“No, you wouldn’t. You, who wants to save the world. You still risked your neck for me even when you ran out on me, even when you want nothing more to do with me.” I brushed my good hand against her cheek. “You’re too decent for this world, Luna.” Too good for me.
“Fowler.” There was such pity in that single sound of my name that I felt relief. At least it wasn’t hatred. Me dying stopped her from despising me. I snorted. That made me pathetic, but there it was. I had a flash of that kiss underground. Too bad I hadn’t died then, swiftly amid the swirling windswept taste of her. No, instead my death would be a lingering agony. “I—I don’t want you to die.”
I sighed, lowering my arm back to my side. “I’m already lost, Luna.”
FIVE
Luna
I SPENT THE next day trying to make Fowler as comfortable as possible. I went out and left him to fetch water several times. He slept more and more. Half the time he wasn’t even aware of my comings and goings. I rinsed his arm with water until I couldn’t smell the toxin on the surface of his skin anymore. It wasn’t really gone, though. The poison had buried deep, settling past his flesh and coursing through his blood. I lifted his head and guided him to drink, hoping that helped in some way. Whenever I had been ill, Perla always pushed for me to drink. I missed Perla now more than ever, certain that she would know how to help him. I, on the other hand, was less than useful.
I washed off Fowler’s face, chest, and arms. Then I turned my attention on myself, washing up as best as I could, too. My situation was hopeless. I gave up on my matted hair. I’d managed to get most of the mud off my skin, but my hair was a lost cause. Not that I worried much about my appearance. I had bigger concerns.
Fever trapped Fowler in its grip. There was no more conversation. At least nothing intelligent. He muttered, thrashing on the cave floor, incoherent words tripping from his lips. More than once he cried out for Bethan. The name made me flinch. Obviously she was someone important to him. Someone he had never seen fit to tell me about. It was another reminder that there was a great deal I didn’t know about him.
Sitting beside him, watching him die, my mind roamed down paths better left alone. He’d been there when his father killed my parents and seized the throne. He was just a child then, a boy, but he’d been there. He’d reaped the benefits, living in the palace, taking my place, enjoying what should have been my life as the king’s heir to the throne.
I knew nothing about that and yet I thought I loved him. I believed that maybe he loved me, too. Enough to die for me. I shook off the thought. He’d never shared anything real about himself with me. I didn’t really know him at all. And now I never would.
I picked up his hand, clutching it in both of mine as I hovered over him, feeling alone even though he was still here with me. It was a shell of him, whimpering and shaking with fever.
“You’re strong, Fowler. You can beat this.” I squeezed his hand, attempting to convey what strength I could to him.
I racked my brain for everything Sivo or Perla had ever said about dweller toxin, thinking there had to be something more I could do. They’d said it was lethal, but they didn’t know everything. What had they done except hide away from the world and all its dweller problems? There had to be a way to survive it. He only had it on his arm and he was young and vital.
A scratching outside the cave brought me lurching to my feet. I clutched my knife, flexing my hand around the hilt, bracing myself to use it. Dweller or man, I would defend us.
A sudden low growl accompanied the snuffling outside the cave. A dweller wouldn’t make that noise. Besides, they never roamed over anything except penetrable earth. Sivo said it was because they didn’t want to be caught far from underground access should they have to flee to home quickly.
Even so, this growl was familiar. Not dweller familiar, but familiar.
My grip on the knife relaxed a slight fraction. Still wary, I whispered, “Digger? Is that you?”
The tree wolf’s nails clacked over the rock floor at an easy pace as he stepped inside the cave. He greeted me with a whimper.
“Digger,” I breathed, my shoulders slumping as the tension melted from me. My arm fell to my side, the knife loosening within my fingers.
The wolf snuffled at me, slipping his muzzle under the palm of my free hand. I stroked the velvety texture of his nose. “You found me, Digger.” Dropping to my knees in front of him, I looped my arms around his neck, my chest lifting and falling in quick succession—like a tightening and loosening of a knot. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so alone anymore. “That’s a good boy.”