Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thyra
Afierce jolt wrenches me awake.
In the heartbeat between deep sleep and wakefulness, I inhale the scent of dust, hear the echo of my name—Thyra!—and experience a rush of unexplainable fear.
Which vanishes as I open my eyes to find myself cocooned safely in Stellen’s arms.
I’m upright. Somewhat. My legs are bent at an uncomfortable angle while the stone wall rises at my back.
Stellen’s hand cradles my head, his arms cushion my spine, and the wrench I felt moments earlier feels like some sort of dream, its impact quickly vanishing.
He’s breathing hard, and his question is startlingly urgent. “Are you hurt?”
I try to find my voice, the frantic tension in his face filling me with unease.
“I’m fine.” I’m far from hurt. All wrapped up in his arms. And he looks much better than he did. No more blood around his mouth, so I’m certain he’s feeling better…
Although he’s holding me so tightly that he’s crushing me a little. “Why would I be hurt?”
The last I knew, Stellen had fallen asleep, his head in my lap. I drifted off at some point, slumped a little, and expected to wake up with a sore neck. My brief glance past him tells me the Alak-Teah haven’t reappeared, the rock pools are calm, and the mist is quiet and still.
“Thyra,” Stellen says, his thumb brushing the side of my neck where I’m certain the bite marks will scar, his unearthly eyes dull, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “You should never trust me.”
Of all the warnings he’s given me…telling me that his people wear their cruelty openly, urging me to become numb and uncaring, cautioning me never to ask for help, reminding me he’s heartless… This warning unsettles me most because I have no immediate context for it.
Dear Goddess, what did I miss?
My lips purse around the questions I need to ask, questions on the tip of my tongue, but I’m suddenly struck by how cold my hands are.
Freezing cold. My right arm, too.
Well, no wonder. They’re uncovered.
It’s no surprise to me that the Lethian armor isn’t wrapped around my right arm—the threads refuse to go anywhere near the black runes—but somehow, both of my mittens have been folded up, and the warm sleeve of my cloak is pushed up past my right elbow, bunched and uncomfortably tight around my biceps.
As I maneuver my hands between Stellen’s chest and mine, the sight of my palms confronts me.
My calluses are gone. The skin across my hands is luminescent.
Then I realize that the strands of my hair—not all of them, but some—are pure white.
A shudder shakes me. “A blade vision?”
Stellen nods, a sharp movement.
“But how? I was asleep. I didn’t see anything…”
I’ve never had a blade vision during sleep.
At least…I don’t think so. On my first night in the Iron Kingdom, I slept beneath Azul’s wing.
I’m certain he would have raised the alarm if I’d done anything unusual.
On my second night in the Iron Kingdom, Antony left me alone for a time.
I’m not sure how long because, as far as I knew, I slept through his absence.
Suddenly, I’m shaking too hard to speak coherently.
Even if, in the past, I couldn’t control my actions during a blade vision, I always had a warning that it was about to happen. I had awareness before and after.
The shock is too much for my body. “I…can’t… I’m c-c-cold.”
Stellen moves quickly. “Come.” Without hesitation, he lifts me into his arms and carries me the short distance to the rock pool, where he settles me down at its edge, one arm wrapped around me. “Dip your hands in the water. Warm them. You’ll feel better.”
My teeth keep chattering. “I d-didn’t ask—”
“For help,” he says. “No, you didn’t.”
“Oh…kay…then…”
Plunging my hands into the water is like stepping into sunlight.
Oh. I breathe a shaky sigh of relief, close my eyes, and soak up the soothing flow of warmth swirling around my fingertips, palms, and wrists.
Unbidden comes the memory of another moment when water soothed me.
You will remember only the water running clear.
Antony convinced me that water can wash away fear and death.
I could lean further forward to check my reflection, but the last white strands of my hair have turned dark again. Dull and lifeless. Whatever highborn face I was wearing, it’s gone now.
My next breath is warm. When I turn my palms up under the water, it’s clear my calluses have returned.
I’ve never been so happy to see them.
But now, my scrutiny has brought my attention to the Dragonstone Blade and the image of the ribbon around it.
“The runes have changed.” I’m frozen again. The shapes of the runes are subtly different. More straight lines than before.
My focus snaps to Stellen. “Tell me what happened during my blade vision.”
The force of my command doesn’t appear to perturb him. The opposite. The worried furrow in his brow eases.
And then returns.
“You reminded me of how heartless I am,” he whispers, the barest sound as he rubs the side of his neck.
His movement drags his hair to the side.
Now I can see that deep, bloody gouges cut across his skin.
I jolt forward, my hands lifting out of the water. “What are those?”
He didn’t have those cuts when I fell asleep.
“Don’t worry about them.” He catches my hand before I can brush his hair aside again.
“Did I do that?”
Oh, what did I do?
He leans toward me, his thumbs rubbing my palms, soothing swirls. “What you need to know, Thyra, is that you spoke to me. I spoke to you. And, other than these very small wounds, neither of us is injured.”
“But—”
“The cuts will heal soon enough. Faster if I let my frost power flow, but I won’t do that while you’re near me.”
“Then I should give you space.”
I tug away from him, but his hands tighten around mine. “Will you answer a question?”
I sway beside him before I give him a nod.
“Can you read the runes?”
I shake my head. “Can you?”
If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. “No. But I know a blood bind when I see it.”
“A blood bind!” I can’t stop my shudder, every instinct in my body wanting to hurl myself backward, as if I could get away from my own arm, an urge as strong as the moment I fully understood the curse and wanted to rip the Dragonstone Blade out of my body.
I can’t stop shaking. “Only a Blood Fae can remove a blood bind. But Blood Fae are extinct! This… No. Blood magic binds objects.”
It was one thing for me to wear a ruby circlet that had blood magic infused into its clasp.
It’s another to become the very object that has been bound.
“This can’t be.” My heart pounds as I fight the need to claw viciously at my arm, a desperate instinct to scratch and tear the runes into oblivion.
Last night, these runes spilled onto my arm.
Now I’m having blade visions while I’m sleeping.
What is this blood bind doing to me?