by J. R. Ward
Chapter Sixty-eight
Death was messy and painful and largely predictable. . . except when it didn't feel like behaving and decided to exercise its bizarre sense of humor.
An hour later, as Xhex opened her eyes a crack, she realized she was in fact not in the foggy folds of the Fade. . . but in the clinic at the Brotherhood's mansion.
A tube was being pulled out of her throat. And her side felt like someone had parked a rusty spear in it. And somewhere over on the left, gloves were being snapped off.
Doc Jane's voice was low. "She coded twice, John. I got the bleeder in her gut. . . but I don't know--"
"I think she's awake," Ehlena said. "Are you coming back to us, Xhex?"
Well, apparently she was. She felt like hell, and after having sliced open a variety of stomachs over the years, she couldn't believe she still had a heartbeat. . . but yeah, she was alive.
Hanging by a thread, but alive.
John's pasty white face entered her line of vision, and in contrast to the ill cast of his skin, his blue eyes were like fire.
She opened her mouth. . . but all that came out was the air in her lungs. She didn't have the strength to speak.
Sorry, she mouthed.
He frowned. Shaking his head, he took her hand and smoothed it. . . .
She must have passed out, because when she woke up, John was walking beside her. What the hell--oh, she was being moved into the other room. . . because they were bringing someone else in--someone strapped down to a gurney. A female, given the long, black braid that swung off the side.
The word pain came to mind.
"Pain is in here," Xhex murmured.
John's head whipped around. What? he mouthed.
"Whoever's there. . . is pain. "
She passed out again. . . and came to feeding from John's wrist. And passed out again.
In her dreams, she saw parts of her life going all the way back to a time she didn't consciously remember. And as in- flight movies went, the drama was pretty depressing. There were too many crossroads to count where things should have been different, where fate had been more of a grind than a gift. Destiny was like the passage of time, however, immutable and unforgiving and uninterested in the personal opinion of those who breathed.
And yet. . . as her mind churned beneath the leaden weight and still surface of her unconscious body, she had the sense that everything had worked out as it was supposed to, that the path she had been set upon had taken her precisely where she was supposed to go:
Back to John.
Even though that made no sense whatsoever.
After all, she'd met him only a year or so ago. Which hardly justified the sprawl of history that seemed to unite them.
But then, maybe that did make sense. While you were unconscious on morphine and teetering on the brink of the Fade. . . things looked different. And time, like priorities, shifted.
On the other side of the door to Xhex's recovery room, Payne blinked hard and tried to ascertain where she had been moved to. There was naught to inform her, however. The chamber's walls were tiled in a pale green and gleaming fixtures and storage casings abounded. But she hadn't a clue what it all meant.
At least the transport had been slow, careful, and relatively comfortable. But then something had been put into her veins to calm her and ease her--and verily, she was grateful for whatever potion it was.
Indeed, the specter of her dead was more agitating than her discomfort or whether she had a future on this side. Had the good doctor truly spoken the name of her twin? Or had that been a figment of her scattered, muddled mind?
She knew not. But cared a great deal.
In the periphery of her vision, she saw many attending upon her arrival herein, including the doctor and the Blind King. There was also a blond female of comely visage. . . and a dark-haired warrior who people were calling by the name Tohrment.
Exhausted, Payne closed her eyes, the patter of voices carrying her off into a drifting sleep. She did not how long she was out. . . but what brought her back was the sudden awareness of a new arrival within the hushed space.
The personage was one whom she knew so very well, and the appearance was a greater source of shock than the reality that she was away from her mother.
As Payne opened her eyes, No'One approached her, her limp shifting her across the smooth flooring, the hood of her robe shielding her face from view. The Blind King loomed behind the female, arms crossed over his chest, his beautiful blond dog and his beautiful brunette queen on either side of him.
"Whatever. . . are you here?" Payne said hoarsely, aware she was making more sense on the inside of her head than her words would suggest.
The fallen Chosen seemed very nervous, although how that was exactly evident, Payne wasn't sure. It was something sensed but not seen, given that the Chosen's black robes were covering all of her.
"Taketh my hand," Payne said. "I should want to ease you. "
No'One shook her head beneath her hood. "It is I who have come to ease you. " As Payne frowned, the Chosen glanced back at Wrath. "The king has permitted me to tarry in his household for to serve as your maid. "
Payne swallowed, but her dry mouth offered no relief to her parched throat. "No serve me. Be here. . . but serve yourself. "
"Indeed. . . there is that as well. " No'One's soft voice grew tight. "Verily, upon your departure from the Sanctuary, I approached the Scribe Virgin--and my request was granted. You inspired me to long o'erdue action. I have been cowardly. . . but no longer, thanks to you. "
"I. . . am. . . glad. . . " Although what she could have done to justify such motivation escaped her. "And I am grateful you are here--"
With an explosive shove, the door in the far corner was thrown open, and a male dressed in black leather and smelling of sickly death burst into the room. Right on his heels was the private physician, and as he jerked to a halt, the ghostly female put her hand upon his shoulder as if to soothe him.
The male's diamond eyes locked on Payne, and though she hadn't seen him in forever, she knew who he was. Sure as if she was staring at her own reflection.
Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes for last she had known, he breathed no longer. "Vishous," she whispered desperately. "Oh, brother mine. . . "
He was at her side in a flash, taking form right next to her. His incredibly intelligent stare traced her features and she had the sense that their expressions were as identical as their coloring: her surprise and incomprehension were likewise upon his harsh, handsome features.
His eyes. . . oh, his diamond eyes. They were her own; she had seen them staring back at her in countless mirrors.
"Who are you?" he said roughly.
Abruptly, she felt something in her ever-numbing body--and the great heavy weight came not from physical injury, but inner calamity. That he didn't know who she was, that they had been kept separate by a lie, was a tragedy she could hardly bear.
Her voice became strong. "I am. . . your blood. "
"Jesus Christ. . . " He lifted a hand that was encased in a black glove. "My sister. . . ?"
"I have to go," the doctor said urgently. "The break in her spine is beyond my expertise. I need to go get--"
"Find that goddamn surgeon," Vishous growled, his eyes still locked on Payne's. "Find him and bring him here. . . no matter what it takes. "
"I won't come back without him. You have my word. "
Vishous turned to the female and captured her mouth in a quick, hard kiss. "God. . . I love you. "
The physician's ghostly face became solid as they stared at each other. "We're going to save her, trust me. I'll be back the second I can--Wrath's given his permission and Fritz is going to help me get Manny here. "
"Fucking sunlight. It's coming all too soon. "
"I'd want you here with her anyway. You and Ehlena need to watch her vitals, and Xhex is still in critical condition. I want you to take care of them. "
When he nodded, the physician disappeared into thin air, and then a moment later, Payne felt a warm palm encompass hers. It was Vishous's un- gloved hand against her own and the connection between them eased her in ways she couldn't name.
Verily, she had lost her mother. . . but if she lived through this, she still had family. On this side.
"Sister," he murmured, not as an inquiry, but a statement of fact.
"Brother mine," she groaned. . . before her consciousness slipped from her grasp and she drifted away.
But she would come back to him. One way or the other, she would not leave her twin ever again.