Chapter 39
Once I have my balance, I step off Piper’s feet, one hand gripping his thigh and the other going to his arm. Shoulders hunched, jaw grinding, I keep his unconscious body draped over my back as I start to haul him across the desert, uncaring about whatever damage is being done to my wounds.
All I care about is not failing.
He saved me, now I have to save him.
With his extra weight slung across me, my feet sink even deeper into the sand. Every step is a struggle, and I’m moving painfully slowly, but I concentrate on keeping my balance. If I fall, I’m not sure I could pick him back up again.
Another blast of chatter fills the air, and I turn my head, trying to spot any monsters swimming through the sand. But all is still. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Which means it could be right below me.
Go, Esti.
With gritted teeth, I put all my energy into placing one foot in front of the other. On quickening my steps as much as I can.
The chattering gets louder.
Closer.
A sob comes out of my cramped throat.
But the scent of rotten eggs is nearly overwhelming now. A realization that hits me with flooded relief.
I’m getting closer to the mud pools.
I force my strained legs to go faster, and will my body not to crumble beneath his weight.
Keep . . . going . . .
I reach the first mud pool and squint through the sweat dripping down my skin. But there are so many pools. There have to be hundreds of them, if not thousands.
“Where is it?” I pant, turning as I try to spot the leyline.
Why didn’t I pay closer attention to where it was?
I tread over the pockmarked ground, careful to give each pool a wide berth. If I trip into any of these, that’ll be it. There’s no way I could drag us both out.
As I’m turning in another circle, searching, I notice the ground shift out of the corner of my eye. My head snaps in that direction, and I see it—the tide of the sand moving, a wave beneath the surface that slithers toward me.
With a swallowed shriek, I pivot, but the Piper’s weight is overwhelming. My muscles are aching, my legs shaking so hard I worry they’re going to give out. I know I can’t carry him for much longer.
A plea leaves my lips. “Please, Fates. Please . . .”
The sand proves too thick with my next step.
I trip and fall, landing hard on my stomach, and the Piper’s body crashes down on me.
Shoving, I manage to roll him off . . . right toward a mud pool.
“No!”
I dash forward with panic and clutch his arm. My heels dig into the sand, my knees bent, and I use all my strength to pull him away before he dunks in. The mud has him by the ankles, but I manage to yank him out.
Full body chills erupt when chattering pounds into the air.
I reach for his sword, only to realize I left it behind.
Piper was right. I am a raging idiot.
I whip around, spotting the serpill at the edge where the mud pools begin, barely fifteen feet away. It blinks at me, teeth bared, and its frills shake as it chatters out a roar that plunges through the desert.
A thought strikes me, and I reach down, hand scrambling for Piper’s belt.
For the holder at his waist.
I rip out his flared instrument, the weight heavy in my hand. I lift it, nearly dropping it from how badly I’m shaking.
Then I shove the pipe to my lips and blast out an exhale, and . . .
Nothing.
I try again, but there’s silence. Not a single note.
The serpill rears up and I stagger back, nearly tripping over the Piper’s sprawled body. I drop the pipe and reach down and start to drag him backward, only able to because we’re on a slight slope. But I know it’s a doomed, last-ditch effort.
I can’t outrun this creature.
My sobs drown out the chatter, my feet slipping in the sunken sand so much that I trip again, falling to my knees as it roars.
I toss my body over Piper’s.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I brace. Brace for it to lunge. For the fangs to pierce through my skin.
For it to kill us.
I shudder in the darkness, my torso curled over Piper, my tears soaking his shirt.
But the attack doesn’t come.
I jerk my head up in confusion, looking over.
The creature is shifting back and forth, its tiny hooked legs sinking into the sand with each pacing turn. It looks aggravated, its movements jerky.
I frown. Why isn’t it rushing at us?
It suddenly rises up and lunges, mouth snapping, and I scream as a spray of sand explodes just two feet away. Then it rises up again, chattering at me with fury.
But why won’t it just . . .?
Realization suddenly dawns.
It’s not crossing the mud pools. For whatever reason, it won’t go past them, and we’re too far away for it to strike at us.
Barely.
If I had fallen just two feet closer . . .
The creature balks and postures, snapping its fanged teeth, and it tries to strike again, this time closer, but we’re still out of reach.
When the serpill realizes that it’s a futile effort, it snaps its teeth at me and sends one last terrifying roar out into the night air, so loud it threatens to burst my ears. Then it dives back into the sand with a spray like crashing waves, and slithers away.
I collapse back in a heap of utter relief.
My heart feels like it’s about to burst open and bleed out. I suck in a few lungfuls of air and then shift up to lean over Piper’s side. It takes several seconds before I can feel his breath against my fingers.
Still alive.
I move to his tunic, lifting the bottom to reveal the wound beneath. I cringe at the sight. Blood is bubbling up from both holes where the beast bit him. I know that sometimes, blood loss can kill a person quicker than poison, so I need to do something to staunch it.
His breath seems to shudder.
“You’re okay,” I croak, trying to reassure myself just as much as him. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I try to stop the bleeding with my hands, but I’m shaking too much, and I can’t rip off any pieces of fabric from his tunic.
“Come on, Esti,” I spit at myself, cursing my failures.
There’s no one else but me. I have to do something.
Acting on pure instinct, I scramble over to the sulfur-scented bog and scoop some of the mud into my hands.
I rush back and slather it over his wounds, and much to my relief, it’s thick enough that it slows the ooze.
