Page 33

It takes some coaxing to get my crusted eyes to open. Light sears into my pinned pupils, too bright. The room spins and my head pounds an aching heartbeat. Everything feels wrong . My midday lunch is already on the floor. Looks like it’s been sitting there for a while. The sight makes my stomach roil. No sounds emit from the room. No sign of Div. By the time I came out of the bathroom last night, Sitri had vanished and hadn’t come back from the looks of it.

My stomach heaves, and I stagger to the bathroom, bumping into the door frame on the way. I throw my weight back against the door to heave it shut behind me.

I collapse, cradling the waste basin in my hands as I retch. When I open my eyes, I find it splattered with blood. There shouldn’t be any left in me yet it’s there clear as day, swirling into the water like mixed paint. I flush it away, head pounding too viciously to give it any more thought. The floor is cold and comforting under the press of my face.

I quit counting at seven and vaguely wonder if I’m hallucinating this—maybe the events of last night were too much for my mind. Or maybe this is my punishment for what I’ve done. Eating the heart of a man, revoking my own God, removing the Shroud. I curl up into a ball, and time passes, fast and slow—it’s impossible to tell.

I’m stirred awake by soft mutters, fingers probing my forehead. I try to concentrate on the words being spoken, but I’m underwater. The world tilts to the side, and the sharpening pain in my abdomen brings the world back to me. I recognize him only by scent. Sitri. My stomach twists, and I groan out complaints. It’s too late. I tilt my head to the side, and blood splatters the dark wood.

We go still, and Sitri swears something unintelligible before we’re moving again. He settles me against the bed, and I strain my eyes open into thin slits to see his back disappearing.

I should say something. I’m too heavy. Only partly aware of a wet cloth brushing over my face and my mouth. He grips my shoulders and forces me into an incline. It’s too bright. I squint until his face comes into focus. He pushes a vial to my lips. “I need you to drink this.”

My stomach writhes in response, and I cross my arms across my abdomen with a groan. “Can’t.” I weakly bat the vial away.

“Try,” he demands, tone icy as he pushes it to my mouth and forces my chin back.

“No, please,” I cry, snapping my head to the side. He heaves a sigh but removes the vial.

“When did this start?”

I squint, blinking as I try to make out the room. Spots dance in my vision. There’s no sunlight, only the overhead orbed lights. “What time is it?”

“It’s…late. I’m sorry I should’ve—I should’ve come back sooner.”

“Been a while,” I mumble. Too tired to even remain upright, I curl back on the bed, abdomen burning like a fiery pulse. Even the dāemon feels mild in comparison.

“I’m not very good at healing. I’m going to have to go get someone.”

The next time I’m stirred awake, a strange man is yanking my dress up. I startle as Sitri steps into view from behind him. “It’s okay. He’s a healer.”

Sitri shifts the blankets up over my hips as the healer bares my midriff. “Will you bind her?”

“Wait—why?” I rasp, in a panic, lifting myself up with newfound strength.

“Is that really necessary?” Sitri asks.

“If I’m interrupted, we’ll have to start over,” says the white-haired man, his face stern. Start what over? My pulse quickens in my chest.

“Don’t panic,” Sitri says firmly. For once, instead of binding me with his magic, he pulls my hands up to hold them by my head. “She’ll be still,” he tells the healer before looking at me for my agreement. I nod reluctantly. The healer looks unconvinced, however he doesn’t argue any further.

His palm is cold as it presses against my bare skin. I tense against the unwelcome sensation. His magic is cold, too, like water being poured straight into my blood. It steals my breath as it meets my stomach, the cold turning into an icy burn. My muscles go rigid, fists clenching around Sitri’s hands. It shifts, filling me and expanding out. The pain seems to go on forever until I can feel the entire outline of my stomach throbbing, wilting against the healer’s magic. It filters out the same way it came in, back into his hands, and I let out a sharp exhale.

