Page 111 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

And the pain radiating from her back dragged her under, once more.

"You have to wake up, Luella."

A voice, tinged with thick emotion, rolled over her.

Fingertips brushed against her temple. She found herself leaning into the touch.

"Wake up. You need to… You need to eat. Drink." The touch on her head became too much to ignore. She felt rough fingertips brush against her closed lids. It bothered her. She wanted to go back to sleep, back to that weightless place that welcomed her, protected her from pain.

Pain. It wrapped around her body, forcing her out of the dim space between sleep and wakefulness.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Shapes were fuzzy. She blinked a few times to clear her vision.

"Fuck," spat from above her.

Trailing up, she saw the sharp line of a jaw, white hair, and strong shoulders, thick stormclouds even further above.

The sound of reins snapping propelled them onward, sending jolts of pain through her body.

She was lying half on her side, curled into Tharen’s chest. Her nose brushed a cloak, smelling of spiced honey. It was wrapped around her front, keeping her warm, as Tharen’s body worked to protect the rest of her from the cold.

"Tharen." She curled deeper into him. Why did she hurt so badly? "What… happened?" Her lids drifted shut.

" No ." Tharen’s fear-tinged demand made her eyes open.

Weakly, she reached up, brushing her finger against the underside of his jaw, forcing him to look down at her.

"Just… keep your eyes open for me." He paused, directing his attention back to their surroundings. From the way she was curled, staring up at the sky, she couldn’t see much.

"Slow!" called from somewhere ahead.

The horse slowed, easing the flares of pain. She felt less like she would fall if she moved, so she shifted against him.

Tharen seemed to understand what she wanted, for he stayed her movements. "You need to be still. Stop it."

"But…"

He reached for the horse’s saddlebag, pulling out a small cheesecloth, before he turned his head and said, "Do you have water for her?"

"Yes."

"Graves?" she asked, weakly craning her head to search for him.

With her blurry vision, the raven shifter came into focus—without his cloak, since it was wrapped around her, but his cowl covered the lower part of his face. His deep blue eyes seared into her.

With a gloved hand, Graves passed a leather waterskin to the mage. "I’m here," he said.

"Take the reins." Tharen handed off the reins to Graves, who gathered them up, directing both his horse and theirs.

With his hands now free, Tharen uncapped the waterskin and cupped the back of her head, lifting it carefully so she could drink.

Pain radiated down her skull to her tailbone.

"Careful," he urged, pressing it to her lips and slowly tipping it back to let her drink.

The liquid soothed her throat. Water dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

Tharen pulled the waterskin away and wiped the corner of her lips with the pad of his thumb.

His touch made her lids flutter. She was too spent to blush, but weak shame knocked on the door of her pattering heart, reminding her that those fingers had been between her thighs.

"Done?" Tharen asked.

Luella nodded.

Satisfied her thirst was quenched, Tharen lifted the waterskin to his lips and took a swig. After handing it off to Graves, the mage opened the cheesecloth, picking out a hardened chunk of aged cheese.

He pressed it to her lips. "You need to eat. Get your energy up, so your healing can take over."

She was too exhausted to ask questions, so she parted her lips and nibbled on the salty cheese. As she ate, she realized how empty her stomach was. In no time, the wedge was almost finished.

Tharen’s fingers pressed the last bit to her lips. "One more bite."

She chewed slowly, staring up at them both. "What happened?" she mumbled.

The two males shared a look. She used their distraction to search inside herself, feeling out the five threads. They were close .

"W-where’s Az?" she prodded weakly. "Bastian… Vale?" She tacked on the King’s name as if an afterthought.

Tharen’s lip curled. He cast a pointed look somewhere ahead, hand tightening on her, careful not to brush too close to her aching back. "He’s indisposed. Your demon and the Advisor are up ahead, leading the way."

Indisposed…

Luella’s confusion must have shown on her face. Tharen sighed, tilting his head just right as he stared down at her, revealing a scarlet handprint on his cheek, smudged and flaking.

"Blood?" She reached up to graze her fingers against the side of his face. Pain ripped through her, and she gasped, letting her hand fall back to her side. "Ah— ow ."

After the water and cheese, she was able to focus on something other than the emptiness in her stomach, the dryness in her mouth, and the weakness in her limbs.

Under Graves’s cloak, her gown was stiff and itchy.

She shifted, wincing as her sore bottom pressed into Tharen’s lap.

Her body hurt, like her insides had been ripped out and shoved back inside all wrong; though, it wasn’t as consuming as it had been earlier, from the hazy memories that were slowly returning.

Flashes of Tharen’s eyes, his strong hands, the way he loomed over her with Vale’s burning gaze against her skin.

She exhaled softly. "Tharen, what happened in the Temples after…

?" At least, she tried to ask—she had to pause almost every word to get her breath, but no amount of air could fill her aching, desperate lungs.

Her head was growing lighter the longer she stayed awake, and the pain was becoming more intense with every clop of hooves on the ground.

Graves still held the reins, so Tharen brushed his hands over her face as he stared at her, the touch strangely reverent. It was as though he thought her to be fragile glass, perched precariously on his lap, and one wrong move would force her to shatter.

"You don’t remember?" Tharen asked.

Luella’s head ached as she tried to think. "Pain. It hurt. But before that, it… didn’t." She looked away from him, embarrassed.

"We shouldn’t talk about this right now. Your fae healing has kicked in, but—" Tharen’s jaw ticked. "If you were human, you would’ve died. Your back was in tatters."

At the mention of her back, she extricated one of her hands from where it was tucked under Graves’s cloak, and gingerly reached behind her to touch her shoulder, breathing through the waves of pain as she moved.

But before she could make contact, Graves reached forward and grabbed her wrist, halting her. "Don’t touch them, sweetheart."

At the heat in his gaze, a torrent of memories welled up.

Searing agony. The way her spine had seemed to shift out of the way, making room for?—

"No," Luella breathed.

She tried to crane her head, but Tharen stopped her, forcing her to still; and with Graves’s grip on her wrist, she was trapped, wrapped in a cocoon of his cloak.

Now that she knew, she felt them .

Something foreign tucked close to her back, trembling as if called to action from her inward focus. She shook with pain, unable to get them to stop fluttering.

Graves hushed her. "Don’t think about it, it will make it worse."

She tried— she tried . But not thinking about it made them quiver even harder, confined within the bounds of the cloak, every brush against the fabric hurt.

She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs.

"You have to calm down," Graves urged.

"Stop!" Tharen barked.

Hooves pounded against the ground. "You cannot?—"

"Bastian, make her sleep," Graves rasped. "She’s hurting herself."

Wait—

Before she could utter a word, a cool touch on her brow made her fall into dreams. Even there, she could not find peace as Caliban haunted her, visions of his choked pleas as shadows stole him down, down into the belly of the earth.