Chapter 30
“Faith does not exist without hope.”
- The Old Book
Karina had to physically escort me back to my quarters because I could barely walk and had lost consciousness twice during the transfusion. It wounded my ego a little, but I didn’t have the energy to fight both the dizziness and her. So, I begrudgingly accepted the arm around my waist.
I lay on my back in bed, my breathing shallow. My entire body was so sore that I felt like I’d gotten kicked by a horse. I was also unbelievably cold. Tremors wracked me. My body had refused to stop shaking since the moment the second needle came out of my arm.
A nearly silent knock sounded at my door, and an all-too-familiar figure opened it and walked in.
Rowan.
My pulse sped up at the sight of him.
The light from the hallway framed Rowan’s figure for a moment before the door clicked softly shut behind him. His boots barely made a sound against the floor as he crossed the room, his expression unusually tense.
“You look awful,” he murmured, crouching beside the bed. His eyes swept over me, quietly assessing the damage.
“Thanks,” I rasped. My voice was hoarse, my throat dry and raw.
“I was coming to get you for training, but it seems you’re indisposed at the moment.”
The corners of his mouth tightened.
I tried to lift my head, but the movement sent a sharp ache down my spine. Wincing, I let it fall back against the pillow.
“I think you’re right.”
Rowan’s brow lifted momentarily before dropping and furrowing. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against my hand where it peeked from underneath the blanket. His touch was warm, and I fought the urge to curl into it.
“The chills and soreness are common after the transfusions. It’s your body adjusting. It’ll pass.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s reassuring.”
Rowan’s thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist absently, almost as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I’ve seen many go through this. You’ll be fine. You’re stronger than most.” His words sounded reassuring, but I wasn’t sure that they were meant for me.
A small wave of vulnerability washed over me.
“I’m not sure I feel very strong right now. Just look at how fragile I’ve become.”
His hand stilled, fingers curling briefly into a loose fist before he pulled back. “Strength isn’t just fists and swords.”
I closed my eyes briefly and exhaled through the tightness in my chest. I was trying my best to stay angry—though my fire had dimmed, stay determined—though my will had wavered, and stay alive—though my body was breaking.
When I opened them again, Rowan was still there, still watching, still not leaving.
“Rest,” he whispered. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, and if you’re in better sorts, then we’ll start your training.”
As he rose, his hand skimmed the edge of the blanket, almost like he didn’t want to leave. It was the smallest, most unthinking gesture. But the weight of it stayed with me even after the door closed quietly behind him, even after the room fell back into bitter silence.
Sleep claimed me in fragments, shallow and uncertain. When I finally stirred again, someone was nudging my shoulder.
I expected to see Rowan again, but it was Talia standing before my bed. Her brows knitted as she studied me.
I shifted to face her, shaking. I was far too cold.
“Is everything alright?” I slurred.
I still felt incredibly weak from the transfusion.
“What’s it like?” She asked.
“What?”
“The transfusion.”
I moved to sit on the bed. My body screamed at me, and it took every bit of strength I had to pull myself up.
I didn’t know what to tell her. On one hand, I could tell her the truth, but I didn’t want to scare her. She needed to be prepared, but not terrified.
I patted the mattress beside me, and Talia sat.
“I’m sore, but I’ll live.”
“I don’t like needles,” she said, moving her thumb to her mouth and biting the nail.
“I don’t either, but they’re quick about it. I promise.”
Talia nodded, dropping her hand to her side.
“Have you had the faith sessions yet?” she asked.
“No, what are they like?”
If they were anything like the truth sessions, I’m not sure I could make it through them.
“Not bad. Dr. Holcrum just talked about our relationship to the gods. Stuff like that.”
“I thought he worked with Dr. Sinters in the infirmary?”
“He does, but he leads the faith sessions too.”
I stiffened.
“Is he anything like Adina?” I asked breathlessly, betraying my fear.
“No, she scares me.”
“She scares me, too,” I admitted.
“Dr. Holcrum is just odd, and he smells weird.”
My body relaxed, and I laughed. Talia tentatively joined in. My lungs began burning, and I coughed. Talia put her hand on my back and gently patted, like she wanted to help but didn’t know how.
After a few seconds, the coughing fit stopped. My lungs felt scratched, and my throat raw.
“Mavis?” Talia whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we’ll make it out of here alive?”
There was a breath of silence. The heaviness of the question sat on my chest.
“I hope so,” I said.
But I knew hope wasn’t enough. If I wanted to make it out alive, I’d have to do more than hope—I’d have to fight.