Peruxolo steps closer. “Speak now. I won’t ask again.”
My right hand curls against a fist-sized rock beside me. I remember the first time I came to find the god’s lair, how I flung a rock, and it sailed right into the seam of the mountain when I myself could not enter.
I hurl the rock with as much strength as I have at Peruxolo. I watch as it sails through the air, hitting its mark with an audible crunch. Peruxolo raises a hand up to his cheek. When he lowers it, the sun glints off of red.
I made him bleed.
He stares dumbstruck at his hand for a few seconds, as though he’d forgotten what it was to bleed.
But then his eyes find me.
I realize now that the reason he lowered his hood is because he never intended to let me leave here alive. Why should he care if I see his face?
His hand darts inside his cloak, to his side. When it resurfaces, a long blade comes with it, the sun shimmering off a bright metal.
A silver dagger.
I barely process this as my gaze is still focused on the droplet of blood sliding down the god’s cheek. By the time I realize his dagger somersaults through the air toward me, it is too late.
Then I’m staring at the hilt protruding from my gut.
Wretched agony shoots through me.
Torn flesh. A pulsing, sharp, burning pain spreads from the wound. Blood darkens my shirt.
I lower a hand, my fingers trembling over the handle of the silver blade. It split right through my armor. Left side of my abdomen. Below the heart, but I know there are other important organs within the human body. Irrenia would know what to do if she were here. I don’t know if I should pull it out or—
I fall to my knees, my limbs suddenly going weak. Only then do I remember the god is still about ten feet in front of me.
“You have two choices,” Peruxolo says as my eyes meet his. “You can pull out that dagger and bleed to death. Or you can wait for the ziken to smell the wound and come to devour you. Either way, you will die a painful death, and the world won’t be disgraced by your presence any longer.”
He gives me a disgusted scowl before making the walk back to his domain.
I fall onto my back, my breathing ragged. I don’t think he punctured a lung. It’s just that every time I breathe, the dagger is jostled, and it sends a fiercer wave of pain through me.
I’d rather die from blood loss than see the ziken have at me. But just placing a finger against the dagger’s handle is—
A sharp intake of breath.
I can’t do this.
The rocks below me dig into my skin, and my back rests uncomfortably on my pack.
My pack.
Irrenia’s salve.
The muscles in my abdomen scream as I move my arms. I grunt, lower my arms back to the ground. Try again. This time a scream of pain rips from my throat as I try to unhook a strap from one of my shoulders.
My vision grows spotty. I might pass out if I try again.
And then I might never wake up.
Tears leak from the sides of my eyes.
This. All of this. Because I was deluded enough to think Torrin cared for me. Because my mother saw an opportunity to be rid of me forever.
I. Don’t. Deserve. This.
My soul has worth, and I won’t let it depart this world just yet.
Quick as I can manage, I shrug a shoulder out of one of the straps.
I gasp. My eyes roll upward.
And I’m out.
* * *
ARMS UNDERNEATH ME.
Rising off the ground.
Movement.
* * *
MURMURING. YELLING. SCREAMING.
“What happened to her?”
“She went after the god again.”
“Did she know you were following her?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We have to get the dagger out. Where’s that magical cure she used on you?”
“In her pack.”
“On the count of three, I’m going to pull. You ready? One, two, three!”
My voice leaps out of my throat as fire rips through my middle.
* * *
BEFORE I EVEN REALIZE I’m awake, there’s pain—throbbing rawness in the upper left corner of my abdomen. All my limbs feel sore. And my back aches from sleeping on it for goddess knows how long.
My eyes are crusty—from dried tears, I realize—and it takes some time to open them, but when I do, I realize I’m in the tree house.
I manage to lift my neck enough to see my bare midriff. No dagger. And my skin looks whole, but underneath I see a purple bruise. I don’t dare try to sit up.
A glass window lets sparse light into the room, and I wonder where in the world the boys managed to find a window. It’s cracked with a shard missing. They’ve stuffed a wad of cloth into the opening, but the window does its job, giving me enough light to see by. A small table and two wooden chairs rest below it. Empty boots look hastily cast aside against the wall, which means—
I turn my neck in the other direction.
There are the boys.
They sleep on top of hides hastily sewn together and stuffed with feathers, their torsos and feet bare. Thank the goddess they kept their pants on. They’re sharing a blanket, and a pang of guilt spreads through me. I must be sleeping on Soren’s mattress and blankets. They’re sharing Iric’s bedding.
I try to make sense of what happened. But after getting wounded, everything is hazy. When did they cut half my shirt off? And where’s my armor?
I made Peruxolo bleed.
The memory surfaces, and I remember my discovery that his power deals with metal. Despite the pain, a bud of hope blooms within my chest.
If a god can bleed, surely he can die.
As delicately as I can manage, I probe the wound. There’s a small lump, and it’s sore to the touch. They must have administered Irrenia’s salve to me, and while it healed the surface, my injury is deep. There’s some bleeding inside.
Will it still kill me?
A deep exhale is followed by the rustling of blankets. Soren rolls over, his eyes already open. They meet mine.
“You pulled through.”
“Was there any doubt I would?” I ask.
“You lost a lot of blood when we pulled the dagger out. Took us forever to clean it up.”
“Us?” comes a new voice. “You mean me. I had to clean it up. You wouldn’t leave her side.” Iric sits up from the mattress and rubs at the back of his neck.
“How did I get here?” I ask.
“I carried you,” Soren says.
“How did you find me?” Another murky memory surfaces. I think I heard the two of them talking. “You followed me. You’ve been following me.”
“He hasn’t done any of his chores since you saved him from those ziken,” Iric says. “He follows you every day until the sun goes down.”
My neck snaps in Soren’s direction.
“Are you really going to be upset about it when I was able to save you?” he asks.
I roll my neck, preferring to stare at the wall than let Soren see me attempt to compose myself. I want to be angry. I am angry. I told him specifically to leave me alone. But mostly I’m angry that I didn’t notice him tailing me.
Instead, I control my initial irritation. “Can you help me stand?” I ask, hating how I have to rely on them for help.
“You’re better off resting until your wound fully heals,” Soren says.
“And how, pray tell, am I to perform basic bodily functions if I remain resting until my wound fully heals?”
He looks away from me, and I imagine him mentally rebuking himself.
Soren stands, and I get a full view of his muscled torso.
I cannot tell a lie.
He is impressive.
All warriors are well built, but with his sapphire eyes, long jawline, and unruly hair, most girls probably wouldn’t be able to look away from him.
But me?
I stare at my toes until Soren pulls on his boots and shirt and stands before me. He reaches both hands down to me, and I hold up my own hands to meet him.
His calluses cover my calluses. They’re in the exact same places as mine from so much ax-wielding. But I can’t help but think of how similar they feel to the only other boy who has ever held my hand.
Soren hauls me up to my feet in one smooth motion. He doesn’t let go of me right away, like he wants to make sure I’m steady first, but I yank my hands free.