Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
With a panicked jerk, Iryana shoved herself away from the tree so hard the leather ripped. She fell the rest of the way, landing with a muted thud on a bed of needles. A shock of pain coursed through her, and something was stabbing into her side. When she went to move, her ankle screamed.
She dragged herself up, fingers digging into the needles and dirt, ignoring the ache radiating through her body. With a stumble, Iryana threw herself into the clearing, spear summoned in her hand.
But the clearing was empty, with only Hadima’s limp form collapsed in the center. For the length of a breath, Iryana scanned the trees around the clearing, seeing no one. She might have heard Karvek in the distance, walking away, but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter.
Iryana raced to her sister’s side, hands trembling as she felt for a pulse, for a breath. A sob shook her as Iryana felt nothing, but then, there—there was the faintest hint of a pulse.
Iryana looked over her sister, desperately hoping she wouldn’t find any fatal injuries. Her hands slid over Hadima’s stomach, along her arms and legs. With a groan, Iryana pulled her sister onto her side and searched her back too.
The trampled grass and flowers around them were splattered with blood, but not enough to have come from a stab wound.
There was nothing Iryana could do then, not there in that clearing with no supplies.
It was almost good news—but Hadima was barely holding on.
The thought of internal injuries made Iryana’s vision darken.
“No,” Iryana growled at herself. “Get a hold of yourself.”
He had left Hadima here to die. To be ripped apart by the dakii.
Iryana’s stomach heaved, threatening to upturn onto the bloody grass.
It took every ounce of her strength, ignoring the throbbing in her leg that was now starting to ache severely, to pull Hadima onto her back. She stumbled trying to stand the first time, but Iryana kept trying. The weight was too much for her leg. It didn’t matter.
Iryana looked up at the sky, at the rising moon, and took a shuddered breath. The dakii scouts would be out now. They had to get back to the post.
She pushed what she could of her shield around her sister, hopefully masking most of the scent of blood, and darted into the trees. Her sister would not die. She would not let Misha be alone.
Every time her leg threatened to buckle, she reminded herself how she had failed Hadima and took another step.
When her aching side made it too hard to breathe, she reminded herself that her cowardice might have killed her sister, and she forced down another breath.
Hadima’s head draped over Iryana’s right shoulder, her breath a faint reminder against Iryana’s neck that she was still alive. Iryana held onto that, focused on every slow exhale, unquestioningly aware that if it were to stop, Iryana wouldn’t have the strength to carry on.
Thankfully, Hadima’s breath never stopped.
The family must have been waiting for them. As soon as Iryana could see the main watchtower, someone started climbing down the ladder.
She had just made it to the base of the twisting path that led to the gate, unsure how she would make it up with Hadima, when Uncle Dinhal and Kladara were pulling Hadima off her back.
“What happened?” Kladara demanded, voice tight, at the same time their uncle barked, “Is it done?”
Iryana couldn’t answer, couldn’t get the words through her burning lungs. The moment the weight was off her, she fell to her knees. She tried to swallow to wet her dry throat.
“Help her,” Iryana croaked, barely audible, but they were already too far away to hear.
Uncle Dinhal had Hadima in his arms, carrying her up to the gate, Kladara at his side checking Hadima over, talking to her softly. They didn’t notice that Iryana wasn’t following, or perhaps they didn’t care. She’d rather they focused on her sister, anyway.
Iryana couldn’t feel her leg anymore, but everything else was on fire. Her heart hurt worst of all.
She considered collapsing right there, but she had to know if her sister recovered—had to know if she had killed her.
So she crawled, her fingers scraping at the rocky earth, up the long switchback path that was steep and mostly grown over, but she made it to the gate, thankfully still open.
She managed to pull herself back onto her feet.
Someone said something to her, whoever shut the gate behind her, but Iryana couldn’t make out the words. Uncle Dinhal almost had Hadima to the main house, and Iryana scrambled after them.
Her shoulder slammed into the door of the main house, supporting her weight as she struggled to open it.
The door opened from the other side, and Iryana slid into the house, landing on the floor with a groan. Then, hands were on her arms, pulling her up.
A face was in front of her. Shadowed eyes, pale hair, firm jaw. Worried eyes. Tonhald’s mouth was moving.
Iryana felt nothing, absolutely nothing. As she stared at him, his face growing increasingly panicked, the buzzing in her ears grew. Iryana blinked.
