Текст книги "The Serpent and the Wings of Night"

Автор книги: Carissa Broadbent

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A shiver tore through my entire body. The sound was distant, and yet it silenced the room immediately. The ground shook once, violently—over so fast that if plates and glasses hadn’t all toppled to the ground in that moment, I might have questioned if I’d imagined it.

Maybe I had been wrong about these humans being carefree, because they all sobered right away, their hushed fear rising to the surface like it had never really left.

Raihn and I were already on our feet, running outside. When we stumbled onto the street, I stopped short.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

A plume of shimmery silver smoke rose from the distant Moon Palace, floating up through the night sky and blotting out the moon. The puffs of white nearly consumed the Palace’s silhouette, but when a gust of wind thinned the fog, it revealed that one of the towers was simply missing. Just… gone. Lightning-bright cracks radiated up through the base of the building, visible even from across the city. Bursts of light clustered around the castle’s foundation.

My stomach dropped.

Mische.

Mische was in the Moon Palace.

I whirled to Raihn, who had gone pale. All his masks and performances had been abandoned, leaving only bare, gut-wrenching terror.

“We’ll get her,” I said. “She’s going to be alright. We’ll get her.”

I touched him without thinking, my fingers digging into the muscle of his forearm. He had to visibly fight that fear from the surface. Still, his voice shook a little as he said, “I’m flying.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll be a liability.”

“You know damned fucking well that isn’t true, and you don’t know what you’re about to find, Raihn.”

He winced, because he knew I was right. “Fine. Then you’re flying with me.”

It didn’t sink in what, exactly, that meant. Not until Raihn stepped closer, drew me into his arms, and scooped me up like I was nothing before I had time to react.

“Hold on,” he said, voice low and so close to my ear that my skin shivered. “I’m not coming back for you if you fall.”

My body seized, frozen by the sheer overwhelming proximity of him. His form enveloped mine, his arms gripping me tight to his chest, encircling me with a firm hold. I was close enough to feel his heartbeat—slower than a human’s. Close enough that the heat of him surrounded me at all angles.

My pulse went rapid, every instinct screaming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Raihn glance at me—did he sense the increase in my heart rate?

His expression softened. “You’re safe, Oraya,” he murmured in my ear. “Just hold on.”

You’re safe, I told myself.

We didn’t have time for this. Mische didn’t have time for this. So I tightened my arms around his neck, fighting more than a decade of training in order to put myself completely at his mercy.

And as if he knew—as if he sensed my fear—Raihn’s thumb traced a circle over my back in one gentle, wordless reassurance.

It startled me, that touch. It startled me because it comforted me. I didn’t think it was possible to find a touch comforting ever again.

“Ready?” he said.

I nodded against his shoulder and braced myself.

A great whoosh surrounded us. I peered over Raihn’s shoulder just in time to see a wall of black open around us—inky, glossy feathers, even more magnificent so close, with as many variations of purple and blue and red as the night sky itself.

Then my stomach dropped, and the ground fell out beneath us. My hair flew back. Warm wind stung my cheeks, whipping with such ferocity that I had to bury my face against his shoulder again as we ascended.

We soared towards the burning Palace. He flew fast. Once we leveled out, I chanced twisting my head around. Looking down was a mistake—the sight of the buildings of Sivrinaj no bigger than wooden toy blocks made me nauseous. But up… Mother, the night sky was incredible. Freeing. In any other circumstance, I would have wanted to live up here forever. Vincent rarely flew, which now seemed unthinkable. Why would anyone choose not to do this? Why would anyone do anything else, when they could be here?

Then I turned ahead, and when I saw the Moon Palace, that amazement withered to horror.

An entire spire had fallen, its stone remnants now a jagged mountain of rock that partially pierced the central domed roof. Blue-white light burned in the wound and glowed from within the shattered glass windows. From this height, people were nothing but little dots in the distance, but I could see them swarming in activity near the entrances. The cold flames spread, consuming nearly half of its base, obliterating the surrounding gardens. The quarter of the city nearest to the Moon Palace had been crushed, entire buildings seemingly reduced to rubble.

This was an attack. A calculated attack.

And it was an attack conducted with Nightborn magic. That blue-white was unmistakable. Nightfire was a gift of the House of Night alone, never used by the Bloodborn or Shadowborn.

The hairs rose on the back of my neck.

