Chapter 16 Breaths Counted
Breaths Counted
The flap of the Commander’s tent hung heavily in the evening wind. His boots crunched on the rugs as he stepped to the cot.
Auryn lay wrapped in the same furs he’d tucked around her, hair spilled across the pillow like the first frost of Ice. Her face was serene and beautiful.
Still resting.
Exactly as he’d left her that morning.
Scratching at the scar on the back of his neck, he fetched a jug of fresh spring water and a basin. Filling it, he picked up a ragged cloth from atop one of the chests and made his way to her.
After the battle, she’d fallen asleep standing—right there in his arms. He’d been ready for it this time. When her legs gave, he simply carried her the rest of the way. There hadn’t been time to do much more than tuck her in. Duty called, heartless in its necessity.
But now, he could wipe the spots of the monsters’ black blood from her face. To wash her cheeks, her neck, her hands. He wiped the gore from her skin, unsure what he should be feeling—only that he felt too much. Lost, as ever, in the mystery of her existence.
The water stung his hand where his battle magic had irritated a recently developing callous on his palm. He glanced at it with apathy, his motions stilling.
Time stretched, and that feeling came again.
A dread in the pit of his gut.
He glanced at Auryn.
So still.
Serene.
Too serene.
His breath caught.
He leaned forward on his knees.
“Auryn,” he said.
No answer. He moved closer.
“Auryn,” he repeated, louder now. He touched her shoulder, shook her lightly.
Still nothing.
Cold spread—not just from her skin, but through his entire body.
He pressed his hand to her cheek. Her lips.
Too cold.
His other hand hovered just above her heart. Still beating. Still breathing. But faint.
His pulse thundered. He cupped her jaw. Tapped her cheek. Shook her again.
He moved, sitting on the edge of the cot, one arm bracing behind her as the other reached to cradle her jaw. Her breath still came, light and shallow, her chest rising just barely beneath the folds of the blanket.
He leaned closer, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. “Auryn,” he murmured. “I let you sleep in, didn’t I? A whole day. That’s indulgent, even for you.”
Still nothing.
No mumble. Not even the tiny scowl she made when woken too early.
Nothing.
“Starlight, it’s me.” He whispered it now, as if the wind might carry it deeper into whatever place she’d gone.
Resh stared at her for a long moment.
He rolled her toward him, cradling her upper body to his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head.
And then he saw it—
A wide, shimmering stain beneath her. Silver blood, half-dried, soaked into the linen. The specter that had hovered over him all day, waiting to be noticed.
He reached for her without thinking, without grace—with fear. He pulled her into his lap, too fast, too roughly, but she didn’t react. Didn’t resist.
“Auryn, wake up.” His voice cracked. “Please. Wake up.”
He shook her, gently at first. Then harder. Nothing. Still nothing. He cradled the back of her neck with trembling fingers, as if trying to press her soul back into her body.
“Don’t do this.” His voice rasped, throat tight. “Don’t do this to me.”
He pressed his face into her hair, desperate for her scent—lavender and old pages, that soft, strange sweetness that was hers—but it was fainter now. As if fading.
His hand brushed her cheek.
Soft and icy—like the first frost on glass.
Shock rooted him in place. His mind emptied of thought. He stared, unable to process what his senses already knew.
She was dying. Or had already died. He didn’t know.
He just—didn’t know.
A sound escaped him.
Strangled.
Like someone had speared him clean through.
He hardly heard it. Hardly registered it.
Clutched her tighter, rocking once. Twice.
As if gentleness could reverse unraveling.
As if love alone could rewrite what the dark had already claimed.
He rocked them both—a prayer in motion—though in more than one thousand years, not a single one of his prayers had ever been answered.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered into her hair. “Tell me what to do. Please. Please.”
The tent flaps burst open.
Thessia skidded in first, Zarrek right behind her.
They stopped cold at the sight.
Zarrek swore under his breath.
Thessia’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“She was like this,” Resh said hoarsely. “She was like this when I came in. I didn’t—she didn’t—”
“Is she breathing?”
He nodded, the floor rocking beneath him.
“Is she cold?” Thessia snapped. “Resh, is she cold?”
He blinked. Nodded. “Yes.”
Thessia surged forward. “Then why in the Riven's name are you still sitting there? If this is depletion, she needs a bath—now! You’re losing time!”
Zarrek moved to the back of the tent, barking orders through the canvas. “Fetch water! Bring the barrels, now!”
Still clutching Auryn, Resh rose. He was trembling. Whether from rage or panic or something deeper, he couldn’t understand.