She was being pulled onto a bench in the main hall, her eyes still locked onto Tonhald’s. The chorus of whispers slowly rose to frantic voices.
“—is with her now, we need to give them some time.”
“What does this mean?”
“I’ve sent Dinhal back to get water.”
“—and we’ll be ready.”
“She will not like this.”
“I know!”
A cup was pressed to her lips, and Iryana drank, the cool water running down her throat.
“Hey,” Tonhald whispered, pulling up one of her eyelids as he looked closer at her eyes. “We need to know what happened.”
A strangled whimper vibrated in her chest.
“Iryana? What happened?”
“He beat her,” Iryana finally managed to say.
“Who? The general?”
She nodded. “Hadima missed, and then I don’t know what happened. She didn’t get another chance, I guess.” The moment words started tumbling out, they kept going, though she had to gasp and weave every few words. “He beat her. Left her there.”
Gods, she couldn’t believe Karvek hadn’t just killed her. Hadima could have been dead so easily. Could still die.
“Are you alright?”
Another nod.
“Did the general see you?”
“No.” Iryana looked down at her swollen hands. She had been prepared for Karvek to see her, to kill her. The reminder made her slightly nauseous again.
“At this rate, I see little chance of the duchess changing her mind.” It was a voice Iryana didn’t recognize.
She turned, taking in the rest of the room, her eyes locking on the strange woman standing next to her grandmother.
The woman was tall, elegant. Out of place. The rest of the Kleesolds kept glancing at the woman, fear on their faces.
“We will try again,” the First said, her voice somehow still strong.
“How?” The woman demanded. “You’ve lost another guardian. Do you have a plan?”
The First looked away, eyes finding Iryana. “We will put a new one together, Lady Dyavara.”
She meant Iryana would—the implication was clear in her grandmother’s intent stare. The thought made her stiffen. Another plan? Another attempt that would undoubtedly fall apart and hurt her family even more? No, she could not do it.
The stranger, Lady Dyavara, tsked, noting the exchange. “If you at least had an heir—that would be something. Not enough, but something.”
The stare the First had snared Iryana with did not waver. She kept staring, waiting. Somehow expecting Iryana to agree, to inevitably doom them all.
Iryana’s body was painfully tight, feeling returning to her chest just to burn. No. NO. She couldn’t. She couldn’t be what her family needed; she couldn’t protect them.
Her body protested as she stood, limbs shaking. Tonhald tried to reach for her, but Iryana stumbled out of his grasp.
“I can’t help you,” Iryana cried, the admission hurting her as much as it seemed to hurt her family.
She needed to get away from them, from everyone. She had fooled herself; she couldn’t let herself near anyone she cared about. They’d only end up dead.
At that moment, while Iryana was backing toward the door, Misha ran into the room. Her face was damp with tears.
“You’re okay.” Misha sagged with relief upon seeing her, stepping forward as if she meant to embrace Iryana.
Iryana backed away further, her entire body trembling. She couldn’t hurt Misha too.
Without waiting to hear if Hadima was all right, Iryana fled.
“Iryana!” Misha’s scream chased her out of the house and down the courtyard.
She somehow ran, cheeks slick and heart crumbling.
With nowhere else to go, her body too worn down to take her far, Iryana found herself back at her cottage.
She limped inside, nearly having to drag herself.
The house had been neglected; the floor was covered in a layer of dust and grime; the stove smelled off, and the pantries were nearly empty.
The barn connected to the back of the main living rooms was empty, her animals somewhere else in the village.
But beneath all that, it was still the house she had lived in before: first with her entire family, then just with her father, and finally by herself.
It didn’t feel the same, though. There was a silence she had never really noticed before, an emptiness. It hung ominously in the air, as if it were a thing to fear.
That emptiness seemed to grow as Iryana cleaned herself off and wrapped her injuries the best she could. She needed to rest, lay down on the dust-covered bed, but then what would she do other than think?
No, anything but that.
She had always hidden the stillness with busyness, hadn’t she? That was all she was missing: tasks. Chores. Iryana decided it would be good to clean the house out, to have a fresh start. The growing pain in her body, her leg especially, would not stop her.
First, she scrubbed out the oven. It was hard work and left her dirty and hurting far worse, but her mind was still too free. She needed the numbness that she remembered, not the fear and despair that were stubbornly clinging on.