The Rishan. It had to be. Vincent had been so preoccupied lately—so obviously concerned with issues he wouldn’t share with me. I knew tensions between the two Nightborn clans had been on the verge of exploding. Vincent had held on to power for two hundred years. That was a long time for one bloodline to manage to keep it. And it wouldn’t be the first time the Rishan had made a violent attempt at rebellion.

I was so tight against Raihn’s chest that even with the air rushing around me, I felt him shudder.

“Our tower is standing.” I had to get very close to his ear because the wind was so loud, my lips brushing the crest of it. I was so shaken by what I had seen that I almost—almost—didn’t notice.

He didn’t seem comforted. And the truth was, neither was I. Yes, our tower was standing, but Nightfire consumed everything. It wouldn’t remain that way for long.

He glided through the still-broken window of our apartment, tearing past the cloth that Mische had put up to cover the missing pane. Immediately, our hands went up to shield our faces. Raihn set me down and I struggled to get my feet under me. My eyes slitted against the blinding white.

Nightfire. Everywhere.

Nightfire didn’t produce heat, exactly, so much as it withered flesh from the inside out. It wasn’t hot like flames, but it wasn’t cold, either. It simply devoured—devoured more quickly, and more unforgivingly, than fire ever did. People caught in Nightfire were often found in piles of pristine bone. One of Vincent’s highest-ranking generals had lost his hand to it, and now the bone jutted out from black-scarred flesh, polished and gleaming.

It had overtaken the apartment. White flames leeched the color from the floors, the walls, the curtains. The fumes made my lungs sting, as if each layer of tissue was shrieking a dying wail.

The smoke was too thick and the light too bright. It took too long for my eyes to adjust—to see the movement within the licks of death. Night-dark bodies writhed through the blaze. They were small and twisted, perched on four spindly legs bent in all the wrong directions, all of which looked as if they had been pried from a separate corpse and stitched together into something moderately resembling a single beast. Demons. Even through the fire, I recognized them immediately as the product of Nightborn magic; very different than the Bloodborn beasts we saw in the first Trial.

Three of them surrounded Mische’s limp body.

In the fire, everything was black or white, save for the violent splatter of black-red, like a bucket of spilled paint, right at the center of the room.

My mind emptied, save for the horrible certainty that Mische was dead.

The demons’ faces snapped to us, their eyes round, gleaming pits.

I was moving before I had time to question whether it was a good idea. I wasn’t being strategic—wasn’t being smart. By the third step, I thought the demons would be upon me, but they weren’t. They remained completely still, staring at us. Looking at me? Or looking at Raihn?

I see you I see you I see you.

The words came in a sense different than sound, the rhythm of them burrowing in my veins.

A strong hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me away.

“Get back,” Raihn commanded in a low growl.

He kept walking past me, in quick, purposeful steps, gaze fixed upon those demons. In turn, the demons stared back at him, unblinking, unmoving.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he hissed, and lifted his hands.

I was several strides behind him, but even so, the force of his Asteris nearly toppled me over. My arms flew up to shield my face—if the Nightfire was intense, the flare of his magic was unfathomable. It lasted only a split second. The demons’ deaths were punctuated by a high, chilling wail that fell into weeping whimpers. When the light faded, Raihn was at Mische’s side, and two of the demons were simply gone, the third a mess of black liquid and twitching limbs on the opposite side of the room.

I ran to them and fell to my knees next to Raihn. The mask of deathly rage on his face had disappeared, revealing now such raw dismay. Either it was a trick of the light, or he was on the verge of tears.

“Mische,” he said. “Mische, look at me.”

I leaned over her, blinking away the Nightfire smoke. Her blood soaked through the knees of my pants, even through the leather. Her eyes were half open, but unmoving. One hand was outstretched beside her, holding a long, golden object—a candlestick? My foot hit something hard and I glanced down to see that candles surrounded her, unlit blocks of wax rolling across the marble floor.

And her abdomen… Mother, she was torn open. Gutted. Vampires could survive so much. But this… how could any being survive this?

A sickening CRACK rang out. The floor quivered, groaned. For a terrifying moment, I was certain we were about to fall to our deaths. In the distance, the screams grew louder. I couldn’t tell anymore where they were coming from—in here, or out there, or both.

Raihn and I, both braced over Mische’s body, exchanged an alarmed glance. No time. How long did we have before this tower collapsed?

“Come on, Mische,” he murmured. “We have to go.”

He gathered her in his arms. She let out a tiny whimper that made my heart leap—if she was in pain, she was alive.