“She’s going to be all right,” Thessia said, half to him, half to herself. “She has to be. Move, Resh. Move!”
Once the men brought supplies, Zarrek moved fast, pushing aside crates, snapping the wooden lid off a barrel they stored water in.
He lifted it alone and tipped it into a large wooden tub he set up moments prior.
Resh knelt beside it, cradling Auryn against him with one arm, fingers outstretched, a heating spell blooming from his palms. The water steamed instantly.
“Hot—but not boiling,” Zarrek warned.
“I know.”
Auryn let out a faint, broken wheeze. Her head lolled on his shoulder. Resh stood. Shoved off his boots. With one hand, he stripped his bracers, armor, and tunic in clean, practiced motions. Left in simple black trousers, he paused.
“Here,” Zarrek said, stepping toward him, arms ready. “I’ll hold her while you get in.”
For a beat, Resh hesitated. He didn’t want to let go. But then he nodded once and handed her over. Zarrek held her carefully, supporting her head with surprising tenderness for a warrior of his size and brutality.
Resh stepped into the tub. The water rippled around him, hissing as it met his skin. The air in the tent thickened with steam. He lowered himself to one side of the bath and held out his arms. Zarrek handed Auryn back.
As soon as her legs touched the water, her body spasmed, a soft sound catching in her throat.
“It’s all right, starlight,” Resh whispered. “I have you.”
He eased her into the water, cradling her against his bare chest, one arm wrapped around her back, the other beneath her knees. Her nightshift clung to her small frame, wet and fragile as breath. She shuddered, and another sharp, shallow wheeze broke from her lips.
Resh pressed his mouth to her temple. “Stay with me. Just breathe. That’s all you must do now. Breathe for me.”
Thessia dropped to her knees beside the tub, sleeves pushed up, rubbing Auryn’s hands between hers. Her breath fogged the air. “She’s like ice,” she hissed. “Gods, her fingers—Resh, she’s freezing.”
“I know.” His voice cracked.
“She’ll warm up fine,” Zarrek said, “as long as her heart doesn’t stop first.”
Thessia gave him a warning look. “I’ll get blankets. More dry towels,” she said, rising.
“Not yet," Resh said. "Let her body adjust.”
Zarrek didn’t move. He stood just beyond the tub’s edge, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Auryn. His face—usually unreadable—was drawn, pale. “We all missed it.”
Neither Thessia nor Resh answered.
“How did we all miss it?” Zarrek said again. “She was right in front of us. Talking. Breathing. Smiling. And now…”
Resh glanced up at him. It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the tone.
He’d heard that tone before. A dozen times.
A hundred. It was the voice Zarrek used when looking down at a soldier with too many wounds.
When the healers had done all they could, and nothing more could be pulled from the thread of a fading life.
Resh rested his hand above her heart.
Still there.
Still beating.
But faint. And wrong.
Then—movement. Not hers. A flicker. A shadow beneath her skin.
He shifted her in his arms, thumb tilting her chin higher—and saw it.
Darkness pooling along her jaw, crawling up from her collarbone like a rising tide.
He tugged at her nightshift with trembling hands, baring her left shoulder and chest.
Veins—black, thick, branching like cracks in obsidian—webbed out from her heart, crawling beneath her skin like ink spilled under glass. The lines pulsed. Throbbed. Fed.
Thessia stilled. “What is that?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Resh said, hoarse. “It’s in her. Whatever this is—it’s inside her.”
Zarrek’s eyes narrowed. “How long?”
“I don’t know.” He looked back at her face. No sign of waking. No sign of anything. “I didn’t see it. I—” His voice broke. “I didn’t look.”
He bowed his head and pressed his lips to her temple.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “You hear me? I’m here. You just…stay. Stay with me.”
Resh adjusted Auryn in his lap, anchoring her weight with his entire body. Hoping he could anchor her heart. Her soul. He stayed with her in the water, stroking her hair, listening to her breathing.
An hour passed.
He reheated the water once. Then twice. Then again as her breathing evened out and her pallor faded. Time transformed into an oppressive fog—its volume measured only by her breaths.
Shallow at first. Barely there.
Then stronger.
And then again.
“Come on, Auryn,” he murmured. “Come back to me.”
Her limbs lay across him like they belonged there—fragile, boneless things that once held stars in their weave. He cradled her close, careful not to jostle her too much, his lips brushing her temple between each whispered plea.
Her skin had started to shift—not warm, not yet, but no longer ice.
