take this cure after they’re done with you, and if I live through it, I will evermore fight for you.
Xhex tapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be harsh.”
I love you, he signed. With all my heart. Always.
His shellan gave him a strong hug. And then as she tucked herself against him, she trained those gunmetal-gray eyes on the door. As he studied her profile, he decided he’d been very lucky in his life. In spite of all the setbacks and the hard start, his female was his luck. She was his good fortune. She was his risen star that guided him to a safe harbor.
Looking around at the Brotherhood, at his friends, at the shellans who had showed up in support, he decided that, whatever higher power was up there after the Scribe Virgin’s disappearance, surely it would respond to all this collective worry over what was, without a doubt, a male of worth.
Surely it would help.
Surely the one overseeing them was a savior instead of a foe.
Murhder was totally unaware of the passage of time. The roaring heat inside of him stripped everything away, and yet, as he burned in the fire, he knew he would come through. He had been here before. He had lived through what the symphaths had done to him, had survived the torture of his mind turning against his body—and even though this was the reverse, his body turning against his mind, he knew he was going to make it.
Strength did not exist unless it was tested.
And he had been tested before.
There was no end in sight, no hint of an easing, no relent to any of the present suffering, but there had been none of that before. That was the nature of torture—it was not just the pain; it was the not knowing when, or even if, the end was coming. But he knew better than to believe in all that forevermore nonsense. There was going to be a terminal event: Either the agony stopped or he did.
And until either of those happened, it was just a miserable waiting game—that he could withstand.
Hell, the chaos in his brain caused by the symphaths had been much worse than all this. At least now, in the center of the firestorm, he was still himself. Even though he was blinded, unable to hear, lost in the sea of suffering, he still he knew who he was. He knew where he was. He knew why he was putting himself through this.
Most importantly, he knew who he loved.
When the symphaths had played with him, when they had filled his head full of terrible images and thoughts—triggers, triggers, everywhere—he had lost himself and his way. Anchorless, with nothing really significant to live for, he had floated off into an ether of madness. And afterward, when it was over, he had not been able to find his way back.
No matter how hard he had tried to ahvenge Xhex.
Now, however, this kiln of incredible heat, coupled with his bonding for Sarah, forged him like steel, the remaining scattered parts of him uniting and hardening … baking into an unassailable whole … sealing up, the cracks gone.
His foundation once again became solid and strong in this second transition of his.
The instant the conviction arrived unto him, he snapped free from his spasming body, his soul floating up over the table he was tied down on, his closed eyes nonetheless seeing his arms and legs strain and jerk, his ribs pump from hard breath, his head thrash.
He watched himself.
And the medical staff. And especially his Sarah. She was right by him, standing next to him, hand on his shoulder no matter how much his torso twisted and pulled. She was his angel, making sure he came through.
I’ll be back soon, my love, he said from his lofty observation. I’m here with you now—
Sarah looked up abruptly, sure as if she heard him.
I’m coming back. I promise …
The next thing Murhder was aware of was silence. Stillness.
He came awake, but it was inside the cage of his body. His eyes were closed—either that or the blindness he’d experienced was permanent—and he couldn’t really feel the bed under him. He did even know if he was having seizures anymore or not.
Beep. Beep. Beep—
His lids lifted slowly. All he saw was white, and for a moment, he thought, Goddamn it, I’ve died. This white landscape is the Fade. After all his “I’m going to make it through this,” he’d ended up