A burst of light flared behind us as the Nightfire swelled. It was everywhere. Raihn abandoned his gentleness for urgency as we lurched back towards the window and away from the flames.

He turned to me. “I can take you both.”

No, he couldn’t. He could barely extend his hand to me with Mische in his arms.

I said, “Bring her down and come back for me.”

He grimaced. “Oraya—”

“It’s no use to anyone if we all fall. Go. Fast, because I don’t feel like dying tonight.”

He hesitated, then said, “Fine. I’ll be back. Don’t burn to death,” and was gone through the window.

It was only once I was alone that I realized what a supremely stupid idea this was. The floor moaned and quaked precariously. I struggled to see anything. Surges of white and blue ballooned, walls falling to the flames.

Thirty seconds and the Nightfire would overtake this entire apartment. That, or the tower would collapse. Raihn would never get back fast enough.

That is, if he even came back at all. He could just leave me here.

BANG.

It was so loud it transcended sound and became force. I whirled around just in time to see the door burst from its hinges, the light consuming me.

I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear.

I was suspended in nothing but pain.

I rolled over. Pushed myself to my hands and knees—or at least I thought I did. I could be upside down. I could be falling. I wouldn’t even know.

My eyes were wide open, groping desperately for something—anything—other than blinding white, and failing. My hands slid across the floor, searching for my blades. Feeling blood-slicked tile, crumbled stone, broken glass, the ice-cold ash of Nightfire debris…

I would die here.

I was blind and defenseless. Injured—my body didn’t move the way I expected it too, but the pain from the Nightfire was so universal, hitting every nerve at once, that I couldn’t even tell what was broken. Every sound was distant and muffled, as if I was underwater.

Take stock of your senses, Oraya, Vincent commanded in my head, the only clear thing in a blurry world.

I drew in a deep breath. Let it out.

I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, but I could feel. I pressed my palms to the ground—let the vibrations from it run through me.

And there, I found something… strange. A hot-cold sensation bubbling up inside of me, reaching out. All at once, I became aware not only of the floor beneath my palms, but the walls, the imprint of the window frames. I could feel myself here, in the center of this room. Feel the placement of my blades, one several feet to my right, the other lingering just beyond the reach of my left hand.

And I could feel… strength. Delirious strength. It surrounded me, ready to be drawn upon. The Nightfire. It was energy. It was power.

Mische’s words, which not long ago had seemed totally illogical—it’s just there—suddenly made sense.

I reached for that power the way I reached for my senses, like it was already a part of me.

My eyes still saw nothing but white. And yet, I knew the exact moment that the demons came bursting through the door. Three of them—no, four, the last one lingering somewhat behind, its back leg injured.

I didn’t think.

I rose, opened my hands, and let out a wordless roar.

Heat and cold flashed over my skin. A shriek pierced the numb silence of my ears. A wave of euphoria shivered over my flesh. For two seconds, I was the most powerful being in the world. I was fucking untouchable.

And then I was in agony.

My knees hit the ground hard. I doubled over, covering my face.

“Oraya!”

I didn’t hear Raihn until he was right next to me, grabbing me and pulling me upright. I blinked at him, his face a blurry imprint in a world of oppressive white. He was looking past me, to the apartment, lips parted and brow furrowed.

Then, he pulled me into his arms and hurled us out the window.

We fell for a gut-clenching moment before his wings splayed out, turning our freefall into a graceful arc. The darkness of the night was a relief to my eyes, though I blinked hard, over and over again, trying to clear my vision—now all acid spots of white against sky.

“You’re alright?” Raihn said into my ear.

I choked out, “You missed your chance to get rid of me.”

I didn’t think he was even capable of joking right now, with Mische in the state she was. So it seemed like some grim victory when, where my cheek pressed against his neck, I felt his throat vibrate with a raspy, humorless laugh. “Shame. I considered it.”

I laughed, too, in a strange broken sound that was too high and too loud.

“I thought I was going to be too late.” He leaned close to me, his voice low and drawn. “What did you just do in there?”

What? I wanted to say, but the words stuck in my throat.

“The Nightfire.” As if he heard it anyway. “You killed four demons.”

The wave of nausea had nothing to do with motion sickness.

I didn’t know how to answer him, so I didn’t.

Instead, I looked down. The white spots still speckled my vision. I realized, after a moment, that they didn’t fade because some of those spots were actually Nightfire, spreading through the streets.

