the leather case, and she poured its contents beneath Kieran’s tongue.
For several seconds, nothing changed.
Then Kieran dragged in a breath that caught halfway and broke into a cough. Hale turned him carefully onto his side. Kieran coughed again, body shaking with it, but the next breath followed.
“We’re taking him to the infirmary,” the woman said.
“The panel hasn’t authorized treatment,” I said.
Her eyes lifted to mine. “Emergency authority is mine.”
“You had that authority when we pulled the cord the first time.”
The reader went still beside her.
The woman’s hand remained at Kieran’s throat, feeling each weak beat. “The first event responded to the draught.”
“It came back worse.”
“It did.”
Caspian stood at the foot of the bed. “You knew his Mark was spreading.”
“I knew it had entered the upper chest. I did not know the rate had changed this much.”
“Because you were waiting to measure him.”
She looked at Kieran rather than Caspian. “And now I am not waiting.”
The stewards set the stretcher beside the bed.
“Careful of his right shoulder,” Hale said. “The arm has been failing for years.”
They listened to him. One supported Kieran’s head and neck while the other slid an arm beneath his knees. Hale kept his hand at Kieran’s wrist until they had settled him onto the stretcher.
I moved to follow.
The woman from the bridge blocked the doorway. “One person may come.”
“I’m going.”
“Hale knows the progression and can answer while we work.”
“So can I.”
Hale looked back at me. His face had gone pale, his mouth held tight.
“Let me go with him,” he said.
I stepped back.
Kieran’s hand moved against the stretcher. His eyes opened a fraction.
“Astra,” he managed.
I stepped around her and bent over him. “I’m here.”
His fingers found my wrist. They rested over the green-gold line beneath my sleeve but did not have the strength to close.
“My records,” he whispered. “Don’t let Marrow—”
“I won’t.”
His hand slipped away.
Hale followed the stretcher into the corridor. The reader went with them, carrying the latched case against her chest. The woman from the bridge gave one last instruction to the attendant, then followed.
Caspian’s hand settled at the back of my neck.
The fallen cup lay beneath the table. Water had reached the hem of my skirt.
Caspian drew me toward the corridor.
We followed as far as the infirmary corridor. A healer stopped us at a pair of metal doors and refused to say where they had taken Kieran beyond them.
I sat on the stone floor. Caspian sat beside me.
Behind the doors, voices rose and fell. Metal struck metal once, followed by the quick movement of feet.
No one came out to tell us anything.