Page 44 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

THE DEATH IN SYMPATHY

C orvin’s round eyes convey all the shock and fear I’m already swimming in. “I went back to set him free, as Sethan commanded, but didn’t have the key. I don’t think he has long?—”

Fuck, how did I forget about Darian? I funnel my strength into lifting myself up out of Cole’s arms.

Cole scans me, his hands on my waist and bracing me as I rise. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I have to get to him.”

“You’ll get there faster if you let me carry you.”

I slide my gaze to Sethan who begins to direct the dragon riders and returning civilians into groups. Then to Daeja, who nods.

“Don’t be prideful,” he whispers so only I can hear. “Just let me help you.”

I nod, and he sweeps me up into his arms. Corvin leads us back through the streets torn up by dragonfire, the smoke stinging my eyes and nose. Several buildings we pass are a blur of smoking rubble.

Oh Gods, did my room catch fire?

Once we turn a corner and find the building is still standing, I pat Cole’s chest, requesting he let me down. As I stand on shaking legs before the structure, I notice half of it is dusted in black. I stumble for the door handle and burst into the room.

A fresh waft of smoke overtakes me, and I cough, waving it away from my face and leaving the door open for it to escape. As the black cloud dissipates, my gaze falls to Darian’s body on the floor. Something I can’t quite pinpoint crumples inside of me, growing cold and tight.

I should have trusted him. Had I listened to him and let him go, he would have lived.

He died on my watch.

I race across the room and sweep his limp body up into my lap before fishing out the key to his shackles from my brassiere.

Darian’s chest rises with a wheezy, tight shake before falling again and stilling.

I brush a hand over the soot staining his cheek, waiting for his eyes to open. Steps sound at the door behind me.

Corvin whispers at the door frame, “I’m so sorry.”

Cole brushes past him into the room and crouches down beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I can carry him to Marge. She…she might be able to do something?”

“He won’t survive—not after sitting in smoke for that long,” Corvin interjects softly.

“I have to try…he can’t die. Not yet…” I murmur, watching his face like he might wake. But if Marge isn’t able to save him …the seconds tick by, heightening my sense of panic. “Leave,” I grit out through my overwhelming guilt.

Corvin whispers, “But, ma’am?—”

I turn to glare at him over my shoulder. “I said leave.”

With a flustered nod, he bows his head and disappears, leaving the door still parted a few inches.

Cole brushes a thumb over my shoulder, staring at me and waiting to look his way. “Tell Daeja to alert A’nala that we need Marge, and Sethan can send her.”

“No.” I finally turn to face him. “I need you to go, too.”

He flinches, pain sparking his pinched brows.

“I need a moment alone with him,” I whisper. Because I can’t tell him what I’m about to do. He might not agree with it—he might stop me. And witnessing it will crush him.

But rather than pushing against my wishes, his face falls and he stands. Squeezing my shoulder once more, he slips out the door. I swear I can hear his heart breaking at the thought I’d need a moment alone with Darian. Like he means something to me.

Pushing away my guilt, I look down at Darian in my lap.

His skin is abnormally pale, drawn tight over his angled features.

The only hint of color is the dark circles splotched under his eyes.

He takes a wheezing, shaky inhale that gets stuck at the peak and releases it slowly, until he falls silent.

Seconds tick by, and my skin prickles. He has to be breaths away from death now, based on his appearance alone.

“Darian?” I whisper and tap his cheek gently, like it’ll force him to open his eyes and tell me he’s only faking it. Like this is just another ridiculous stunt to escape. But he doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even flinch.

I press two fingers against the side of his scratchy stubbled neck and shift them every few seconds across his throat, searching for a pulse?—

Thump…thump. There it is. Weak and brittle. Slowing by the second.

“Darian, I need you to get up.”

Still, no response. His eyes are sewn shut, cracked lips parted slightly.

“Hey. Get your stubborn ass up.” I shake his shoulder gently. Waiting for him to fight against death with the same vigor he did everyone else.

He’s limp. Too far gone to respond, if he can even hear me.

I open the top of my shirt, fumbling for the necklace holding the vial Marge had given me.

Without a second thought, I rip the cork open and inhale all the dragon’s breath.

Holding it in my lungs, I scoop his head into my hands and press my lips against his.

I exhale into his mouth, the burn of the dragon’s breath lingering in my lungs.

My eyes flutter closed. I’m begging the Gods it’ll be enough to save him.

Hold on.

A hand gently scrapes my cheek, dragging my hair back from my face and holding it behind my ear. My eyes flash open at the same time his eyelids drag open. His dark lashes frame his green irises, his pupils abnormally dilated.

His chest heaves with a sharp inhale, sucking the breath out of my mouth until I break off his lips. He coughs, his shoulders hunching in on himself as he fights to regain his breath.

Once he steadies his coughing, he drags a wary glance to me through half-lidded eyes. His voice is smoky. “What did you do to me?”