Before us was the Nightborn castle, foreboding red against the night sky. The Guard had been deployed. Vincent’s army was a wave of blue and purple falling across the city, the mass of them a singular smear of death to my broken eyes.

Still, I found Vincent immediately: right there at the front, his wings spread, the black glow of Asteris surrounding him. The red outline of his wings was visible even from the sky, as was the crimson shade of his sword—the Taker of Hearts.

Even from this distance, he emanated death.

I had witnessed Vincent’s power many times before. But I had never seen him like this. A horrible feeling coiled in my stomach.

“Your father has his war,” Raihn remarked. “He’s been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. He was made for this.”

I wanted to argue. But all I could think as we soared over the wreckage was that something had changed tonight. Something would never be the same again. I couldn’t describe it, couldn’t make sense of it, but I felt it in the air.

This was not just an attack. Not just a culmination of tension. Not a final death spasm.

No, this was the beginning of something horrible. A bloody birth of a bloodier monster. One that could devour us all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was nearly a full day before the Nightfire was extinguished and the demons disposed of. Whoever had launched the attack had been very strategic about their entry points. They came in through the southern entrance of the Moon Palace, which was the quietest and least protected. The greenhouse had been easy to breach, and the plants provided fantastic kindling for the Nightfire. Now nothing remained of it but shattered glass, all buried beneath the remnants of the tower that had collapsed above.

Four contestants had been killed in the attack—two within the lost tower when it fell, one ripped apart by a demon, one consumed by Nightfire. If I’d stayed in the greenhouse instead of going with Raihn and Mische, I would have been among them.

Mische survived, barely, though she still teetered on the edge of death. And she wasn’t alone. Several others had been burned—one of them so badly that he just lay in a state of semi-consciousness and moaned in pain. He no longer had a face. I hoped, for his sake, that he either died or recovered enough to do the deed himself.

Those with injuries so bad they couldn’t fight put in requests for withdrawal to Nyaxia. In the hushed silence of dawn, we gathered in the great room. The only sounds were the whispered prayers of the injured as they slit their hands and dripped their blood to their parchment pleas, asking the goddess for permission to withdraw their candidacy. Raihn and I did this for Mische, too; she couldn’t get the words out herself. Later, the Ministaer and his acolytes moved solemnly through the room, collecting those bloodstained pieces of parchment. They instructed us to remain in the Moon Palace, reminded us that the Kejari would go on as planned, and told us to await further instruction.

That was it. So we all settled back into what was left of the Moon Palace, and we waited.

At sundown the next night, Vincent addressed the House of Night.

He did it from the castle balcony, overlooking the inner city. He commanded attention across all of Sivrinaj. Magic painted his visage to the sky in ethereal strokes of light. The first two buttons of his jacket were undone, revealing his Heir Mark. His wings were spread. His crown peeked through tendrils of blond hair like the platinum spires of a star.

The message was clear: Vincent was the Nightborn King, and anyone who challenged him would pay dearly for it.

He didn’t speak to his people, but to his enemies.

“I have only one thing to say. The Nightborn are not cowards. We do not take kindly to acts of war. And make no mistake, this attack is an act of war.”

His voice rang through the sky, everywhere at once—inescapable.

“Do you wish to unseat me? Try. You are not the only one who knows how to kill. You have opened a door you cannot close again, and you are not prepared for the horrors that I will pour through it. Horrors that will spare nothing, as you have spared nothing. Horrors that will not spare your wives or children. Horrors that will not spare your food or your homes. And horrors that will not spare you.” A sneer curled the corner of his lip, revealing the lethal point of his teeth. “Not even when you beg for death.”

He lifted his chin. Even rendered in ghostly silver, the Mark on his throat seemed to burn, as if he and it alike had been seared into the night itself.

“I hope it was worth it, Rishan rebels.”

Jesmine came to the Moon Palace later that night. She brought with her a slew of Nightborn warriors, who shadowed her like deadly ghosts.

We had found another room by then—a much smaller chamber on the first floor, at the center of the Moon Palace, which was both easier for Mische to access and more central in case other parts of the structure collapsed. It wasn’t nearly as grand as our previous hideaway, but it was safe and secure. Raihn had even managed to recover some of our possessions from what remained of the eastern tower. His first priority had been Mische’s bag of medical supplies. When he’d dropped the remnants of my pack before me, too, I’d been casually grateful. But later, when I was alone, I had nearly wept when I tore it open to find Ilana’s scarf still intact, albeit a bit singed.

