Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,28

She gulped another breath. Her stomach roiled. “Who was that?”

“I believe that was the rabble Tenebris mentioned.”

Starbursts of color swam in front of her eyes. She felt warm, though she couldn’t stop shivering. Heat trickled down her shoulder. Calling another light was an effort, and the flame sputtered and wept incandescent sparks. “Where’s Ciaran?”

Spider shielded his eyes with one long hand and pointed down the tunnel. “Back there. He’s in better shape than you.”

With trembling fingers she unbuckled her torn jacket and peeled it off. Her blood was nearly black in the eerie glow. The pain made her bite her already tender lip, but it wasn’t as bad as it should be. The poison would take hours to work out of her body. Languorous warmth lapped inside her head, promising peace if she would only close her eyes….

She shook her head, the pain in her neck holding lethargy at bay. Her stomach cramped and she retched, spitting fetid water and the remains of her lunch over the stones. She scrubbed a hand over her mouth and tried to control the nausea. Spider’s mouth quirked, but he wisely remained silent.

When her head stopped spinning she took the vampire’s proffered hand and leaned on his arm. The current had carried her farther than she’d realized. “What happened to the one who attacked me? I doubt I killed him.” A situation she would remedy if she had another chance. Her boots squelched with every step, water shifting between her toes.

Spider shrugged. “The water took him. I’ll try to find his trail once you and your friend are safely gone.”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “How did you know to come back?”

“I caught Azarné following you. I thought she meant you harm.”

“Azarné?”

“Her.” He pointed to a slender shape crouching beside Ciaran.

The light spilled over a delicate face half-hidden under elf-locked black hair. The vrykola who’d given Ciaran the coin. Eyes wide and gold as an owl’s stared up at Isyllt. “I wouldn’t have hurt you.” Her voice was soft and husky and accented. “I only wanted more music.”

Isyllt knelt by Ciaran and brought the light closer. Blood trickled down one side of his face, but his eyes were clear. He wrinkled his nose at the reek that clung to her. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded carefully. “A bit bruised, but whole. The lovely lady intervened before things became unpleasant.” He picked up Azarné’s small bronze hand and kissed her knuckles. She blinked, hair sliding over her face.

“It was Myca,” the vrykola said. “He didn’t stay to fight me.” Her tiny mouth twisted with distaste.

Spider frowned. “Who attacked Isyllt?”

Azarné shrugged. “I didn’t see. They were already in the water.”

Ciaran stood, wiping at the blood on his face. Only a little cut on his scalp, Isyllt thought, but she wanted to inspect it in better light. Her own bleeding had slowed, but she was already dizzy. Her head pounded and the witchlight sputtered with every throb. The sapphire was silent once more.

“Let’s get you home,” Spider said, glancing down the dark tunnel.

CHAPTER 4

Dawn stole past the windows as Isyllt and Ciaran soaked in her wide wooden tub, and candle-shadows danced across the high-beamed ceiling. Cooling water lapped over her breasts, thick with myrrh and poppy oils; Ciaran’s chest was warm and solid behind her, his clever hands lulling her as he stroked her uninjured shoulder. She’d drained one tub-full already, flushing grime and filth back to the sewers where they belonged. The wet bandage stung the wound, but vrykoloi bites healed fast, and her magic would kill any infection that tried to grow in her flesh.

Ciaran’s lips on her nape startled her awake as the world greyed around the edges. “You’ll drown if you’re not careful.” He nudged her until she sighed and pushed herself to her feet. Tendrils of hair clung to her skin as she rose, like ink bleeding from a brush.

“I should try to find their trail while the sun is up,” she said as he helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel. His touch sent warmth and gooseflesh rippling down her skin in turns; the poison’s effects lingered.

“You should sleep, or you’ll pass out anyway.” He steered her toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind them.

Heavy curtains covered the windows in her room and the hearth was cold. She climbed into the high draperied bed, heedless of wet sheets. Big enough for two, like the tub, but she most often slept