Gilded Serpent, page 37
Her sides were cramped so badly she could barely breathe, but she was almost there. Almost to the edge. Tilting her head back, she saw the cliff’s edge was only an arm length away. Then another snap filled the air.
And she was falling.
The wind rushed out of her lungs as the harness around her body jerked tight, the rope attaching her to Marcus the only thing keeping her from plunging to her death.
She screamed as she flipped upside down, both of them sliding down the baggage line, the world a twist of whites and greys and blacks, wind ripping her hood back from her head as their momentum grew.
They slid to a halt at the halfway point between the two cliffs, the baggage line bowing beneath their combined weight as they swung back and forth.
She couldn’t breathe. Rapid little gasps brought no relief, nor the ragged sobs that made her feel like her body was being torn in two. Stars filled her eyes, and it felt again like she was falling. Falling into a darkness that she’d never find her way out of.
You’re hyperventilating. Calm down! Some reserve of logic filtered up into her thoughts, warring with her terror. You aren’t dead yet! Think of a way out of this!
Sucking in a deep breath, she held it, then blew it out. Repeated the process over and over until the stars cleared. Twisting so that she no longer dangled upside down, she shouted, “Marcus! Wake up! I need you to wake up!”
He didn’t move. Didn’t so much as twitch.
And part of her wondered if he was still alive, or if he’d frozen to death or if she’d stopped his heart with the narcotics. Whether she’d sacrificed herself to save a corpse. And with the thoughts, panic crept back in, so she shouted, “Get your head on straight, Teriana! Hop to!”
Her voice echoed through the ravine, chastising her again and again.
Reaching, she tried to pull herself up the rope linking her and Marcus together, but her mittened hands slipped. Grimacing, she pulled them off and tucked them in her belt, immediately feeling the bite of cold against her skin. She needed to move fast while she still had feeling in them.
And before the baggage cable, which was all that was keeping them from falling, gave way like the others.
Teeth clenched together, she heaved, pulling herself up until she was able to grab hold of his harness. Marcus’s back was to her and she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, but she needed both her hands to hold on, so it was impossible to check. Adrenaline fueling her, she snarled and climbed up the three feet of rope between Marcus and the baggage cable, gasping in relief when she was able to hook her legs over it and relieve the strain on her exhausted arms.
You need to check if he’s still breathing, logic told her.
And if he isn’t?
You’ll have to cut him loose to ease the weight on the cable.
Every part of her cringed at the thought. To cut him loose and watch him fall. Watch him hit the rocks and ice below. To hear that sound …
If he’s dead, he’s past caring.
But she wasn’t. “Shut your mouth!” she screamed at the voice, hating it because it was part of her that was saying it. An ugly part that she despised and wanted nothing to do with. “He’s alive!” she howled at it. “And I’m getting us out of this.”
You could at least check.
“Fuck you!” Her voiced slammed against the walls of the ravine. Sucking in a deep breath, Teriana climbed.
Hand over hand, the rope pinched between the bend of her knee and the curve of her foot, she climbed. Her palms burned and bled, her fingers growing more numb with each passing second as the wind assaulted her from all sides, trying to knock her loose. Trying to steal him from her.
I can do this.
Up and up, her muscles stinging as they tore, tendons straining, her head throbbing. Her nose started to bleed, the iron taste filling her mouth and making her cough as it dripped into her throat.
I will do this.
Her body was shaking. Broken and spent. But she kept it going, fueling it with willpower and the desire to live. And then there was solid rock beneath her, but she kept going. Kept climbing until her frozen knuckles hit the stone the line was mounted to.
“Okay.” She closed her eyes, tears leaking out from under her eyelids. “Okay.”
Unhooking her legs, she dropped to the ground, the world still seeming to move despite the solid rock beneath her feet as she put on her mittens. She couldn’t reach high enough to unfasten the knot holding Marcus’s harness to the baggage line, so she pulled out her knife. She used her left hand to hold the fingers of her right closed on the hilt so that she could saw at the rope, and wrapped one arm around him when there were only a few fibers left to cut.