When she arrived, Jesmine pounded on the door with two booming knocks; not a request, but a demand. Raihn answered it, and she gave him a cold, critical look that started at his feet and slowly moved up his body.

“Yes?” Raihn said coldly.

“Come,” she said. “The Nightborn King has summoned you.”

Dread simmered in my chest as I joined them at the door.

He was made for this, Raihn’s voice echoed.

I hadn’t witnessed Vincent in wartime, but I’d certainly witnessed what he was like when he was protecting what was his.

Raihn didn’t move.

“Why?”

“Your king commands it.”

“He’s not my king.”

I tensed. Raihn didn’t blink. Jesmine was still and silent—a predator preparing for a strike.

I knew Raihn was worried and angry and tired, but he was also being a fucking idiot. I wanted to rip him away from her and tell him so.

“His life belongs to Nyaxia as long as he remains in the Kejari,” I said.

Jesmine seemed to realize I was there for the first time, her catlike violet eyes drinking me in with a glint of piqued curiosity, like I’d just said something very interesting.

“The King is well aware,” she said breezily. “Contestants will be returned to the Moon Palace with their lives.”

Contestants?

I peered over her shoulder to see that warriors moved about the great room, some headed down hallways to other apartments, others returning to the entrance with prisoners in tow. Angelika was among them, her arms gripped behind her by two Nightborn guards, strong features stone-set in fury.

They were taking the Rishan and Bloodborn contestants. And yet Jesmine, my father’s highest-ranking general, came here personally to get Raihn.

All these pieces snapped together in my mind to form a gruesome picture. I looked at Raihn just as his gaze darted to me, heavy with the same realization.

“The Rishan didn’t do this,” Raihn said to Jesmine.

She smiled. It was downright hypnotic. Surely that smile had brought men and women, mortals and immortals alike, to their knees.

“Oh, no one is accusing you of such acts. But this is wartime, understand. And the Rishan have a history of such atrocities. The Nightborn King cannot take risks.”

“No,” I said, before I could stop myself. “He’s my ally. The Halfmoon trial is two days away. Tell Vincent that.”

“Vincent is well aware.” Jesmine, again, smiled sweetly. “He will be back in plenty of time for the Halfmoon. Don’t worry. Now, come.” She beckoned to Raihn as if he was a dog. “You must understand the urgency.”

His knuckles whitened where his hand gripped the doorframe.

“I’m not leaving my friend,” he said. “If the king wants to drag me out, he can come do that himself.”

“We can drag you out if that’s how you would prefer to go.”

It was no bluff. If he didn’t back down, I was about to see him beaten and removed from the Palace unconscious. He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to take down an entire Nightborn army by himself.

My heart had quickened—surely both of them could sense it. I pushed closer, standing beside Raihn in the doorframe. “No one here appreciates the fucking threats, Jesmine,” I snapped, then turned to him and lowered my voice. “I’ll get you out. And I’ll take care of Mische.”

He searched my face, unconvinced. I could feel Jesmine’s stare, too. I realized that she was looking at my hand, which rested on Raihn’s forearm. I didn’t even remember putting it there.

I pulled away. Raihn said through his teeth, reluctantly, “Fine.”

Jesmine smirked in satisfaction as he stepped past her into the hall.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket and produced two folded pieces of parchment. She handed one to him. “The Ministaer wanted this delivered to your friend.”

Skeptical, Raihn took the letter and unfolded it. His face went white.

“What is this?” he choked out. “Is this a fucking joke?”

Jesmine’s mouth twisted ruefully. “From experience, I know the Ministaer does not make fucking jokes.”

The parchment crinkled, quivering with his rage.

“Look at her.” He thrust his free hand towards Mische, listless in the bed within. “She can’t fucking compete. And the Ministaer rejected her withdrawal?”

My stomach dropped.

That was a death sentence. We couldn’t even move Mische up the stairs, let alone drag her into the ring. And right before the Halfmoon trial, when half the contestants would be killed? She wouldn’t survive.

“Nyaxia rejected her withdrawal,” Jesmine corrected.

“Fuck Nyaxia.”

Several of the guards drew in disapproving gasps at this statement.

But this had nothing to do with Nyaxia, and we all knew it. Mische’s withdrawal had been rejected because of her friendship with Raihn. With no clear House association of her own, she might as well be Rishan.