Maybe it can even soak up some of the venom?
I gather more, desperately hoping that it helps.
My adrenaline is wearing off into shock, but I can’t let it.
Nor can I allow my crushing fear to paralyze me.
So I force myself to stand, eyes squinting in the dark as I try to find the vined footpath of the leyline.
Carefully, I leave him as I try to pick my way between the pools. But his plea plays again in my ears.
Stay.
I stop, looking around, though it’s nearly impossible to see anything.
I can’t see the leyline, and I can’t risk getting lost out here while he’s vulnerable.
What if another creature smells his blood and tries to attack?
Or what if I walk too far and can’t find my way back to him? All these mud pools look the same.
I spin around, searching further, but my shoulders slump when I don’t spot it. I’m going to have to pray that he can survive the night. At the first speck of dawnlight, when I can see better and I can keep him in my sights, I’ll look for it again.
He didn’t want me to leave him. That was his final plea. I need to honor my promise.
Defeated and utterly exhausted, I go back and collapse next to him. My throat is aching with thirst, and my back hurts, but I ignore it all, shifting until my head lies gently on his chest, right over his heartbeat so I can reassure myself he’s still alive.
I feel so useless, so hopeless as I lie beneath the night sky, the stench of mud as cloying as my guilt.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I whisper again.
Maybe if I say it enough times, the Fates will hear me.
I was angry. Terrified. Unsure.
But now that he’s dying, I regret so much.
Clouds drift across the moon as I force myself to stay awake, to listen for other predators, while I keep my eyes trained on him. It’s the first time I can really take him in without worry of him noticing or with the conflict of our consequences.
I watch him the same way I used to stargaze. Eyes captivated and attention lingering, smoothing over every point and dip. Studying each line and curve.
Wondering at a deeper meaning beneath the surface.
Here in the dark, in the quiet, I look at him dunked in moonlight and note every shade of his hair.
I trace the marks that leach from the sharp tips of his ears in a perpetual drip, the red color darker in the night.
Then my gaze flicks down to etch across his perfectly plush lips that, for once, aren’t hardened with a frown, his expression not twisted with intensity.
Every time I look at him, I’m pulled in. Maybe it’s the latch or just plain attraction, but whenever he’s near, a heat yields within me that I don’t dare harvest.
Because he is heat. A fire that burns, unchecked, save for the venom that’s now dousing his veins.
I swallow hard, my chin wobbling. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my words withered with worry.
With his face so calm, his breathing even, I can almost pretend that he’s only sleeping. That he’s going to wake at any moment. Tentatively, I drag my finger across the edge of his sharp jaw. Let the stubble scrape against my skin. His brow furrows, as if he’s dreaming.
Stay, he’d said.
As if I could’ve left.
I don’t think I realized the true implications of this connection, but I do now. It’s like teeth clamped on. Not in a painful way, but his presence has bitten me through. As if he’s infected me with venom of his own that bubbles against my chest and fills me with thirst.
Despite everything, all the blunt blunders and the cruel missteps, he has saved my life. Three times over now. And despite his wrongs, he is trying to do something right. Something good. I saw that for myself at the Plague burg and heard it from his own lips.
He’s trying to save the world.
Even though I desperately want to go home, I can’t refute the fact that what he’s doing is so much bigger than me.
But it’s more than that.
Finally, while he’s on the brink of death, while I can do nothing but fulfill my promise and stay by his side, I can admit it.
I have been fighting so bitterly that the surrender tastes sweet.
After spitting out lies, to myself, to him, it’s a balm to swallow down the truth. I do have feelings for him. Deafening, blinding, overwhelming feelings.
But now, it might be too late.
I look up at the salt-speck stars, hoping for them to heal. For the outstretched arms of their concealed constellations to spell out a better fate.
“One night. Just hold on for one night, Piper,” I whisper. “Please.”
Sitting up, I check his wound again, and realize with a leap of heart that the mud has fully hardened and the bleeding has stopped. I consider getting more mud just to give it an extra layer of protection, but then my attention snags on the holder at his belt, and I stiffen when I see it’s empty.
His pipe! I dropped it. Oh, Fates, if I lost that too . . .
I whirl around, pulse kicking, but my gaze lands on the instrument just a couple feet away in the sand. I let out a big breath of relief. I’m lucky it didn’t roll right into one of the bogs.
I reach forward and grab it. Holding it in my lap, I study the black metal, running my fingers over the holes lined down the top.
There are engravings twisted and knotted around the length, but they’re not glowing red like when he’s using it.
They’re just a shade lighter than the rest, the shaved metal glinting subtly from the moonlight.
But even now, it’s still letting off subtle wisps of vapor. Silvery and thin, nearly too sheer to see, but there. It curls around the instrument, gray tendrils grasping at the Piper’s waist like stretching fingers.
Once more, I lift it to my lips and try to play. But just as before, no sound comes out. I pull it away with a frown. “Strange,” I murmur.
I think, at one point, I would have tossed it into one of these mud pools, happy to take away his power. But not now. Not when I know what his goal is. It wouldn’t be right.
My fingers tighten around the pipe, and I shove it down my borrowed dress, tucking it between bindings and bodice so I don’t lose it.
I check his wound again before I once more rest my head against his chest, wishing for him to wake up.
Wishing for dawnlight to come so I can find our way back.
Wishing he can hold on long enough to be healed.
Wishing that things had been different.
But for now, all I can do is keep listening to his heart beneath my ear and urge it to keep beating.