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“Abby, please,” Jordan said. “This is the heir of the House you insult.”

“No, I’m sick of ’Rosers acting like they’re superior. Is there an encyclopedia that’s going to cry if you don’t get back to it immediately?” She cut a glare at Nore, and for the first time, it occurred to her that Abby and Yagrin could be an item. She felt sicker. Too sick to even respond to the girl’s retort.

“I didn’t mean to upset your lady friend. I apologize,” she said.

Yagrin cocked his brow.

“What? No. Abby just, um—doesn’t deal with Ambrosers, not anymore.”

“Trash, all of them,” Abby grumbled to herself, still working furiously over Jordan’s wound while ranting how awful ’Rosers were. It was almost endearing. Nore’s heart squeezed. It shouldn’t, but the tiniest beacon of hope shone in the darkest crevices of her soul. It didn’t mean anything. But knowing that Yagrin and Abby weren’t an item calmed the raging storm inside her. She watched Abby frustrate herself again.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Nore said. “That’s why the bleeding won’t stop.”

“Excuse me?” Abby stared.

“Move.” Nore joined Abby on the ground. Jordan was pale and he took longer to blink. “Give me your sweater.”

Abby did. Nore balled it up and pressed it against Jordan’s chest. She leaned, laying the full weight of her body against his. “It needs pressure. The wound was gushing faster than the magic could keep up. You have to slow the bleeding.” She held him there, counting, checking the wound intermittently. And sure enough, though Jordan’s head lolled backward, the wound wasn’t swimming in blood as it had earlier.

“Now try to heal it.”

Abby spread her hands across the tear in his chest, and the air between them wrinkled. His skin responded beautifully to her command, pulling itself back together. The bone beneath his chest shifted. He sucked in a huge breath and his eyes shot open.

“Shallow breaths,” Nore told him. He listened. And in a few moments, his chest was moving normally; the wound was smooth skin, with only a faint scar. He was going to be okay. Jordan’s fingers felt his chest. He pulled himself up on timid elbows.

“I’m…sorry for what I said about Ambrose,” Abby said.

“I don’t like them much either, if I can be honest.”

Mirth creased around Abby’s eyes. “What kind of Healer are you?”

“I’m not a Healer.”

“Well, whatever you are, we could use your help,” Jordan said. “Will you stay?”

They watched her, waiting for her answer.

Fifty-Nine

Nore

Nore didn’t know what to say. They awaited her response. But Jordan didn’t know what he was asking her. To stay and help them was to live in perpetual torture.

“Well?” Yagrin oozed impatience, as he often did.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Jordan went on. “First, I need your horse. My brother and I need to get back to the Sphere.”

Yagrin’s dark eyes glowed with ambition. Her insides warmed with excitement for him. She wanted him to know that she was proud of him for sticking it to the Order. She wasn’t sure what it had taken to get to this moment, but freedom was what he’d wanted for so long, deep down. He’d just never had the courage to say it. Her lips parted as she warred with what to do.

“I can’t give you my horse, I’m sorry.”

Jordan stared at her dubiously, as if she hadn’t just rescued him an inch from death. Yagrin, on the other hand, appeared disgruntled, irritated that she couldn’t see their needs were obviously far greater than her own. But that was the farthest thing from true. If the Sphere bled out, Nore’s mother would die, and the ancestors would expect her heart to be in that glass box. She needed that Immortality Scroll if she was going to outsmart the Pact.

“The world is literally on fire,” Yagrin said. “But please, take your time.”

“I’ll ride out of this graveyard and never look back. I don’t care about the Order.” It was a bluff, but they didn’t know that. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted them to protect the Sphere. But she needed help, too. Jordan stood now, fully healed. He turned the Dragunhead’s dagger in his hand.

“An heir to a great House who doesn’t care for the Order,” Jordan said. “Our interests may be more aligned than you think, Miss Ambrose. Share your request.”