This was worse than watching one of them die. So much worse.
My heart ached, and in a way that had nothing to do with the physical wound. Taking my life hadn’t been an easy choice. I had to do it, so I did. Or so I had thought . . .
In truth, I really did feel completely replaceable in our group. My blood was valuable, but I wasn’t clever like Meryn, or fast like Jyn, or particularly skilled with a blade like Andimir or Camion.
Looking around at each of their faces, though, I realized—to them, I was irreplaceable. My value might not lie in combat skills or knowledge of the natural world, but somehow I kept us moving. I couldn’t give up, even as lost and defeated as I had been feeling. So they kept going, kept pushing, despite exhaustion, hunger, and filth . . .
When I couldn’t find my worth, the people who loved me could. I needed to trust them.
They were falling apart though, right before my eyes. Not even an hour had passed, but I could see the cracks between them. My sacrifice had seemed to be only blood and magic. Instead, I had stolen a large piece of each of them.
I should have listened.
Camion took a sharp breath, tore off a chunk of his shirt sleeve. He pressed the cloth to the wound between my ribs. Blood coated his fingers as he pulled them away, and he stared at them for a second too long. Disbelief rippled across his face before he pressed his lips together, stilling their trembling. Closing his eyes again, he lifted me to his chest and buried his face in my shoulder.
“Tyli . . .” He choked on the whispered nickname. “Tyli, please. What if you were wrong? What if this isn’t a spell, and I’ve lost you?”
And the tears fell. I could feel the damp fabric as it clung to my shoulder. No matter how I tried, strained, begged my muscles to move—I was frozen. Regret was a knot in my throat. My body wouldn’t cooperate. I had chosen this, had done this to him, and I wanted nothing more than to fix my mistake.
What if I couldn’t?
If my mouth would have opened or my throat would have cooperated, the scream that was trying to wrench free of my lungs would have shattered the unbearable near silence around me.
But there was nothing. As I raged against my own body, all I could do was listen to the soft weeping beside my ear, to watch Jyn’s rapid pacing. Meryn opened her mouth, and said, “I have to believe she’ll be okay. This is a spell. I can’t—I can’t believe otherwise.”
Jyn glared at her, then turned his anger to Andimir. “You shouldn’t have read the spell to her. You should have told me the translation first. Or—”
“You can’t blame me for this, Jyn. Do you think I knew that she’d stab herself? Actually stab—” He choked on the words, swiping at his tears.
Jyn huffed angrily, slamming his fist into the words inscribed on the wall. “Why does she do this?” he yelled, at no one in particular, his eyes locked onto the drops of crimson that dribbled down the stone to mingle with the mess my own blood had already made. “Why does she always have to be so”—a string of expletives fell from his lips—“so stupid. Why does she have to be reckless, and impulsive, and why—”
The words stopped, even as his mouth tried to form more. Meryn stepped toward him, put a hand on his arm. Jyn hesitated, then crumpled. He fell to his knees, forehead pressed against the wall before him, body wracked with sobs. Meryn simply knelt beside him, her hand firmly on his back, murmuring comfort.
Pain lanced through me, my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.
“Tyli, wake up . . .” Camion whispered into my ear, pleading. “Please. Prove him wrong, spitfire. Fight. I refuse to lose you like this, Tyli. Fight.”
So, I did. I fought harder, strained against the invisible force that held me captive. Raged, flamed, unleashed my temper as much as I was able. But, on the outside, nothing happened. I didn’t so much as twitch.
Whatever magic I had activated didn’t want to let me go.
Chapter 23
If my hands had been free, I might have pulled my hair out strand by strand. The pain wouldn’t be a pin prick compared to watching the others pace, examine the wall, whisper prayers to gods half of them didn’t even believe in.
They had pushed some of the longer grass into a pile on one side, nestling my frozen form in the center. Waves of heat still poured through my body, intense and growing stronger by the minute. But no motion had returned. I still bled too, or seemed to.