Jesmine’s patience was wearing thin. “If you have concerns, you can bring them up with the Ministaer. Now, let’s go.”

Two of the guards took Raihn’s arms, and it looked like he was considering fighting before he finally conceded. I watched him go, mouth dry.

Jesmine offered me the other parchment. “This one is for you. From Vincent.”

I took it. It held only three words written in perfect script:

Tonight. Before dawn.

I glanced up at Raihn. He looked back over his shoulder only once, and the sheer hopelessness on his face shocked me.

For Mische. That was for Mische.

“He’s handsome.” Jesmine’s eyes followed mine. “You could do worse. Better if they aren’t a rebel, though. Just causes all sorts of trouble.”

That’s not what he is, I wanted to snap. Instead, I asked, “You’ve confirmed the Rishan were responsible?”

“Yes.”

I waited for more, and she gave a low laugh. “How much detail do you really want, Oraya? Aren’t you more familiar than most what they’re capable of? I know you must not remember much of what it was like in their territory, but you want to go there once the trials are over, don’t you? Well, here is your chance. Easier than ever for you to slaughter the bastards without Nyaxia looking at you sideways for it.”

My jaw tightened. Why did it bother me that she knew those things, about my past, my goals for the future? Why did it bother me that Vincent had told her all of that?

“I’m serious, Oraya.” Her voice lowered. “Be careful with him. He’s pretty, but he’s still a Rishan.”

I wanted to laugh in her face. As if I didn’t know better than anyone exactly how wary I had to be around pretty vampire men. No, I didn’t trust Raihn. I didn’t even know if I especially liked him—Really? a voice whispered in the back of my head, at this thought—but I knew he didn’t do this. I knew it with unshakable certainty for one reason, and one reason alone: Mische.

I saw the devastation on his face when we found her. That was love. No one could fake that.

I bit my tongue as Jesmine sauntered off and slipped Vincent’s parchment into my pocket.

I remained at Mische’s bedside until it was time to meet with Vincent. She hadn’t spoken since we dragged her out of the apartment, though her lashes shuddered as if with constant dreams. Her skin was burning hot—especially bad news for vampires, who were usually resistant to infection. I stood over her and dabbed at her with a cold washcloth, washing seeping pus from her wounds. I pulled up her sleeves and frowned at what I saw beneath them. The fresh Nightfire burns clustered around her wrists and hands, which had been exposed that night. But the smooth brown skin of her arms was dotted, too, with old burn scars—countless, all layered over each other. Some were clearly very old, and others much fresher, though not from the attack.

How could she have gotten these?

A mumbled whimper interrupted the thought. Mische stirred, her fingers shaking. I lowered her arm and leaned closer to her. She couldn’t even move her head, and her eyes twitched, like she was trying to open them and failing.

It affected me more than I would have expected it to—seeing her this way. Before, Mische had flitted about like a butterfly, and now someone had ripped her wings off and left her here to wither.

You’ve known her for a month and a half, Vincent’s voice reminded me. And she would have killed you in that ring the moment the Halfmoon was over.

True. And true.

Still.

“What is it, Mische?” I asked softly. “What?”

With great effort, she rolled her head over, revealing her face. Bruises darkened the hollows of her eyes and the corners of her lips with mottled black.

“He didn’t come,” she moaned. “He didn’t answer me.”

Raihn. A strange, unexpected pain twinged in my heart. If he knew that she had awoken and he wasn’t there…

“Raihn is coming back. Soon.”

I hoped.

Her eyelids fluttered, the cracked corner of her mouth tightening in an almost-smile. “Raihn? I know. Raihn always comes back.”

The smile collapsed. A tear streaked her cheek. “I called and called,” she whimpered. “I called and called but he wouldn’t answer. He’s left me.”

“He’s coming back,” I said again, but she just kept weeping, faster and harder until she couldn’t speak—until she couldn’t even breathe.

I hurried to our packs, stacked in the corner of the room, and rummaged through them. The medical bag was well stocked, but not with anything strong enough to help her. Then my gaze fell to my pack. I dropped Mische’s bag, went to mine, and withdrew the last potion I had left. It was mostly empty. Not much remained. It wouldn’t be enough to heal Mische—not even close—but it would keep her alive through the night, and it would sedate her.

Still, I hesitated. This medicine was one of the few that could help me, as a human. I hadn’t healed my own burns yet. And the Halfmoon trial was right around the corner.