sponge being squeezed of every bit of life. It’s the water in my lungs, I think. The water and the cold. That’s why I’m so weak. Why there’s so much pain. Why it’s so hard to focus.
“He’s pushing the boat forward,” someone cries. “Toward the shore!”
I want to smile with relief. Of course Aron’s rescuing us. He won’t let me die.
But the moment lightning crackles again, my vision goes red—then black—and then I crash with the thunder. My head feels as if it’s splintering. Something tears inside me.
The world goes utterly dark as pain sweeps me away.
Maybe Aron didn’t save me after all.
59
I fade in and out of consciousness. I’m vaguely aware that I’m not quite dead. Not yet.
There’s far too much pain for that. Everything hurts. I whimper, because I want it to go away, to stop hurting me, but it just keeps pounding at my head, determined to split it open. This isn’t a migraine. This is every nerve ending staging a revolt, and the pain is so intense I want to die just to have it end.
Someone touches my back, lifting me up. I can’t see—everything’s hazy.
“Drink this,” a low voice murmurs. Markos. A moment later, I taste hot broth against my lips. I manage a swallow before my stomach churns and I want to die. Even the small act of drinking that makes my body hurt so bad it feels like a mistake. I sag, sinking back into unconsciousness.
“You have to drink, Faith,” Markos says, shaking me lightly. “We have to get something in you. It’s been days—”
“No,” a stern, familiar voice snarls. “You do not get to die.”
A second later, rough hands grab me. It shoots horrible pain through my body, followed by the familiar crackle of sparks that tells me that it’s Aron, and somehow the pain lessens. I’m tucked against a broad chest, my cheek resting against his shoulder, and he strokes my hair.
“You will not die on me, Faith,” he says again, the tone imperious. “I will not allow it.”
“S’not the plan,” I manage, though it really does sound like a good idea right now. I just want to stop hurting. I’m so tired and there’s so much pain. I just want to sleep.
“This is my fault,” Aron says again, stroking my hair so hard it feels as if he’s going to pull it from the roots.
I want to wince, but that requires too much effort. Aron’s heart pounds under my ear, strong and powerful, and I sigh, because I feel better against him, weirdly enough. I still hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but somehow it’s tolerable because he’s holding me. “W…what happened?” I manage to ask. “Boat…”
“I do not know how to swim,” Aron admits in that same imperious tone I’ve come to recognize and love. “So I waited at the bottom, watching. And then I saw it attack you. And it made me…angry.”
I’ve seen Aron lose his temper before, I realize vaguely. Each time, it brought on a flash of his powers—and a headache for me. “You drained me,” I realize. I’m his anchor and he’s not supposed to use his powers. Somehow he tapped into them and nearly killed me doing so. “I’m your battery and you drained me.”
He holds me close, squeezing me so tight that everything aches. His mouth presses to my brow and his voice is low, so low that I’m pretty sure only I can hear it. “It was my mistake, Faith. I didn’t realize I was hurting you until it was too late. I’m sorry.” He strokes my hair again, then lays me gently back down in the bed.
I want to protest. I want him to keep holding me, because it feels better, but my mind is disoriented. I’m just…so…tired. So I lie back and close my eyes.
Aron’s hand brushes against mine once more, sending that familiar spark through me, and I hold onto his fingers, stopping him before he leaves.
“Did we make it?” I croak out. “All of us?”
“Almost all,” Aron says. “One of the soldiers is gone.”
He doesn’t know his name. “Vitar,” I murmur. It’s important that we remember.
“Yes.” His thumb brushes over my fingers, caressing them. “Rest, Faith. We’ll talk more when you feel better.”
“Did…did they help you?” I ask him. “The fates?”
“Rest now,” he says once more, and then lets go of my hand.
As if a cord has been cut, I fall unconscious again.
60
I don’t know how long I’m out of it, I only know that when I