Chapter 58
Idropped down beside Rìan and unbuttoned his shirt with steady fingers, peeling the bloody fabric away to expose the wound beneath. His chest bared to me, I studied the ragged hole where his shoulder met his chest without so much as a whisper of concern.
Not human concern, anyway.
The Eidra inside me writhed in mounting distress at the sight of our mate, frantic at the life ebbing from him—at the danger it posed to us. His blood pulsed sluggishly from the wound, each one weaker than the last.
Rìan watched my face carefully through glazed eyes as I frowned over it, trying to determine what would heal it.
"How are you feeling?" he croaked. He knew. I was feeling nothing.
"Fine." I lifted the bolt, turning it between my fingers. The iron coating had splintered away on impact, leaving flakes embedded in the wound.
"It acts like a slow-release poison this way," he rasped before a cough tore through him, flecking his lips with blood.
"What a mean thing to do."
A breath of laughter escaped him, quickly swallowed by a groan as pain seized his chest. His hands started toward the wound, and I batted them away.
"Hold still."
I gathered the silver light into my hands until they shone brighter than the rest of my body, then pushed it into him, willing his torn flesh to knit itself back together. The Eidra lunged eagerly into him, only to recoil suddenly. A hiss slipped through my teeth.
"It won't go in."
"It can't," he panted. "The iron won’t let it."
"What do I do then?"
He met my gaze, defeated. "I'm sorry I'm taking you with me."
"Quiet." My eyes remained fixed on the gash. "There must be something I can do."
Frowning, I pressed harder, attempting to physically drive the magic into his body. Rìan convulsed. A thick blue vein throbbed at his temple, every muscle in his body straining to keep the scream trapped behind his lips.
I pulled my hands away and folded them neatly in my lap, studying them with distant curiosity. They were red, as though I'd dipped them in paint, warm with his blood.
Perhaps I could send my magic into his mind. He could siphon from me, the way he had in Pelaga, replenish his own power, and heal himself. Closing my eyes, I reached for that endless dark expanse within him and willed my magic toward it.
It refused to go.
“This is troublesome.”
"Your voice..." His lips barely moved. "It's different... like this."
He lifted an unsteady hand and brushed his thumb across my cheekbone. A tiny spark flared somewhere deep inside me. The Eidra pounced on it instantly, like a cat on a mouse, devouring it before it had the chance to grow. When he drew his hand away, the pad of his thumb was streaked crimson.
"You killed all of them."
I shrugged. "The one that mattered got away."
A ghost of a smile tugged weakly at his mouth. "It was... impressive. Beautiful, even."
Again a small ember flared beneath my ribs. Again the Eidra descended upon it, smothering it before it could become anything more.
"There must be something that counteracts the iron."
He swallowed with visible effort. His lips were dry, split from thirst.
"A lodestone."
"A what?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Where can I get one?"
"The Barrows," he whispered. His eyelids fluttered.
I slapped his cheek. He groaned, his eyes cracking open again. "What are the Barrows?"
"It doesn't matter." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth with every word. "We'll never... get there in time."
"Rìan." I said sharply. "Stay awake."
His head lolled to one side.
I rose to my feet. "You need water."
A faint sound escaped his throat—too weak to be words—and then there was only silence.
The marshes lay only a few paces away, just beyond the palm where we'd kissed. I paused, my feet rooting to the sand as my gaze caught on the tree.
The way he'd pressed me against the trunk. The taste of his mouth…
Something stirred deep in my belly. I didn't realize my hand had drifted upward until my fingertips brushed my lips.
I blinked hard and tore my gaze away, forcing my attention back to the mucky, reed-choked water ahead. Crouching at the edge, I was met by the stale, rotten smell of the marsh.
I had nothing to carry the water with. Without hesitation, I pulled my shirt over my head and plunged it beneath the surface. Mud billowed around my hands as the fabric soaked through. I would wring the water into his mouth, like he’d done for me on the salt flats.
I glanced back over my shoulder.
His head was still turned toward me, as though his gaze had followed me this far. But his eyes were closed now, his body utterly still.
"Rìan," I called sharply.
Nothing.
I started toward him when a prickling sensation crawled across the back of my neck. The tiny hairs there lifted, an instinct older than thought whispering that I was no longer alone.
I turned back toward the marsh just as a head smoothly breached the stagnant water.
Stringy black hair clung to translucent skin tinged with the murky green of the bog, dark veins webbing beneath it like trailing weeds.