Meryn had insisted on wrapping Jyn’s bloodied knuckles, but the effort was wasted when he punched the wall three more times shortly after she finished. Andimir hadn’t moved, unnaturally still and quiet, Fetian perched on his knee. Camion paced a distance from the length of marble, taking great care to avert his eyes from the side of the cavern I was on.
I tried to fight the magic holding me in place, but my strength was waning. At least the spell hadn’t drained my life entirely. I might not have even had this half-existence to give me hope.
Though, watching them in so much pain was far worse than what I had imagined their deaths might feel like. This was suffering. This was . . . unexpected.
“What do we do?” Jyn asked, cutting through my thoughts.
Meryn was the one to answer, her voice soft, broken by muffled sniffles. “We take her home. Find Annalea. Return her to her family.”
“And what, stop there?” His temper flared as he glared daggers at her. “Abandon our search, drop everything to mourn? You know she wouldn’t want that.”
“Back off, Jyn,” Andimir said quietly. “Meryn isn’t to blame here, and you know that. Besides, Nat can’t tell us what she wants.”
I want to cry.
Jyn spun on him, cheeks shimmering in the dim light. “I know her better than any of you. She would want us to keep moving. We need to figure out this wall, get the Scepter, and then take her home.”
“That seems so . . .”
“I know how it seems, Andimir,” Camion said, pausing his steps. “But Jyn’s right. She’d want us to keep moving.”
Camion turned, enough that I could see the swollen rims of red around his eyes. I chanted a wish in my head, that I couldn’t see their sorrow or feel this regret. So much regret.
Maybe this was the true cost of the spell.
“So, we pretend this didn’t happen?” Andimir asked. “That we didn’t all lose—”
“No,” Jyn said, closing his eyes. “I could never pretend she wasn’t gone. But we have things to do before we can grieve.”
Meryn ran her fingertips over the wall, tracing the letters, stepping carefully around the blood I’d spilled across the stone floor. “She’s not dead.”
“I appreciate your optimism,” Camion said to her, voice wavering. “But it’s been too long. At this point, the damage—”
“She’s going to wake up,” Meryn insisted. Her hand hovered above the last line, “‘let the gods decide.’” She inhaled slowly, pulling a handful of glittering powder from a pouch at her waist. “I’m certain.”
Exhaling, she blew the powder across the letters. The wall shimmered, covered in her magic, but several heartbeats passed before the letters began to change. Slowly. Each etching began to fill with a strange orange-red color, one by one, pausing for a painfully long time between each letter. Meticulously, the inky substance spread, slithering into each before moving on.
“What is that?” Jyn asked warily.
“That’s her life force,” Meryn said. “Like an hourglass, counting down the minutes until it’s restored.”
“But how can you be sure?” Andimir looked as though he didn’t dare hope.
“Because I can feel her in the magic.” Meryn closed her eyes, pressing her hands over the red letters. “Oh yes, she’s very much alive. And so very sorry.”
She stumbled on the last few words, but the others moved, closing in around me. Camion crouched beside me and scooped my hand into his, eyes never leaving the wall. His lips moved in silent, chanted pleas. Jyn dropped into the grass, cross-legged, his fingers tapping a nervous
rhythm on the hard earth.
Minutes ticked by. The red didn’t stop, continuing the painstaking journey through each letter, filling every bit of space, corner-to-corner, before moving along. No one spoke. Even I held my breath as the final word began to fill.
I gasped. Tangible, burning pain filled my body, exactly as it had when I had pulled the dagger free. I couldn’t tell if I was actually writhing against the flames or if the sensation was more mental delirium, but I shuddered and screamed until the pain gave way to black.
When I woke again, I noticed several things. First, I could move my fingers. Judging from the sharp intake of air at my side, the movement wasn’t imagined this time. Second, a dull ache pressed outward from between my ribs, one that hadn’t been there when I had woken before. And last, my throat burned. Swallowing was an effort, and an unpleasant one.
“Tyli,” Camion breathed, jarring me from my thoughts.
