Page 67 of They Call Me Blue

“This weekend, the cold-iron dam collapsed at our Grand Overseer’s estate during the Ring Day celebration.

Little is known about what caused the malfunction, but it is estimated that more than two thousand and three hundred elgrew lost their lives.

May the rains bless them and the gods guide them on their next journey. ”

— Kariss Forward , Current Events Column

Author Unknown

C onsciousness flits in and out.

Sabretooth fangs hook into my tunic, dragging me through leaves and grasses.

Darkness.

Underneath a green-and-white-striped tent, Stitchers roll me onto a cot. Hundreds of other cots lie beside mine, full of injured grays.

Darkness.

Needles poke and prod my squishy skull, and Yaklan’s voice cuts through a frazzled crowd of white-aproned apprentices. “I think he’ll pull through.”

Darkness.

Someone peels back my leathers. Cool water on a soft sponge dabs at my fevered forehead then my neck before its wrung, blood and dirt cascading into a wooden bucket below. It’s so much blood, the water’s purple with it.

Darkness.

I open my eyes to an unnaturally bright light and pain spears me. The light flashes over my face as someone rotates my head from side to side, pushing my cheeks together. “Hey, stop that.” The command comes out slurry and cracked. My parched throat burns.

“You’re awake.” Yaklan releases my skull, and it sinks against a downy pillow, my neck not strong enough to hold it up. Groaning, I blink a half dozen times to try to get my bearings. In my delirium, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t.

Up above, a blurry green-and-white-striped ceiling comes into focus. A bright kerosene lantern hangs from a pole beside my bamboo cot, swinging near my face under the supervision of some white-suited apprentice. She’s still a child, but her clothing is covered in purple and silver blood.

“You’ve been asleep for a reaaaaallly long time,” she says, crossing her ankles, poking the swinging light. “I’ve never seen someone sleep so long.”

“Rashi, go fetch Lyrick a cup of water,” Yaklan says. Grabbing her shoulders, he spins her in a direction and points her to where other Stitchers and their apprentices gather, ladling water out of an enormous metal bucket.

She pouts. “Yes, Dad.”

“We’re working.” He groans.

Rolling her eyes, Rashi stomps off toward the others. “Yes, Yaklan .”

I smile at her, but then something sharp pierces my skull.

Wincing, I go to touch it and find wads of bandages and gauze wrapped around the entire left side of my head.

Purple blood dots my fingertips, seeping through the cloth.

Memories of Arden, Brawler, and that enormous fucking rock snap into place. “How bad is it?” I croak.

Yaklan grimaces. “The worst is over. It didn’t reach your brain, but your skull was cracked in several places. It’s been . . . challenging . . . to hold and piece it back together.”

Hundreds of cots fill the tent, but most of them are empty now.

“How long have I. . . ?”

“Almost two weeks,” he says, lips pursed in thought. “Rashi is right. I’ve never seen an elgrew sleep for so long. There were several days I wasn’t sure . . .”

In my periphery, Yaklan reaches for something that I can’t quite see.

A moment later, a bamboo chair appears beside me, which he promptly sinks into.

Dark circles line his eyes like he hasn’t slept since the attack, and his sclerae are bloodshot.

Sighing, Yaklan pushes the long silver hair from his face and twists it into a bun before grabbing a bucket of fresh gauze from underneath the cot.

“I need to look you over and change your bandages.”

Slowly, he peels the puffy cotton from my head and sucks in air.

Warm liquid dribbles down the sides of my temples, spattering the white silk sheets that cover my naked body. Yaklan snaps his fingers, and Rashi returns a moment later with the water cup. “Set that down somewhere and hold his head for me.”

The child does as she’s told, placing it onto the grassy floor.

From the other side of the cot, she grips my cheeks in her palms the way Yaklan had been doing when I woke.

Wordlessly, they work. Soaked bandages float to the floor.

Yaklan rummages through his apron pocket and procures a set of tweezers.

I feel a slight pinching, then hear crunching and grit my teeth.

“The trouble is getting all the pieces to stay in place so they can properly heal,” Yaklan explains.

