thing, getting some distance between us and Falka. He’s out of control, Tauran. If we can really find answers in the Terror Marshes, then we might be able to use those answers to our benefit. We will set things right. We’ll be all right. You. Me. Leyra. Arrow.” He pressed his lips to Tauran’s brow.
Tauran’s voice was muffled against Kalai’s jacket. “What is even meant to be out there? The Terror Marshes are a wasteland.”
“I don’t know,” Kalai admitted. “But I’m not one to shy away from an adventure. And from what I’ve seen so far, neither are you.” He rose to his feet and offered Tauran his hand. “Come with me.”
Tauran raised his head, his eyes glassy, but he looked less fearful, more determined. He took Kalai’s hand and let him pull him to his feet, then wrapped both arms around Kalai in a tight embrace. “What would I do without you?”
Kalai rested his head against Tauran’s chest.
CHAPTER 30
They continued on as the stars tracked across the sky. At Kalai’s suggestion, Tauran climbed into the back to rest with Leyra while Kalai took the reins. Tauran didn’t complain about his leg, but Kalai could see the pain in his eyes, the beads of sweat on his forehead. Kalai wished they could stop so he could ease Tauran’s discomfort, but the fear of capture urged them on.
A few times, Kalai glimpsed a pale form between the scattered clouds. He didn’t call Arrow; it was too risky when they were still this close to the city, but simply knowing he was somewhere up there brought Kalai comfort.
A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes.
Falka had to know they were missing by now. There hadn’t been time to tie up the unconscious guards in the archive. The moment they woke, they would realize Kalai was gone and report back to the Sky Guard. Once someone decided to check on Tauran and Leyra and found them gone, too, they’d put two and two together.
He looked over his shoulder. Kal Valreus was a small collection of lights in the distance, but he knew it was a false sense of comfort. It would take a rider on dragonback less than ten minutes to cover the distance that had taken them two hours by wagon.
Skies, his head hurt.
There was no way Kalai could deliver Tauran’s lie about being Tauran’s unwilling hostage if they were caught. He couldn’t throw Tauran to the wolves to save himself, no chance. Although, he didn’t know what else he would do.
He thought of Sparrow. Hopefully, the kid had a mind to stay away from the archive, from Tauran’s apartment and the guard grounds. They’d question him if they found him hanging around. Kalai wished they could have brought Sparrow along, but the Terror Marshes would be a worse place for a child than even Kal Valreus. He sighed deeply.
For the past hour, his headache had been getting worse and worse.
Then, there was the craving. It started small, as just a quiet urge. But it grew, slowly creeping its way into his thoughts, distracting his senses. Kalai looked at his hands. They trembled and tightening his grip on the reins did nothing to steady them.
He had purposefully delayed his dose of the pills, skipping the evening dose for as long as he could stand.
He hadn’t been entirely truthful with Tauran.
The supply Catria had given them was enough for the journey to the Marshes and back, but only if he stuck with one pill, twice a day. Before he had discovered what was really in the pills, he had started taking one at breakfast, one at lunch, and two to carry him over at night. He hadn’t meant to increase the dose so considerably, but he found that two pills before bed helped him sleep without waking restlessly just after midnight. As soon as he found out the truth, he tried to dial back, but it had proved harder than he expected.
Shame curled hot and ugly in his gut as he dug his hand inside his jacket, fingers closing around the little vial. He glanced over his shoulder at the tarp. Leyra and Tauran were quiet inside.
He didn’t want Tauran to see him taking them, which he knew was ridiculous. Tauran was well aware of what the pills did to him and why he couldn’t simply stop. But taking them still felt like a failure. Like admitting surrender.
Weak. Fragile, like he had always been.
Popping the cork, he shook two pills into his palm. He