She fell backward under his weight, fresh tears welling up as her elbow and head banged against the ground. “Please.” The words came out as a whisper, and she coughed, trying to spit out blood, but it only ran down her chin as she used the last of her strength to roll him onto his back and loosen the scarf around his face. “Please.”
He was blanched deathly pale, even his lips drained of color. And she couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
“No.” She sobbed the word, shoving her frozen fingers against his throat. He was still warm, but she couldn’t feel a pulse.
A strange whimpering filled her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that it was her. But she couldn’t seem to stop making the sound. She held her cheek over his mouth, waiting for the warmth of breath, but her own face was so numb, she wasn’t sure she’d feel it even if it were there. “Marcus!”
Nothing.
Rage filled her. An awful consuming heat, but she welcomed it because it was better than the alternative. “Marcus!” She slammed her fists down on his chest.
And he stirred.
Made a soft noise of protest.
Then, very slowly, he opened his eyes. “Teriana?”
68
LYDIA
Though Killian had told her he traveled fast, Lydia hadn’t appreciated exactly what that meant. They rode hard from dawn to dusk, only to wake while it was still dark and repeat the process, and she suspected that if not for her mark, she’d have barely been able to walk.
As it was, after eating whatever Killian caught and cooked and then doing the inevitable dishes, she would fall immediately asleep, remaining so until Killian woke her for her turn at watch.
The air grew colder as they progressed north, and they woke one morning to frost on the ground, forcing Lydia to dig out the heavier clothing in her saddlebags, pulling gloves over her hands. The ground grew increasingly barren, the only green the pines they rode through. Yet by midday, even those had turned to brown, the ground thick with fallen needles. So it was no surprise when Killian pulled up his horse and dismounted that what she found him looking at was a narrow stream of blight.
“We need to let the horses go,” he said, retreating from it. “The last thing we need is them drinking foul water and becoming infected. The best case would be that they died, but I somehow doubt that’s how it would go.”
He started untacking his horse, and as she turned to unsaddle her own, Lydia heard him murmuring apologies to the animal for abandoning him, as well as promises that if the animal were clever enough to travel south that he’d surely find someone to care for him.
“Fond words for an animal you referred to as an idiot.”
“He’s a good idiot.” Pulling off the gelding’s bridle, Killian tossed the leather straps into the brush. Instead of wandering off, the animal rubbed his face against Killian’s chest, receiving several pats on the neck in exchange. Lydia’s own horse, by comparison, abandoned her as soon as he was free, going to Killian for what she thought were pats until she saw the sugar they were licking from his palms.
Smiling, she said nothing as he said his good-byes to the animals and sent them cantering back down the trail with affectionate swats on the hindquarters. He watched until they disappeared, then turned to his saddlebags and the tent they’d eventually need, rigging it into something more suitable for carrying on foot. Finally, she said, “Your family raises horses, don’t they? That’s why it’s your house’s symbol. How many do they have?”
“Yes. Yes. And a couple thousand head.”
“Do you remember your first horse?”
“I’ve had many. Here, let me do that.” Reaching over, he fashioned her gear into a pack, which he lifted onto her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
It hadn’t only been the speed and intensity of their travels that had stymied their conversation—it had been Killian. Since she’d told him about Celendor, about her father, about the servant woman, the words between them had been limited to necessity, and her attempts to get him to say more were met with obvious rebuke.
Was it because she’d allowed intimacy between them while knowing Malahi was alive, or was it because of the story she’d told him?
It was one she’d never told anyone—not even Teriana. Even thinking of it filled her with intense shame. It was tempting to claim she was better than the Cel out of virtue of the way they’d looked down upon her, but they’d raised her, and it had left its mark.
Why did you tell him? an angry little voice whispered inside her head. Now he thinks you’re awful.
Kicking angrily at a rock, she tried to push the thoughts from her head, but as they walked on and on, her mind stewed and twisted, coming up with things to say only to reject them before they reached her lips, which, given that it was obviously Killian’s preference, meant they walked for hours in silence that wasn’t broken until they reached a stream nearly large enough to be called a river.