He shoves the bloody tweezers between his teeth and reapplies the bandages, tightening and twisting them around my skull.

It only takes a minute, and then my head’s back against the plush pillow, my blurry eyes blinking at the green-and-white canvas above.

With Yaklan’s help, Rashi scoots me into a sitting position, then passes the drink to me.

I guzzle it down, hissing at the sharp but soothing burn of it.

I’m about to ask for more when a Stitcher gasps and what sounds like a dozen metal objects clink to the ground.

Near the entryway, orange fur and rippling muscle appear behind a fallen Stitcher, who crawls on hands and knees, gathering up a tray of fallen medical implements.

Prowler.

Gods, I missed that fucking asshole.

Yaklan rubs his forehead. “You don’t know how many times I’ve had to kick him out. He keeps harassing my staff.”

My verncat meows when he sees me, bounding past terrified Stitchers and their apprentices, who’ve more than likely never seen one up close, least of all for an extended period.

I can’t stop the smile from cracking my chapped and peeling lips when he roots between Yaklan and me and nuzzles into my elbow, soft fur brushing my skin.

“He’s the one who found me, right?” I scratch the beast’s chin and he purrs, closing his bright yellow eyes in gratification.

Yaklan nods. “You’re lucky he found you when he did. He saved your life.”

“Did they catch the elf who . . .?” My stomach tightens into knots at the thought of anyone touching and imprisoning that which belongs to me. But my anxiety is short-lived.

Yaklan shakes his head, though his fingers coil into tight fists; it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him show signs of anger.

“How many are dead?” I ask.

“You shouldn’t worry about that yet,” Yaklan says. “You still need to recover.”

I stop petting Prowler long enough to glare at him. “How many are dead?”

“I don’t know. Thousands.”

And it’s my fault.

I sink into the cot, letting the plush pillows and soft bedding consume me. The canvas tent blinks into and out of existence as I stare up at it. The scent of muddy water and mossy trees lets me know the makeshift surgery must be close to the wreckage of my family home. “Azerin must be furious.”

Yaklan sets a hand on my forearm and squeezes. Voice low, he speaks to me like one speaks to a small child. “Lyrick, your father didn’t make it back. He and Tyla—” The man swallows, soft gray eyes boring into mine. “He and Tyla sank with the estate.”

My ears ring.

“No.” I refuse to believe that. Yaklan is mistaken. He has to be.

“I’m so sorry, Lyrick.” Glassy-eyed, he stares at me, willing me to see the truth. And I feel something crack inside my chest. My father—for all his faults, for all our disagreements—loved me. And now he’s gone. And she killed him.

Tears well behind my eyes.

Yaklan pulls me to his chest as I sob into him.

“Azerin saved me from the tunnel and I . . . I should have stopped him . . . I should have. . .” My voice cracks.

“It’s not your fault,” Yaklan whispers.

But it is. Because I’m the one who let Blue go.

The estate is little more than a wetland.

The blue flowers, blue trees, and blue walkways of my youth are all gone.

Still bandaged, I walk along the muddy edges, staring at the grim remains of my childhood home.

In the estate’s absence is a pool of muddy water covered in pond scum.

Where the gazebo once stood are a handful of cracked tiles and glass from shattered kerosene lanterns.

Everything I’ve ever known sits buried in millions of gallons of water that would take a lifetime to drain.

It seems surreal.

My father survived civil wars and incursions, hunting swamp dogs and slaughtering elven militias.

More god than man, he outlived nearly every elgrew on Rayna, but in the end, a single elf brought him down.

And Tyla . . . she never had the chance to prove me right and become just like my other siblings, but she never had the chance to prove me wrong either.

Chalk died and lived for nothing, and that small child spent her last moments in pain.

They all did.

I should drown that creature like she drowned them. I should make her watch as I slaughter her friends, her family, her sister. But even that would be too kind for Blue. No, I think I’ll finish what Azerin started.

Dressed in my father’s armor, I turn on my heels and walk into the orangeleaf forest—my course set, my conscience clear for the first time in my life. I’m going to hunt Blue, breed her, and turn her into the myrie my father always wanted.