Page 50 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

M arta arrives late the next morning, already informed of events. Her eyes dart to Dorian’s motionless form, then to Selene, who must look as tired as she feels.

“My lady,” Marta murmurs. “Is there anything I can do?”

Selene glances around. The room is clean. The water basin is full. Ariella has taken the laundry. There is nothing for Marta to do here.

She shakes her head. “No. Take the day, Marta. There’s just… one thing.”

Marta tilts her head. “Anything.”

Selene hesitates, fingers tightening in her lap. She knows that her next request is going to sound bizarre.

“Could you ask Jon to carve another totem?” she says. “A fifth one.”

Marta’s brows lift in surprise. “A fifth?”

Selene nods. “A faceless goddess. I don’t… I don’t have any more details than that.”

For a moment, Marta just studies her, as if searching for something in her face. She nods slowly. “I’ll ask him.”

“And Marta?”

“Yes?”

“Please ask him to hurry.”

Marta doesn’t question it, doesn’t press. She simply bobs her head before slipping away.

Selene exhales, the room falling quiet again.

Five totems.

Five gods.

One of them must be listening.

Dorian stirs, a low groan escaping his lips. Selene jerks upright, heart hammering as his eyelids flutter.

“Dorian?” she whispers, leaning in.

His breathing is shallow, uneven. His gaze, when it meets hers, is unfocused, but there’s a flicker of awareness there—a terrible, exhausted awareness.

Then his body seizes. A violent shudder racks his frame, his fingers twitching uncontrollably against hers. His chest jerks with a desperate, ragged gasp, and his eyes widen, wild with sudden fear.

“Selene—” His voice is hoarse, barely above a breath, but thick with panic.

She grips his uninjured hand tightly, heart hammering. “I’m here,” she says. “I’m right here, Dorian.”

His brow creases, his weak fingers clutching at hers as if anchoring himself. “How… how long?”

“Less than a day,” she tells him.

“You’ve been here… all this time? ”

She raises her free hand to his temple, and brushes back his hair. “Well, where else was I going to be?” she says, trying to smile.

Dorian swallows. “Must be bad. It… it feels bad. Is it… am I going to…?”

Selene can’t answer that. She refuses to.

His throat bobs. His breath shudders. “I don’t… I don’t want to die. I don’t… I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to stop being me…”

“You’re not going to die,” she insists, even as the tears slip down her cheeks. “Soren is going to be back soon.”

Days, Ariella had said. It hasn’t even been one yet.

“My father died like this.”

Tears splash onto the sheets, indistinguishable from his sweat. “I know,” Selene whispers, the tears trailing down her cheeks.

“I had to watch,” he pants. “Did I ever tell you that?”

Selene has never given any thought to that, but she doesn’t need to imagine it, now. It’s playing out right in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

“I want… I want to stay here…”

“Stay, then.”

“I want to stay with you.”

Selene’s throat tightens. She curls his hair around his ear. “ I want you to stay with me, too.”

She offers him more medicine and water. He takes both. She isn’t sure how much longer she’ll have with him like this, where her words will actually reach him. “Do you remember when I told you that you weren’t allowed to expire when I was mad at you?”

A weak smile ghosts his cheeks. “But you aren’t mad at me right now.”

“Oh, I am,” Selene insists. “I’m furious. Incensed, even.”

“You can lie better than that.”

Selene sits on the bed beside him. “Does it hurt when I touch you?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “It only hurts when you don’t.”

A sharp ache presses against her ribs. She exhales, a trembling breath, and shifts closer, letting her fingers trail softly down his arm. His skin is still burning, but he leans into her touch like it’s the only thing tethering him here.

She curls up beside him, pressing her forehead to his temple. Her hand seeks out his. “You’re a beautiful liar, Dorian Nightbloom.”

“I’m not… beautiful.”

“You are to me,” she tells him. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And I know you, Dorian. I know you so well…”

Dorian hums, a sound more felt than heard. His breathing is uneven, but for the first time in hours, he seems to settle.

Selene strokes his hair, slow and deliberate, as if she can soothe away the poison with sheer will. “You’re staying,” she whispers. “You promised me.”

His fingers twitch against her waist. “I did.”

She presses a kiss to his forehead, ignoring the heat beneath her lips. “Then you’d better keep your word.”

But Dorian is already slipping away again, his hand going slack in hers.

The door creaks open, and Aunt Elizabeth steps inside, her skirts whispering against the floor. She exhales sharply, as if bracing herself, and then moves forward, her keen eyes sweeping over Dorian’s pale form.

