But there was also Darren. And he was all the reason I needed to keep pushing on.
On the fifteenth night, we reached Port Langli. I had ridden our horse to exhaustion, but somehow we managed.
As promised, there was no city regiment on alert. Audric had come and gone, arranging for an unsuspecting trade ship near the docks.
I handed an elderly captain the Crown’s necklace, and the man helped us on board his ship, no questions asked. The crew, a group of straggly sailors, did not so much as look at their two passengers twice.
We were given the captain’s room, the only one not shared with the crew, and then we were off.
I was leaving Jerar. We were headed to the Borea Isles, and I would never return.
The captain assured me there would be another ship waiting when we docked, one headed further east. The man didn’t know anything about the countries past our western divide, but it was freedom, and that would have to be enough.
*
Later that night, I had one of the crew bring me a list of supplies. They brought out two meals as well, but mine went untouched.
I spooned broth and a flask of drinking water into Darren’s mouth. I waited patiently for each sip to pass, and then I spooned the next, easing his head up to help the liquid go down.
I tried not to think about how much weight Darren had lost in the course of two weeks. His ribs were all too prominent along his chest and his cheekbones too sharp. Honey and hot broth weren’t enough, but anything thicker might make him choke.
I dipped my rag into the soapy bucket at my feet. I was on my knees next to our cot. The bed was hardly more than a packed mattress of straw and woolen blankets, but it was more than we had seen in days.
The crewman had also deposited an armful of old shirts and pants. I was grateful. The ones I’d brought for us were too soiled from the road.
I peeled away Darren’s clothes and sponged him from head to toe. I washed away all the dirt and the grime from our travels. I washed away everything else without blinking an eye. We had been through so much; I couldn’t find the effort to grimace.
I spent extra time tracing the lines along his jaw, combing Darren’s damp hair back with my nails.
I stared down at the man I loved and told myself this wasn’t it. Darren would wake. If I willed it hard enough, he would return.
My brother had seen worse. Healers talked about miraculous recoveries all the time.
He will wake. You just need to hold on.
I was so lost in thought that I drifted to sleep on my knees.
In my dreams, I could lie.
There, the prince was confessing his feelings in the Academy’s tower. Surprising me with a dance in the ballroom. Challenging me to a duel with an arrogant smirk. Kissing me breathless as he pulled me into bed.
There, he was Darren.
It was only in waking I lived out despair.
*
The next few days trickled by, and with every passing second, I was more restless than the last.
On the road, most of my energy had been diverted to scouting the roads and planning the quickest escape should patrols show up along the trail.
Here, I had nothing but fear.
Doubt was pressing in and there was nowhere to run.
I never left his side. My day was an endless routine of one-sided conversation and darkening thoughts.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hope.
I told myself to be strong, that I wasn’t allowed to be weak.
But another day passed and it was harder than the last.
Two more followed, and my resolve was leaving me behind.
Another.
And then a restless night with heavy winds as the crew saw to the sails.
My will finally snapped.
Darren hadn’t so much as stirred. And it had been three weeks.
If he kept losing weight… he would die. After everything. To die of starvation, unconscious in his sleep.
I’d fought too hard for this boy. Too many times.
“Dying is the easy way out!” I screamed, shaking his shoulders over and over again. “You hear me, Darren? You told me you were the best, now, gods blast it, prove it!”
There was no response, not a flutter of the eyelid or a twitch of his hand. It was probably a good thing I didn’t have magic, because I was certain I would have lit the boy on fire again.
Five minutes passed, and I could feel the hysteria flooding my lungs. I was ready to implode, but I was fighting so hard to stay whole.
He was alive. Why couldn’t that be enough?
My fingers dug into Darren’s shirt, and I told myself to breathe.
Then I inhaled and exhaled, gradually, one breath at a time.
After a while, my pulse slowed, but the beat didn’t fade. If anything, it was faster.
My palm splayed against Darren’s chest. It wasn’t me.
His pulse was beating faster than before.
He must have reacted to my voice or the pressure of my hand.
He was starting to respond.
I gasped for air, fighting back tears.
Darren had decided to fight.
*