Something bumps against my cheek, ripping me from the fiery clutches of a dream that was melting flesh from my bones in slow, sizzling sweeps. My eyes pop open, a scream sitting in the back of my throat like a welling beast threatening to split the world in two.
I sit up, hissing through clenched teeth, trying to refocus my gaze on the here.
The now.
Nee flutters around me, frantically nuzzling my chest while I scrub my sweat-dappled skin, trying to scour the terror from my flesh.
Unsuccessfully.
I rush to my washroom, fill the stone basin with icy water, and splash my face in laden scoops that do little to douse the burn. “A dream,” I murmur, repeating the motion again.
Again.
Nee continues to dance around me as I dunk a cloth in the water and use it to dab the back of my neck. I dunk it again, pressing my face into the sodden material.
Just a fucking dream.
I lift my head, looking in the small mirror hanging on the wall. My eyes are bloodshot, ice blue standing out in stark contrast against the red scribbles, my cheeks flushed from the rabid heat that chased me to the surface.
Growling, I screw up the cloth and toss it at the wall, scooping my palms full of water again, splashing my face and dragging the wetness back through my hair. I set my hands on the edge of the basin and close my eyes, humming my calming tune while I focus on my fingertips, then my hands, my arms—moving all the way through my body. Slowly loosening each muscle, convincing myself there’s nothing here that wants to hurt me.
To battle me.
Nee nuzzles much too close to my sodden hair, and a warning growl boils up my throat. “Don’t, Nee. You know how I feel about water getting near you.”
With a burst of fluttering motion, she rises above my head instead, circling a safe distance away.
I’m not certain she has waterproof runes, and I’m in no rush to find out the hard way that she was constructed before they were invented.
I press my face into the towel and pour a heavy sigh through the fluffy fabric, untacking the sticky remnants of my terror, a full-body shiver racking through me.
That one felt so real. Too real.
I jump a few times to shake it off, then move back into my sleepsuite, chased by a flutter of parchment wings. My eyes widen at the outside view, the sky clear enough that I can see the aurora already beginning to thread below the western horizon.
Falling. Wow.
I slept the entire dae away …
My stomach growls, clamping down on its aching hollow.
I’ll check on Essi, make us some food if she hasn’t already eaten, then try to get back to sleep. Otherwise, I’ll be out of sorts for cycles.
I make for the stone stairway as a thump sounds from above, like something heavy just fell upon the floor upstairs.
Frowning, I pause, scooping Nee against my chest to stall the sound of her beating wings. “Shh,” I whisper, looking at the ceiling as I listen.
Silence prevails.
Perhaps I imagined it?
Slowly, I tiptoe toward the stairs, pulling the small blade from the sheath at my thigh. I edge close to the trapdoor, pressing my ear to the wood.
A soft whimper stills my heart.
Essi.
I release Nee, nudging her in the direction of my pallet. “Stay here,” I order, shoving the trapdoor open and bursting through, dropping it back down so Nee doesn’t escape.
Essi is coiled on the long seater with her back to me, hiding beneath her woolen blanket that conceals all but her tumble of hair spilling onto the floor. Not unusual since she sometimes can’t be bothered going up the stairs to her sleepsuite and nods off on the seater.
My next inhale is laden with a metallic reek, and my heart lurches, stare slicing around the room, landing on a red hand-shaped smudge on the windowsill. The size of Essi’s hand.
Essi’s hurt.
She always tries to hide when she’s hurt.
I dash toward her, rip the blanket off, and grab her by the shoulder, tugging her gently onto her back despite her coiled reluctance. My gaze is immediately drawn to her hands clutched atop her abdomen, both of them shaking, slathered in … in …
Blood.
My gut churns as I take in her pallid complexion. The sheen of sweat dappling her brow despite her chattering teeth. I drop to my knees, pulling her hands back and lifting her shirt, revealing a stab wound leaking a constant ribbon of blood.
Every cell in my body stills, my lungs seizing—like jagged shards of ice just slit through them.
I’m suddenly sure I’m in a different place. A different time. Or perhaps I’m caught in one of my slumber-terrors?
Yes. That must be it. Essi’s not lying on the seater, covered in blood. She doesn’t have a hole in her abdomen, right where there are important organs that take time and finesse and a specialized mender to fix.
No.
She’s sitting at the table, working on a diamond cap she’s been obsessing over, eating buttermin loaf that makes our house smell like a home.
This isn’t real.
Not real.
Not—
“I don’t want to end up in the snow, Raeve.”
Our stares clash, her wide eyes wild with a fear that claws through my chest, threatening to cleave me apart.
Snow? What’s she talking about?
“Please don’t drop me down to the cold or put me in the ground,” she begs through trembling lips, her eyes so wide the tips of her lashes meet her brows, the red flecks in her irises lit like blown embers. “Feed me to the fire where I’ll never be cold again.”
“Stop talking like you’re going anywhere,” I growl, stuffing the blanket on her wound to stem the flow. “You’re staying right here with me, safe in our home.”
Just as soon as I get her fixed up.
“You’re going to be okay,” I murmur, looking to the kitchen cupboard where my mending kit is stored. I need to grab something to pack the wound full and bind it in place so she doesn’t bleed out while I carry her down to the Ditch.
Sereme can fleshthread. She’ll help if I fall to her feet and beg. She’ll probably drip Essi’s blood into the vial, using the excuse that she needs the bind to mend her, but I’ll find a way to deal with the bitch once Essi’s safe.
Fuck the repercussions.
“Put pressure on this.” I shift her icy hand and press it upon the blanket. “I’m going to grab some supplies so I can get you to Sereme—”
“I’m cold, Raeve.”
Her fractured voice cuts a messy hole in the silence, carving into my chest, deflating my lungs.
I meet her watery stare that’s barely holding focus.
Fear erupts behind my ribs with such violent force that cracks weave through my stony heart, exposing the fleshy core—so raw and vulnerable, withering like a juicy fruit tossed to a hungry flame.
“I can’t feel your h—” Her words cut off, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she works to catch her rhythm again, panic exploding in her eyes. “I can’t feel your hand on me. I can’t feel it, Raeve—”
“You’re always cold, Essi.” I swallow the lump in my throat, battling to keep my voice steady. I know the signs. I’ve seen death too many times not to know the fucking signs. “We live on the cold side. This is normal.”
It’s normal.
It’s normal.
It’s—
Her face scrunches, and my chest feels like it mimics the motion, making me want to ball up around the ache.
“Hold me?” she asks, a wobbly plea that begs me to fall with her into the hungry maw of resignation. Her entire body jerks, hands clawing at her middle, an angry spill of red seeping through the blanket and squelching between her fingers. “Please?”
I climb onto the seater and curl around her, my hand flattened across her chest, the other tangling with the one on her abdomen. She releases a shuddered breath, and I crush our bodies together, holding her so tight I picture my strength binding her like a bandage. Picture her sitting at the table, etching a normal trinket into something exceptional, her mind full of magnificent thoughts and an ample amount of blood in her veins. Whole.
Happy.
But she’s not.
She’s broken in my arms, draining away …