My voice stuck when I tried to respond, a spear of pain lancing my throat. Another minute passed before I could tentatively move my arms, another still before I managed to open my eyes. Actually open them this time, to blink up at the blue and green eyes that swam into view. I wanted to sit up, hug him—apologize. But my limbs wouldn’t quite cooperate, and there weren’t enough apologies in all the world for what I had done to them.
I needed to do better. Be better.
I needed to listen. And I needed to fix the hurt I had caused them all.
“What in the darkest corners of the Nether were you thinking?” Jyn growled. I locked onto his brown eyes, watching as his jaw flexed and his chest heaved.
I opened my mouth to speak, squirming as I realized I couldn’t quite find the strength to pull myself up. Not yet, at least. Camion helped me sit, gripping my hand, but his eyes were distant. Wounded. The moment I was propped against the marble wall, he released his hold. Quickly. Too quickly. He stormed off to the far end of the cavern and my stomach dropped.
Relief and anger were the theme of the evening, and I deserved all their scorn.
“What happened?” I croaked.
Andimir pushed a water skin into my hands. I drank while the other three exchanged glances and silent conversations. Finally, Jyn said, “You were gone. And then you were screaming, shaking . . . bleeding . . .”
“Healing,” Meryn interjected. When I frowned, she added, “Your wounds began to close as the spell completed.”
I swallowed, then glanced down at my ribs now bound with tied cloths. The waterskin’s leather strap fell to my knee. I picked at a loose stitch.
“I’m sorry,” I offered.
Meryn spun away, returning her attention to the wall. Her upset might haunt me the most—Meryn wasn’t easy to rile, or hurt. If she was still this angry, the others would be far, far behind. She wasn’t the type of person to tell me her feelings outright either. Meryn was simply shutting me out. At least, for now. Tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away.
I didn’t get to feel sorry for myself. Not this time. No one did this to me. The choice had been mine, and the regret alongside it.
While I was unconscious, the wall had split open, the crack wide enough for us to slip through one at a time. Meryn began to cast lights down the passage, gauging distance. Finding a reason to avoid me.
I studied each of the men, one by one, begged each for forgiveness in a single glance. Jyn stood first, offering me a hand. He helped me to my feet, studying me. Deciding. The cloth on my chest, my leathers, both stained in my blood. He focused on the dark blotches, throat bobbing. Then he pulled me roughly against his chest.
“If you ever, ever do anything like that again—” he started. His words cut off, his grip tightening.
“Jyn, I promise. I’m sorry.” I choked back a sob. “I promise. Never. Never again.”
When he pulled away, his face was damp. “I mean it, Princess. I can’t—” I dipped my head with understanding, and he shook his own. “I can’t watch you die again. Not like that, especially.”
“I’m sorry, Jyn.” I met his eyes and held them. “I love you, and I’m sorry. I have no excuses. I failed you.”
His jaw clenched at the latter words, the burden I was trying to take from his shoulders. He gripped my upper arms like I would float away. Very slowly, he nodded. “I need time. I need—”
“Anything.”
“I just need time.” He closed his eyes, sighing, then opened them to gesture at the wall. “At least there was some pay off. The wall split right before you woke up.”
“Still doesn’t feel like a victory,” I murmured.
“I know,” he said. He jerked his chin toward Camion. “You should go apologize to him. We’ve been through a lot, Princess, and I’m open to forgiving you, but he might not be so easy to convince.”
The invisible fist around my heart tightened, but I hugged Jyn again, apologized again. I took a long breath, brushing away my own tears, before I moved to where Andimir sat, fingers running a steady path down Fetian’s wing.
For a moment, he didn’t look up. When he did, he said, “Nat . . . You know what you said isn’t true, right? You mean more to all of us than some damned magic.”
“Don’t excuse this,” I said gently, crouching in front of him. My legs wobbled for a moment. His eyes narrowed in concern. “I should have at least included everyone in the decision. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not angry at you,” he said, after a beat of silence. “I should be, maybe. And watching . . . that hurt. Worse than anything I could have imagined. But maybe I hurt you more, a long time ago, and I don’t have the right to hold this against you. No matter what your reasons.”
