Chapter 3 Ice
Ice
Consciousness returned slowly, dragged upward through heat until the cold broke through it.
I was in an ice bath.
It pressed in from every side, and I dragged in a breath as the shock hit all at once. A violent shudder ran through me as the water closed around my body, ice knocking softly against the sides of the narrow tub. My underclothes were already soaked through.
“What the fuck—”
My voice came out hoarse, thinner than I intended as I forced myself upright.
The rim pressed against my arms as I pushed up, the water shifting softly around me as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
The fabric clung to my skin, soaked through, heavier than it should have been.
My hair dragged behind me in the water, damp against my neck in a way that made everything feel slightly off.
This was not where I was supposed to be.
I tried to piece it together and came up with nothing. Whatever had happened between one moment and the next was gone.
When I lifted my head, I found him there.
“What the fuck have you done to me?” I demanded, my voice gaining strength even as another tremor moved through me.
He didn’t flinch. “I’m trying to bring your fever down.”
“What the fuck?” I repeated, staring at him.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, already irritated. “I’m not a fucking healer.”
“Well then find me one.”
“I can’t find you one,” he snapped back. “Or I obviously would instead of trying to fix you myself.”
“Get me out of here.”
“No.” His tone didn’t shift. “You have a fever. You need to cool down.”
Something hit my shoulder, light but unexpected, and a rag slid down against my skin, already soaked by the time I caught it.
“Besides,” he added, “you could use a rinse.”
I looked up at him for a second, then glared.
The cold had sunk deeper now, biting into the heat that had been burning through me before, my body caught between the two in a way that made it hard to tell which one I preferred.
My teeth threatened to chatter again, but I held it back, forcing control where I could.
He held something out, a small bar of soap.
I took it without thinking, more out of irritation than agreement, and worked it between my hands before reaching up to my hair. My fingers dragged through it, slower than they should have been, the movement taking more effort than it ought to.
The dizziness came fast. My vision tipped just enough to warn me before it gave out completely, my body going with it before I could stop it.
His hands caught me again, strong and immediate, pulling me upright before I could slip under the water.
“I said rinse,” he snapped, already annoyed. “Not fucking—get fancy.”
“Cleaning my hair is hardly fancy,” I shot back, breath uneven.
He ignored that.
I leaned back slightly, just enough to keep my balance, the water moving softly around me as the cold continued to press into my skin. My body still felt wrong, heavy and light at the same time, like I was only partially inside it.
“Eravic said there was a healer on the boat,” I said, watching him.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound controlled but edged. “A lot has changed.”
“What—”
“The wards at Gyarin failed,” he said, cutting in before I could finish. “The undead broke through.”
I went still, the cold water pressing against my skin as the meaning worked its way through the fog in my head.
“Eravic’s sister lives along that coast,” he continued. “A ship reached us at first light. They took him, his men, and Junis.”
“What?” The word came out sharper than I intended. “They just left?”
“They didn’t have time to say goodbye.”
There was something final in the way he said it that made arguing pointless.
“They took the healer with them,” he added. “They’ll need him.”
I stared at him. “So there is no healer.”
“No.”
He hesitated. “This ship was cloaked and warded, invisible to the undead and most others. It still is, but with Vaelor gone both protections will begin to fade. And with Gyarin nearby, more undead have likely been created.”
So we were in danger.
The cold had dulled the fever enough that I could think, but not enough to feel steady. “Where is Nyara?”
“Below deck.”
“Where?" I pressed.
“Below you. Safer than you." His voice was laced with irritation.
“What does that mean?”
He exhaled, already losing patience. “There’s an escape boat beneath the lower deck. It’s stocked and ready.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“The undead are drawn to power,” he said. “They feel it. Track it.”
I frowned. “Power?”
“The same thing that lets us do anything beyond being ordinary,” he said. “What you have. What I have. What most of the people above deck have.”
“Nyara doesn’t,” he added.
“How do you know Nyara doesn’t have powers?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “Does she?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s never come up.”
“I only met her once when we were younger,” he said. “I never saw any to speak of.”
It felt strange hearing him speak about their past, like a world I thought was separate from his was not.
My thoughts turned back to the ship. If they tracked power, then—
The pieces started to fit, slow and unwelcome.
“So you separated everyone.”
“Yes.”
“Those without it go below,” I said, following the thought. “So they can get away.”
“If we send the signal, they leave immediately,” he said. “They have a chance.”
“And you?”
“We stay.”
I looked at him properly then. He looked like shit. Not just tired. Worse than that. Drained in a way that didn’t come from lack of sleep.
“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
I frowned. “Yesterday?”
“I told you,” he said. “While I was feeding you.”
I stared at him. “I don’t remember that.”
“I know.”
I watched him, waiting for more, but none came.
“There’s no healer,” I said again.
“No,” he replied. “But there is a weaver. He’ll be here tonight.”
I frowned. “What is a weaver?”
“A man who uses what we have instead of herbs and tools,” he said. “He’ll open the wound, clean it properly, and push the infection out.”
My stomach tightened.
“He’ll hold it open while he works,” he went on. “Then close it again when he’s done. You’ll be able to walk after.”
“Walk,” I repeated.
“If we’re attacked, you’ll need to.”
“And my fever?”
“That stays.”
I let out a breath. “And if he misses something?”
“It comes back worse.”
I didn’t respond.
“Why is he called a weaver?” I asked after a moment.
“Because once he’s done tearing it open,” he said, “he has to put it back together.”
I held there, the cold water pressing against my skin, the weakness still dragging at my limbs.
He looked at me, more serious now. “It will hurt.”
I met it without looking away. “Fine,” I said quietly.