A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,154
a rasp in her throat, scraping her flesh raw. It was dark, the sound of rain, pounding and hissing against stone, a torch flaring bright, though she could just about manage to keep her eyes open now without the sensation of sharp, sliver-thin knives stabbing into the back of her brain and scraping upon the inside of her skull.
That’s progress.
Fractured memories slipped through her mind. Sparring with Kol on the weapons-field. His arm tight around her, his breath on her neck. Collapsing, a kaleidoscope of images in this room. Aphra, her mam, Kol. A whispered meeting in the dark.
There was a dark shape over her, a hand behind her head, helping her sit. Water, oh blessed, sweet, heaven-sent water, a trickle on her lips, over her swollen tongue and down her redraw throat.
‘Slowly,’ Aphra said as Riv tried to tip more water into her mouth.
‘Where am I?’ Riv croaked, looking around. The room was circular, one long window starting from the floor and ending with an arched top, tall and wide enough for a giant to walk through. Darkness, wind and rain leaked in, pressing upon the torchlight, making it swirl and hiss. Something about the way the wind whistled through the window whispered to Riv of height.
‘A tower room,’ Aphra said, ‘above our barrack.’
Never knew this was here!
‘It’s my solitude room,’ Aphra said with a sad smile. ‘How do you feel?’
Riv wasn’t sure. She felt as if her body had been put through a mangle, aching and entirely lacking in anything resembling energy. Keeping her eyes open and looking around seemed to be taxing enough.
‘Weak,’ she breathed. ‘Cold.’ She shivered, trying to shrug the woollen blanket tighter around her. She frowned at the open window.
A shutter would help.
‘Your fever is returning,’ Aphra said with a frown, her hand on Riv’s brow. ‘This is the third time. Twice I thought it had broken and you were healing.’
‘How long?’
‘Half a ten-night.’
‘What! Is that how long I’ve been … ?’ She didn’t know what to call it. ‘Unwell?’
‘Aye.’ Aphra nodded. ‘Since you collapsed on the weapons-field.’
Riv drank some more water, managed to blink and roll her neck without feeling as if she’d spent a morning in the shield wall. Her back ached, a dull throb of pain, pulsing out from her shoulder blades.
‘Back,’ she said, trying to roll her shoulders. She felt different, somehow. As if she’d grown. ‘It hurts.’ She shifted, feeling muscle move that hadn’t been there when last she checked.
‘Your back. Well, I’m not surprised it’s hurting.’
‘Why?’ Riv said, not liking the sound of that, or the look on Aphra’s face. Not just worry. Something more. Something far greater than worry.
Aphra held up a strip of something that looked like parchment, crinkled and opaque.
‘What’s that?’ Riv pulled a face.
‘Your skin. It’s been peeling from your back for half a ten-night.’
‘Ugh!’
‘And there’s plenty more where that came from.’
What’s happening to me? Have I caught some disease from the mission to Oriens and into Forn? Some plant spore that has infected me? I’ve heard tell of warriors breathing spores or seeds into their lungs, their stomachs, and fungus growing inside them, eating its way out!
‘Am I going to die?’
Riv found the fact that Aphra didn’t immediately discard that option deeply worrying.
‘No,’ Aphra eventually said. ‘But I think we’re going to have to get you out of Drassil.’
‘What! Why?’
‘Riv, you’re growing. You have new muscle forming—’
‘I can feel it,’ Riv said, flexing her shoulders, feeling muscle bunch between her shoulder and neck. It was an odd sensation.
‘This must be how Vald feels,’ she said.
‘You’re starting to look like him,’ Aphra agreed with a wry smile. She stroked Riv’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Why?’ Riv said. ‘What for?’
‘So many things. For the way I’ve been, with you. I’ve had my own troubles, but that is no excuse. You are my blood, the most important thing to me in all the world, and I have neglected you, let you down.’ A fat tear rolled down Aphra’s cheek.
Riv looked up at her, a whole host of emotions whirling through her. She tried to find words, but they wouldn’t come, so she settled for a smile.
The latch on the door rattled. Riv jumped, twisting to look and immediately regretting that, a wave of dizziness.
A figure entered. Aphra was standing, a hand on her sword hilt, stepping between Riv and the door. She relaxed when she saw who it was.