Page 6

I want to believe him so badly, but horrible scenarios flash through my mind in a loop and carry into my dreams.

It’s the stillness that wakes me.

The cart has stopped. I immediately check on Temra, even as I call out, “Why aren’t we moving?”

“The horses need a break,” Kellyn says. “If we push them anymore, they’ll give out before we can reach the capital.”

He’s pulled us off the road, and Kellyn already is in the process of unhitching the horses. Petrik leaves with his pack, likely off to prepare food.

That leaves me with Kymora and Temra.

I swear the warlord never sleeps. Every time I look over at her, she’s perfectly alert. Her eyes rove over the scenery, our camp, searching for any opportunities to escape.

“Here,” Petrik says sometime later. He hands over a bowl of broth. “I can feed her, if you’d like?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“I’ll still help.” He kneels behind Temra and raises her to a sitting position, while I bring a spoonful to her mouth on trembling fingers.

I force open her lips, pour in the broth, tilt back her head. I breathe out a sigh of relief when I watch her throat working to swallow.

“We’re going to make it,” Petrik says.

“This healer you spoke of—is she good?”

“She can work the body the way you work iron. She’s good, Ziva.”

The next spoonful of broth ends up being coughed out with yet more blood.

“She can mend the hole in Temra’s lung?” I ask.

“I’ve seen her reattach limbs.”

The hope burning in my breast is dangerous, but if I lose Temra, I’ll lose the last of my family. I’ll lose my heart.

Kymora really will have taken everything from me then.

When Temra’s eaten enough, Petrik’s gaze lands on his mother. “I guess I’d better go feed her.”

He leaves me, scoops out another bowlful of broth, and pads over to his mother. He removes the gag gently, offers her some water first. Kymora drinks and drinks and drinks. She paces herself, as if not to show weakness, but by the amount she swallows, I can tell she’s suffering from the journey. Her limbs must be aching from the way she’s constantly bound. Her wrists and ankles are redand swollen from the tightness of the ropes, not that they would be forefront of her mind with her more severe injuries.

I’m glad she’s suffering, and I feel no shame for that.

Temra’s face has turned whiter over the last four days. Her lips are cracking. Her lungs are weakening. She has sores from lying in the same position for so long. But I dare not move her too much, lest I make her injuries worse.

These might be the last days I spend with my sister, and I don’t even get to talk to her.

I try to will my thoughts elsewhere.

Petrik and Kymora converse in whispers when she’s drunk her fill. I can’t hear the specifics of the conversation, but Petrik winces at something she says. He spoons her up some broth and feeds it to her. Says something in response. Her face gives nothing of the conversation away, and I begin to wonder if I should move closer.

Then Temra begins coughing.

I gently turn her on her side and rub her back. Her shoulders heave, and her body tenses. Blood spills from her lips.

“I’m not leaving you,” I say. “I’m here, Temra. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Movement out of the corner of my eye has me turning. Kellyn bends at the knees to scoop out some soup for himself. His towering six-and-a-half-foot frame has a long way to go to reach the cooking pot. With golden-red hair and soft facial features, he’s a beauty in every sense of the word, even covered in grit from traveling.