Its enormous black eyes never left mine even as a pale inner membrane slid over them in a slow blink.
Pointed ears rose from either side of its narrow skull—faerie ears, stretched too long and frayed at the tips.
It rose no farther than its chin, leaving whatever lay beneath concealed by the marsh.
Then, all around the bog, others emerged.
One after another, heads surfaced, scarcely disturbing the water, until dozens floated there like silent watchers.
Brinnekin.
Just as Rìan had said before we'd entered the cave, he'd sensed them here. They hadn't shown themselves then. The blood—on Rìan, on me—must have drawn them out.
The first Brinnekin detached itself from the cluster of reeds and slipped beneath the surface. As it dove, the bony ridge of its spine rolled through the water, crowned by a pale, tattered fin, before disappearing into the depths.
I watched the water.
Moments later it resurfaced only a few feet from the bank where I stood. It lifted higher this time, exposing narrow shoulders above the waterline. Slits along either side of its throat fluttered open. Closed. Open.
Gills.
I drew the bone knife from its sheath.
It hissed and flinched backward, lips peeling back over gums studded with needle-sharp teeth.
From this close I could see how gaunt it was.
Its ribs jutted beneath its slick flesh, forming a delicate cage around a narrow chest where two deflated breasts marked it as female.
Its slitted nostrils flared as it scented the blood coating my skin, Rìan's, the shoreline itself, but it made no move to come closer.
I backed toward Rìan, the knife still gripped in my hand, and dropped to my knees beside him. Gently, I turned his face toward me. His lips were parted, his breaths little more than shallow pulls of air.
I wrung what water I could from my sodden shirt into his mouth before slapping his cheek again. He didn't open his eyes, but a faint groan escaped him.
I could feel my own heartbeat slowing inside my chest, each beat stretching farther apart, as though it had begun to follow his into silence. The Eidra thrashed beneath my skin, desperate now, its radiance blazing through my flesh, lighting the night like a beacon.
I looked down at his face. Ashen. Peaceful, almost. And his mouth—those full lips that had explored mine with such impossible longing.
Again, something fluttered beneath my ribs, spreading through the numbness inside me. Too panicked to feast upon it, the Eidra ignored it.
"What can I do?" I murmured, my heart gave a painful squeeze.
A wet sucking sound answered from behind me.
I whirled toward the marsh.
The first Brinnekin hadn't moved any closer, but its mouth was working in slow, deliberate pulls, lips pursing and releasing over and over again.
Another joined it. Then another.
One by one, the Brinnekin began making the same sucking, rhythmic pulls until the entire marsh resounded with it, the sound multiplying until dozens of mouths moved in eerie unison.
I understood at once. It wasn’t a warning—it was an instruction.
The iron. They meant for me to draw it out.
Before the thought had fully formed, I was already moving. I bent over Rìan, pressed my mouth to the wound, and drew a long, steady pull.
Warm blood flooded my mouth. Sweet. Coppery. Then came the iron.
Fire exploded across my lips and tongue, racing over the roof of my mouth like molten metal.
I jerked back and spat the blood into the sand, then bent over him again at once, drawing a deeper pull until my mouth filled once more.
The iron scorched me from the inside out, fierce enough to make my eyes water, yet I forced myself to keep drawing despite the searing pain.
Inside me, the Eidra recoiled violently from the threat, fleeing through my body and hurtling down my arm instead, silver light racing beneath my skin as it gathered in the palm pressed against Rìan's chest. There, it curled into itself like a frightened animal.
I didn't even need to look to know where it had sought refuge. The bargain mark had returned, ink coiling out from beneath my palm and creeping across the back of my hand.
Beneath my touch, Rìan's own mark bloomed over his heart, writhing and shifting as though it longed to climb onto my skin.
I sucked and sucked at the wound, spitting mouthful after mouthful of blood into the sand before bending to draw another. My mouth was a furnace. The iron had blistered my lips until they split, stripped the skin from my tongue, burned the roof of my mouth raw, yet still I forced myself onward.
Silent now, the Brinnekin sank beneath the still water one by one, swallowed by the swamp as though they had never been there at all.
My magic had withdrawn and in the silence it left behind, a pressure gathered deep within me, faint as a distant rumble.
I scarcely noticed it through the heat shredding my mouth, yet as I bent again and again, it wound itself more tightly around my ribs, gathering strength with every passing moment.
Another mouthful.