“Daniel,” I yelled. “Are you all right?” He didn’t answer, and panic stole my breath. With my fingers flying, I unfastened the sack’s harness. “Daniel? Dan—” My yell became a yelp as I plummeted to the earth.
I hit with a thump. Shock jolted through my legs. I toppled forward onto my hands—and they sank into the soft, rich soil. Bugs hummed everywhere, and the humidity was so intense, it seemed to muffle all sounds.
“Empress!” Daniel’s voice cut through the air and the insects. He was alive—we were both alive.
But what about everyone else? Now that we had landed, what of the airship? I dragged myself into a kneeling position, lowered my eyelids, and felt for Oliver. Felt for the bond of power that connected us. . . .
There it was, tugging in my gut. I reached out along it, trying to gauge where the demon might be.
South. Southeast, actually. At least two miles . . . but not moving. He wasn’t in the sky anymore, and I could only hope that meant he was safe.
For half a breath our bond shimmered more brightly, and a fresh surge of magic pulsed through me. I smiled. Oliver was looking for me too—I could follow our connection until I found him.
Just as I opened my eyes and leaned back to dust off my hands, footsteps beat on the dark earth. I twisted my head left, knowing who came.
And then there he was, his face jubilant. Cheeks flushed and eyes bright, Daniel sprinted to me. Before I could tell him to slow, to give me a moment to breathe, he had me in his arms. He spun me, laughing and crying.
One twirl, two twirls, and the leaves blurred into a world of green and yellow.
But just as suddenly as he’d picked me up, he lowered me onto my toes and clasped the sides of my face. “Empress,” he said, his voice stern—though tears pooled in his eyes, “that was the stupidest, stupidest thing you have ever done.”
I gave a hoarse laugh. “I saved your life.”
“I know—oh God, I know.” He tugged me into an embrace, so tight I could barely breathe. “But please, don’t ever do something that foolish again. Ever. Do you hear me?”
“You’re only mad because I’ve rescued you more times than you’ve rescued me.” I laughed again, this time more deeply. I still burned with the power I’d cast on the parachute. It was a happy drunk that made me bold—made me draw back and flick his chin, like he always did to me.
But he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him. Our bodies met. “That’s not true.” His voice was suddenly rougher. Lower. All sign of his tears were gone. “How many times have you saved me?”
My heart was thrashing erratically, but not because we’d almost died. Or even because Daniel held me. I was finally going to get what I wanted, and this time I would not balk.
“I’ve saved your life three times now.” I splayed three fingers on his chest. Beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, his pulse bounced as fast as mine. “First at the dynamite factory, then in the Paris underground, and now this.”
His lips quirked up. “That makes us even, then.” His smile faltered . . . and then fell again. “Promise me something.” He reached up and ran his knuckles down my jaw. I held my breath and strained to listen. “Promise me you’ll never do something like that again.”
“I can’t promise that, Daniel.”
His fingers paused. “Why?”
“Why do you think?”
He swallowed, glancing down at my hand on his chest. Then he flinched. “You’re hurt—oh hell, you’re bleeding.” He yanked up my right sleeve, and, sure enough, blood was sliding down my arm from my elbow.
A giggle broke through my lips. “I must have cut myself on the acacia thorns.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “I don’t see why it’s funny.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I declared, but Daniel ignored me. He set to rolling up my sleeve, and moments later, once my forearm was exposed, his breath came hissing out. It was a huge gash—the sort that would need cleaning and salves. The sort that should be causing pain.
“We need to bind that immediately.” Daniel met my eyes, worried. “And your demon ain’t here, so it’s got to be the normal way.”
“Pshaw.” I pulled my arm free from his. It was tender, but nothing I couldn’t handle. “I told you: it doesn’t hurt.”
“And I don’t care.” Avoiding my eyes and with his jaw muscles twitching, he ripped off the bottom half of my sleeve. It was stained with blood but not yet soaked through. So he wrapped it tightly around the wound.
When he was finished, he pointed east. “Walk.”
“To where?” I glowered. “And since when are you in charge?”
“Since you got drunk off your black magic and lost the ability to think clearly.” He sighed . . . then groaned. “I don’t want to fight about this, all right? I am so, so, so grateful that you saved me, but that”—he pointed at my arm—“scares the hell out of me. So please, just do as I say. And walk.”
I eyed him. A thousand retorts lay on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back. I would not shout at him. And I would not cry. I would cling to this magical strength for as long as it would let me.