Selene looks up from where she sits on the bed beside him. “Aunt Elizabeth,” she says quietly.

“My dear,” Elizabeth replies, her voice softer than usual. “How has he been?”

Selene swallows. “No better. No worse. He woke for a little while.” She looks down at Dorian’s face, shadowed and too still, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. “He was aware. He knew how bad it was.”

Elizabeth nods grimly and steps closer. She reaches out, her fingers hovering just above his brow before finally pressing against his damp skin. “Burning,” she murmurs. “The fever’s holding on, then.”

Selene nods. “Have you seen Ariella?”

“Still sleeping,” Elizabeth tells her. “I think Rookwood gave her something. Not that he’s resting, either. He’s with her now.”

Momentary envy flashes over Selene at the idea of the two of them, healthy and well, curled up somewhere together. It passes quickly.

Elizabeth sighs, settling into the chair at Dorian’s bedside. “You’ve been here all night, haven’t you?”

Selene doesn’t answer.

Elizabeth reaches out, covering Selene’s hand with her own. “You should step out for a moment, my dear. Refresh yourself. You’ll do him no good if you collapse from exhaustion.”

Selene’s grip tightens around Dorian’s limp hand. “I don’t want to leave him.”

Elizabeth’s gaze softens. “Just for a little while. Trust me, I won’t let him out of my sight.”

Selene hesitates. But the truth is, she’s exhausted and desperately needs to relieve herself. She nods reluctantly and leans over, pressing a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispers.

She stands, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand before stepping away. As she reaches the door, she glances back. Elizabeth leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper as she strokes Dorian’s hair.

“I’ve never had a son,” she murmurs, “but I have loved you like my own since the day you came into this world, and all the more when your dear mother quit it. I am not meant to watch you die, boy, so you are not to die, do you hear? If not for me, then do it for your pretty wife next door. The poor girl has known enough sadness. If you put either of us through any more, I’m going to be quite put out. ”

Selene presses a hand to her lips, tears stinging her eyes, and slips away.

Selene takes the shortest of breaks before returning to Dorian’s side.

Aunt Elizabeth talks to her for a while—mostly of nothing in particular.

Events in the village, the weather, stories from Dorian’s childhood.

It feels strange to talk of anything ordinary, but it helps—at least for a little while.

Dorian sleeps between them, murmuring occasionally.

Selen does her best to keep him cool, offering him sips of whatever whenever she can and keeping a tight hold of his good hand.

“Aunt Elizabeth,” she starts eventually, when the silence has stretched on for too long. “I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard you talking to Dorian earlier— ”

“Why would I mind if you know how much I love my nephew?”

“That’s… that’s a fair point,” Selene concedes. “I just… you said I’d known enough sadness, and I’m just… I was wondering how you knew that? I’ve never said—”

Elizabeth offers her a warmth, sympathetic smile. “I know what a woman looks like when a man has squeezed something out of her,” she admits. “I heard rumours about your impending marriage to Duke Drakefell before your elopement. He did something to you, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Selene reveals, her breath catching. “He did, but I… but it wasn’t—”

It wasn’t what you think. It wasn’t what anyone thinks. He didn’t hurt me, he didn’t force himself on me, he didn’t do anything but—

But slowly scrape me away from myself. He broke me away inch by inch, ground me into powder, rubbed me into a sliver of the person I was before—

And he did all that before he killed her. Murder barely mattered next to all of that.

Selene cries, noisily, bawling into her hands. “Dorian saved me,” she weeps. “He rescued me and brought me back to life, and if he dies, if he dies— ”

If he dies, Selene might as well die with him. She’ll wish she’d never been brought back to life. Her heart is his. How will it beat in a world without him in it?

Elizabeth gets up and comes around to pat her back. “He’s with us yet, dear girl. He hasn’t lost his fight, and neither have you. You’re a survivor.” She squeezes her shoulder. “Dorian will come back to you.”

Selene’s voice trembles in her throat. “I want to be the one saving him .”

“Oh, sweetheart. You already have.”

Selene barely notices when Aunt Elizabeth leaves, though she murmurs something about resting in the next room. She will not go far.

Ariella wakes sometime later and returns to the sickroom, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes before immediately turning her attention to Dorian. “He needs to eat,” she says.

Selene doesn’t argue. She knows it’s true, although she doubts it will work. Rookwood brings up a tray of broth. Selene helps Ariella lift Dorian slightly, but he turns his head away from the spoon she offers. His throat works as though he might speak, but no words come.