“I saved your life,” I murmur as I shift away to leave.

He snags my wrist. “You what ?”

He doesn’t have to remind me how foolish it was. His tone conveys enough. And knowing how much shit I’ll be in if Marge finds out? Perhaps I can keep it a secret that I used it on someone other than myself.

“Why did you do that?” Darian croaks, his fingers still wrapped weakly around my wrist.

I can’t ignore the slight shake in his hand, trembling around my forearm caught in his grasp. “Because I still need you—” I swallow.

I need the information he isn’t willing to share.

The information with the potential to save all dragon and humankind.

I know somewhere, deep down, there must be something to convince him.

Something to shift his perspective. As far as I’ve gathered, all that matters is his sister, Edith.

I can tell by how sensitive he is whenever she’s mentioned—to the point I expect him to snap at the mere mention of her name.

He releases my wrist, his eyes fluttering closed as he sags back into my arms and rasps, “You should have let me go. It would have been the merciful thing to do.”

“I—” I pause, stupefied by his response. Swallowing, I stare at his closed eyelids. I whisper weakly around the guilt still filling my throat, “I’m sorry I left you here.”

He doesn’t respond. The shallow rise and fall of his chest is the only confirmation he isn’t dead. I glance over my shoulder at the door and then the bed. With a grumble, I slowly lower him back to the floor.

After flicking the last wisps of smoke out of the room, I close the door. The trembling in my muscles has ceased, and a new surge of strength lines my steps. The dragon’s breath must have worked on me a bit, too.

Tug by tug, I pull the bed closer to where Darian’s shackles are.

Each squeaking scrape against the stone floor has me certain it’ll wake him.

But either he’s a damn good faker, or he truly is stuck in a deep sleep.

As soon as I get the bed close enough to him, I pull his limp body off the ground and slouch him onto the bed.

Curse him.

Even with the lost weight and muscle over the last several weeks, he’s still a challenge to lift. He stirs slightly with a grunt as I pull him up onto the bed, inch by inch, with the chains clinking from each movement.

Once I finally get him on, his head flops to the side, his eyes still closed.

I check his pulse. It’s still a dull drum in his throat.

A spike of pity pricks me when I glimpse the discoloration of deep bruises on his wrists.

I can’t even recall if they were there before today or not.

Unsheathing one of my daggers, I slice off strips from the bed sheets and wrap the fabric gently around his wrists before securing the restraints back on.

I press a hand to his forehead, his skin icy cool. It’s enough of a drastic difference to remind me of how cold I’d been when I went to The White. I brush the strands of brown hair spilling onto his forehead back away from his face, before pulling blankets over him.

“He still alive?” Daeja questions from somewhere off in the distance.

“Yes. Well…for now, anyway.” I slide off the bed and undo my braid, dragging my fingers through the crown of my head to loosen the waves as I stare at Darian’s solemnly still figure on the bed.

“And you’re alright? Last I saw, you couldn’t even stand on your own.”

I pause with my fingers in my hair. “Can you keep a secret?”

The bond wiggles between us in excitement. “Does a dragon not hunger?”

“I…used the dragon’s breath Marge gave me on Darian. And…part of it worked on me, too. I’m feeling much better.”

“I’m not even going to ask you how you also used it…”

I change the subject. “Any casualties?”

“None that have been reported. Those that lost their homes in the fire are being housed in the town’s community hall. A’nala says they want to throw a feast for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, for you. Because you saved the town. If it weren’t for you, the entire place would have burned to the ground.”

I allow myself a small smile as I lean my back against the stone wall and slide down. I stare blankly ahead, exhaustion tugging at my eyelids and body, begging me to rest.

“And if it weren’t for you, I would have been dead anyhow. Whether it was today or long ago.”

“You know it goes both ways,” she purrs. “Get some rest. Your exhaustion is bleeding over to me. It’s quite annoying.”

Chuckling, I allow my eyelids to finally close as I doze off. Sometime during my slumber, I sink to the ground and rest my head on piled hands. The cold, hard stone digs uncomfortably into my hip.

As I shift, I open my eyes and peek at Darian. How funny that we are here with him in my bed, as I lie on the ground. I can’t imagine how he slept comfortably for the nights he spent here on the floor. Or…perhaps he never was comfortable.

Gods, did it really take me this long to realize it? Did it really take me experiencing it to sympathize?

Each time I begin to doze off, I snap back awake, woken by the lingering worry that the dragon’s breath wasn’t strong enough. What if he had been too far gone and it only prolonged his inevitable death?

After an hour of fighting against my intrusive thoughts of finding him dead, I push off the ground with a grunt and slip into the bed next to him, my eyes trained on his face.

I don’t even bother to settle under the sheets with him, figuring it far too intimate.

Resting my fingers on the side of his throat, I search for his pulse.

Once I find it, I leave my fingers there.

Beat by beat, I anchor myself to the pulse, allowing it to carry me into sleep.