My mouth fills with saliva. Blood, the bitter tang coating my tongue. I jerk out of Sitri’s grip and wrench myself to the side, only narrowly making it to the side of the bed. The blood disappears immediately as I wipe at my mouth. Someone aids me in pulling my dress back down. I press my arms over my face in both mortification and misery.

Silence eats up the room until Sitri’s voice finally breaks through it. “What is it? Did you heal her?” There’s an irritated quality to his tone that wasn’t there before.

“This…” the healer starts and trails off. “Let’s not disturb her rest.”

Sitri says nothing, but there’s a brush of his fingers against my arm as if to say, ‘Be right back’ before they depart. Everything is sluggish. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know there must be a reason why the healer didn’t want to say anything in front of me.

It takes everything in me to haul myself out of the bed. I falter as my feet meet the floorboards, legs wobbling. My vision blurs with the effort as I steady myself against the bed. How have I weakened so rapidly? I use the bed for support, and when I reach the end of it, I drop down on hands and knees and crawl, turning to brace myself against the wall next to the door.

“—doesn’t make any sense,” Sitri’s voice rings out. His irritation has turned into full-blown fury. I almost feel bad for the healer, having been at the receiving end of it myself. “I’ve never even heard of a connection between anthropophagic magic and—“

“Afraid that was your family’s doing. They did everything they could to change popular opinion after King Beldric succumbed. Didn’t want the public to know what he’d been practicing.”

“King Beldric lost himself altering into a wolf, not a Bonewalker.”

A Bonewalker?

“That’s what they wanted people to believe but the truth of it is known in healer circles. Why do you think they eradicated anthropophagic magic?”

“She didn’t even—she didn’t even ingest it. The heart. I dispersed it.”

“She must’ve taken some. Usually, it takes repeated exposure, but they say it highly depends on how long the Bonewalker has had to amass power. It’s become so rare no one really knows the finer details. You must’ve come close to one when you were journeying here. I’m surprised you didn’t feel it. You’re lucky you didn’t, or you’d likely be one yourself.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Sitri finally gruffs, “Tell me what I need to do.”

“We need to get her to a confined location. I’d love to run a few assessments before since it is so rare. We’ll probably have to administer the deadly nightshade intravenously. I doubt she’ll be able to ingest anything in this state.” He snorts. “Fitting name though isn’t it, Nightshade? She’ll alter as soon as her heart stops beating, so we’ll have to be quick. They say the effects of the magic can be extremely strong but not as strong if they don’t succumb to the disease naturally. Best to get a Mask to dispense of it in case it goes awry. We’ll burn the corpse, of course.”

“No, no, no. No.” Sitri’s boots thump against the floorboards and stop. “No. Tell me how to fix it. ”

“You mean save her ?” The healer asks incredulously. “You can’t.”

“There has to be something…”

“You can’t possibly want her as your wife.”

“Of course I didn’t fucking want her!” Sitri snaps. I wince, this cold daunting feeling flowing through my blood. “Morin is the one that put her here. She needs her.”

“Well, Morin can’t stop this. Shouldn’t have had her perform Blood of the Gods if she wanted to keep her around. If there were a way to save someone from altering they would’ve found it for Beldric. Rumors are that fiasco ended in the deaths of five people instead of the one if they would’ve snuffed it out when it started.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sitri cuts in. “I’ll deal with it. Just…heal her to the best of your abilities right now so I can inform Morin before and she doesn’t have any doubts as to whether--”

“Any attempts at healing necrosis will only be met by quicker deterioration. Besides, I do not have the intention for a nought,” he spits distastefully. “My advice, Prince, take it as a blessing from the Gods. An exit at no fault of your own. May you be fitted with a wife more suited to carry your heirs. I’ll inform Morin myself so she has no reason to doubt you. I’ll have her send a few Masks up.”

The sound of his light footsteps pattering across the floorboards as he makes toward the door. I wait for the sound of the door opening and closing shut. But there’s nothing.

Only loud ringing silence.