Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(95)

*

One hand pressed to my slashed side, I walk under the stone arch, favoring my left leg. At some point someone must have landed a blow to my thigh. Malir and Olandon meet me at the base of the second set of stairs, flanking me on either side. Relief staggers through me as I pick out my remaining five companions from the throng of crying and white-faced women and children. Rhone is pale. He got stabbed and definitely shouldn’t be standing. I doubt anyone will dare to point that out to him. Rian stands off to one side, the assembly Bruma giving him a wide berth. I don’t blame them.

I gesture Olandon and Malir ahead, and they leave my side to help with the injured. My brother aids Greta, who has been badly beaten, to lay on a bench. Malir grabs a bawling Sadra in a tender hug.

We did it. Tears well in my own eyes. We saved them.

There is a sound.

I frown at first. Puzzling over the noise as I’m forced forward by a pressure behind me.

Still confused, I glance up and see Olandon racing toward me. Malir whips his head around and his eyes widen in … anguish? Some of the women cover their mouths, while others have them wide open like Cameron did in my nightmare.

Why can’t I hear the screaming? I peer down at my body, dumbly registering there’s something there which shouldn’t be.

The pointed edge of a sword. A Solati sword.

A voice whispers in my ear. “Mission accomplished.”

The surrounding noise returns. My brother roars as I slide forward onto my knees, finally understanding I’ve been stabbed. Blood throbs in my head and black creeps on the edges of my vision. Weapons clang behind me. Olandon is fighting someone. Who did we miss? What if there are others?

The roof!

I put one hand down on the ground and look up blearily into Shard’s panicked eyes.

I need to tell him something. The signal fire. It can’t be lit.

“Make sure,” I get out, but something wet comes out of my mouth. The rusty taste tells me it is blood.

“No one gets to roof,” I gasp. Hands lower me to the ground; my head rolls around on my shoulders, no longer under my control.

“Don’t talk, Olina,” a soft voice says. Blizzard?

“Roof,” I blurt again.

A large hand strokes my hair. Malir’s face blurs above me. “Someone’s going right now. Shh, now.”

I relax and the dark dots begin to connect. I’ve heard the pain from such wounds is excruciating. And I know what it means that I can’t feel a thing. I should tell my friends how much I love them, but my mouth doesn’t work. I should try to hug Olandon—maybe ask him to tell the twins how sorry I am.

Jovan will never know how I feel. I’ve waited too long to admit to myself that I love the king of Glacium. My attention focuses on a lone tear tracking down my temple. He’ll never know that I’d die ten times more to make sure he was safe.

That thought is worse than all the others put together.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Something cool brushes my skin.

“You are the strongest person I know.”

Soft voices whisper against my hair, murmuring worried words. Why are they worried? I wish I could reassure them.

“What’s wrong with her?

Someone needs to help me. The bed is on fire. I writhe side to side, trying to get out, but someone has laid stone brick on me to pin me down. I can’t move. I scream for help.

“Fever, my King.”

Someone cries heartbroken sobs. A feminine sound. It’s my mother. My mind is so hazy and weak I did not recognize her.

“It has been a long time,” I whisper.

The crying stops. My mouth twists for a moment before that too becomes exhausting.

“Are you crying for me?” I croak. Does my mother love me after all? I finally see that she didn’t want to do it; she had to.

“Frost, it’s me. Are you awake?”

Frost? The word is familiar. Who speaks? I can’t place the familiar word before I sink into darkness once more.

The coolness is back. There are regular strokes of a cloth on my skin. My body is not my own. Repeated attempts to open my eyes go unanswered.

“Please come back to me, Lina,” he says. A trembling kiss presses against my forehead. Or maybe I’m shaking. The warmth of his breath is nice in contrast to the cold water. I sigh, tilting my head toward the person. I love this man. I only wish I could remember his name.

“Did you see that?” The man’s voice breaks. “She moved!”

“I saw it, brother,” a younger voice affirms.

I’m glad this man has someone who cares for him.

It’s always dark.

I come to realize it is because my eyes are closed. Such a simple movement, but it is beyond me. I can’t remember if I’ve tried this before, but the frustration is familiar, like it has happened several times.

“Why she hasn’t woken?” a voice asks.

“Shh, love. You’ve done everything you can. She has to want to come back.”

I frown at that. Of course I want to come back. There’s someone … a man.

Jovan.

My lips twitch in a smile. That’s the man’s name. I want to say it aloud, to remember how it feels.

“Jo—” I say.

“Hush, Malir. She’s trying to speak.”