I gripped his wrist and squeezed lightly. “No. There’s no ‘I owe you this’ or ‘you owed me that.’ What you’ve done is forgiven. I made a mistake, and I’ll make it up to you. All of you.” My gaze slipped to Camion.
Andimir patted my hand, following my stare. “He’s hurting. Don’t forget that even animals act out of character when they’re wounded.”
“I know,” I whispered. The knowledge didn’t help the dread welling inside.
“Go, Nat. Figure it out.” After I apologized once more, he added, “He’s a good man. Be patient.”
Camion should have been the easy one. The person I had always felt naturally comfortable around, and now I felt like I was walking on eggshells. Knowing the fault was mine only sent a weight farther into my stomach. What if I had broken him? Broken us, before this nightmare was over and we could function as an us? What had he said after I passed out, that made Andimir feel like he needed to warn me of the damage I had done? Or was he simply reading the pain in Camion’s eyes? A headache pressed against my temples.
“Cam,” I said, inching closer, my voice low. His eyes were fixated onto one of those glowing flowers, the pink light casting shadows over the angles of his face. When he didn’t react, I moved closer and slid a hand up his forearm. He pulled away. My heart leapt into a gallop. “Cam. I’m so sorry.”
Still no answer. Nothing more than the subtle flex of his jaw in the glow around us, the slight shimmer on his cheeks. Another minute passed before he said, “I don’t know . . . how to do this.”
His words triggered another memory, the palace, and the circumstances of those words. They held different meaning now. The thought brought tears to my eyes and flooded me with grief.
“Do what?” I whispered, afraid of the answer.
Camion was still. So still. His chest rose and fell slowly, but otherwise he stood statuesque. Ever careful with his words, ever aware of the sword they could be, he confessed, “To watch you die. Or think I’m watching you die, over and over.” I started to open my mouth, then snapped it shut. Listen. I needed to listen. “In the catacombs, when that Skyva had your hair . . . I thought I was too late. I was sure. But I saved you. I saved you. And I swore to myself, to Nahara, to any gods that might listen, that I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you again.”
He took a shaky breath. “But then Eury
bia attacked, and the certainty I felt in the catacombs was gone. Against her, I couldn’t even try to help you. I thought the grief and guilt would eat me alive. You were going to die, alone, in the arms of a monster, and all I could do was watch.”
His words came back to me, the way he had kissed me in Audri’s palace. The desperation, the pain, the purest, sweetest relief.
. . . thinking I was watching you die and couldn’t do anything about it . . .
“I don’t have an excuse. All I can do is apologize,” I said. “And believe me, Cam. I’m sorry.”
“Are you, though?” he asked. I startled at the bite in his words. “Are you really?” He clenched his jaw, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Because I can’t help but think that as much as you may genuinely care about the people in your life, your reasons were also pretty selfish.”
“Wha—”
Camion spun, voice raising a notch. “Tell me you didn’t take your own life so you wouldn’t have to watch one of us die. Tell me you didn’t remove our choice in the matter, so you didn’t have to feel that loss. Or that guilt. Look me in the eyes and tell me.”
I froze. I couldn’t. He knew I couldn’t. His eyes shimmered with anger that burned next to the hurt, and I knew he already had the answer he sought.
“You have every right to be angry. I was wrong. And I’m more sorry than I can begin to say.”
“I know you are.” He turned his back to me. Running his fingers through his hair, he growled, “But you took your own life. Hastily, too, like something as precious as your soul should just be thrown away. I had to watch you bleed out and die, and I had no say in the matter. We had no say in the matter. Do you have any idea how that—”
His voice wavered before he stopped talking. He didn’t face me, but I heard the ragged breaths, the anguish. I moved forward and put a hand on his back. Again, he shook me off.
“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, whirling to face me. His expression crumpled for a split second, then flattened out. Wiped of emotions, like a slate. “I can’t—” He took a slow breath, hands shaking as he ran them over his face. “You need to leave me alone.”
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