He wiped the moisture from her cheek—water, or blood, or maybe just a lie he needed to believe.
Then—there.
A flicker beneath his hand.
It was almost nothing, just the barest flutter in her chest, but he felt it. A shift. A pause. And then her body shuddered as she pulled in a breath. Shallow. Weak.
Then another breath. Slightly deeper.
His chest heaved, and he touched his forehead to hers, swallowing the jagged sound that rose in him like a sob. But it wasn’t a sob. He wouldn’t allow it. His voice cracked instead—just once—as he breathed into her ear:
“Breathe. That’s all you need to do. Just breathe.”
She did.
Another breath. Then another.
His hand slid to her ribs, feeling the subtle rise and fall of each one. “That’s it,” he whispered, rocking her. “One breath at a time.”
More hours passed.
Zarrek eventually slipped out of the tent, silent as a shadow. Thessia followed not long after, pausing at the flap with one last glance over her shoulder. Her face was grim, set. “I’ll gather supplies,” she murmured. “We’ll need to warm her properly once she can be moved.”
Resh didn’t look up. Didn’t budge. He nodded once, holding Auryn as though she might vanish if he let go.
The hours stretched. The tent dimmed as daylight waned.
Shadows grew long. When Zarrek and Thessia returned, their arms were full—dry towels, warming stones, furs, even a bit of emberroot for the firepit.
“She can’t stay in the water,” Zarrek said, voice low.
“Resh, let’s get her out,” Thessia added gently, like she knew if she spoke too fast, he might break. Already, she was moving to start a fire near the bath. “We’ll stoke the coals hot and wrap her tight.”
Thessia knelt beside the steaming tub, a stack of linens and a folded nightgown in her arms. She placed them with care, brushing damp strands of hair from Auryn’s brow.
“She’s stable,” she said, glancing up at Resh. “We need to get her dry now. Come on. Help me lift her.”
He didn’t move at first. His arms were locked around Auryn, as if the moment he let go, the breaths they’d fought for—prayed for—might scatter like mist. Thessia laid a gentle hand on his forearm.
“She’s safe now, Resh,” she said, quieter. “Let’s keep her that way.”
He shifted finally, rising from the water in one smooth motion with Auryn held against his chest. His tunic and trousers clung to his frame, dripping when he stepped over the edge. Steam sighed and spiraled around them as he moved.
Thessia and Zarrek worked in tandem, spreading thick furs beside the fire.
Together, they adjusted the blankets as Resh lowered Auryn down onto the soft surface.
The shock of cool air prickled her skin, and Resh immediately reached to warm her with his hands, but Thessia stayed him with a quiet shake of her head.
“I’ll tend to her. You hold the linens.”
He did as asked—unable to speak—kneeling beside the pile as Thessia moved with calm efficiency. His eyes followed her every motion, followed every rise and fall of Auryn’s chest.
Thessia peeled away the soaked shift clinging to Auryn’s small form, drying her with the soft cloths and muttering something under her breath about moonbeams and stubborn girls.
She dressed her in the oversized nightgown.
The sleeves hung past Auryn’s fingertips, the hem swallowed her feet, and the neckline gaped too wide for her small shoulders.
Together, they tucked her into the thickest of the furs. Resh smoothed her hair away from her face, then reached to adjust the collar of the nightgown around her neck, covering the black veins.
“She’ll be warmer soon,” Thessia said. “Once she’s wrapped in this heat long enough.”
Resh nodded, slow and silent. He didn’t look away from Auryn. Not even when Thessia placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Now you.”
He blinked, as if just remembering his own body. “No need.”
“No, you’re soaked, and sitting like that in this cold will do you no good.” She narrowed her eyes. “You want to help her? Change into something dry.”
“I can’t leave her.”
“You’re not leaving her,” she said firmly. “You’ll take three steps, change behind the partition, and be back before she misses your warmth. You want to lay down with her, yeah? What good are you if you’re wet and frozen?”
Resh looked down at his hands. They were steady. Strong. Still warm, even after all this time in the tub. Fire flickered at his core—steady, alive, unyielding.
“This body doesn’t feel the cold,” he murmured, suddenly guilty, wishing he could share this immunity with Auryn in this moment.
Thessia’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“Nothing.” He pushed to his feet with quiet reluctance. “I’ll change.”
She watched him go, lips pressed in a thin line.
As she turned back to Auryn, she whispered to the girl tucked in the mountain of furs, “You’ve made a mess of him, little moonbeam. Gods help us all.”
Resh heard her, and he couldn’t deny a word of it.