“How do we get across?” she asked as they stopped next to its banks. Ice crusted the edges, and it looked deep enough to reach her hips, if not higher.
Killian pulled off his boots, and she noted one of his woolen socks had a hole in the toe before he tugged it off. “Give me your pack. And wait here.”
She handed it off, watching as he waded across the stream, the water rising nearly to his waist. On the far side, he tossed boots and packs on the bank, then returned across.
His teeth chattering, he said, “Hold on.” Then he reached down and caught her behind the knees, lifting her into his arms.
“Killian, I can walk!”
“No sense both of us getting soaked.” He stepped into the water, and within a few paces, she could feel him straining against the current, his eyes fixed on the flow. But instead of watching the water, Lydia found herself looking at his face. His dark hair had fallen forward, and she had to curb the urge not to reach up and brush it back.
He slipped slightly on the streambed, and she gasped as his hands tightened against her ribs and on the back of her thighs where he gripped her. “I won’t drop you,” he muttered, regaining his balance and moving on, until eventually, he set her on her feet on the opposite bank.
Shivering hard, he pulled on socks and boots before donning his pack. Then he frowned, looking her over. “Aren’t you carrying a weapon?”
Lydia’s chest tightened and she shook her head, the only blade she had the tiny one she used for eating.
Extracting a significantly longer blade from his boot, he held it out to her. “Here. Take this. We’re moving into territory that is only dubiously under Mudamorian control, so it’s best we be prepared.”
She stared at the weapon, the blade glinting wicked sharp in the sunlight. “No, thank you.”
He huffed out an annoyed breath. “It wasn’t a request. Obviously I’ll do the bulk of the fighting if it comes to it, but you need to be able to defend yourself.”
“A healer is supposed to give life, not take it,” she answered. “So I’ll run or I’ll hide. And if I have to fight back, I’ll do it with my fists, but not with a blade.”
Then, knowing she was in for an argument, she took several rapid steps to move ahead of him on the path. But Killian caught her arm, hauling her back to face him.
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he snapped. “I’ve known dozens of healers over the years who carried blades just in case they needed them, and not a one hesitated to slip it between a pair of ribs if the alternative was them dying.”
“I don’t care if every other healer on Reath carries a weapon, I’m not going to.”
“Then turn around and go back.”
She stared at him. “Why are you pushing this?”
“Because it’s hard enough to have you with me without knowing that you won’t do a bloody thing to defend yourself.” His hands balled into fists. “I should never have agreed to you coming at all.”
“It wasn’t your choice!” She was more upset than angry, because he wasn’t wrong. “And I’m not under your authority, so don’t even think of trying to give me orders.”
Killian scrubbed his wet hands back through his hair, glaring at her. “You’ve clearly taken leave of your senses.”
“Because I don’t want to kill people?” She crossed her arms under her breasts, digging her fingers into her sides. “How fortunate that I’m with you, then, Killian, because you have no compunction against it!”
He looked like she’d slapped him across the face, and guilt immediately welled up in her chest with the realization that she’d gone too far. Especially since she had no grounds to criticize. She opened her mouth to apologize, but in one swift motion, Killian pulled off her pack and scooped her up.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked at him but got her answer a heartbeat later when he tossed her into the stream.
She landed on her bottom, frigid water closing over her head. Scrambling to her feet, she gasped in a breath and then screamed, “You gods-damned entitled ass!” But he was already striding down the trail.
“Get back here!” she shouted, stumbling out of the water and retrieving her pack. “You will apologize for that.”
“No, I won’t!” he shouted back. “Because you deserved it.”
Her body was shaking, her skin like ice, but Lydia didn’t care as she stormed down the trail after him. “Killian!”
But he only broke into a jog, keeping ahead of her.
“Killian!” She ran after him, her bag bouncing on her back, her boots making loud squelches with each step. She was going to make him pay for that. Once she caught him, she was going to make him listen to the rough side of her tongue until he was groveling, begging for her forgiveness.
Except he sped up into a run, easily keeping ahead of her as she sprinted after him.
“You are an immature child!” she shouted. “You will stop and listen like a grown man or I’ll … I’ll…” She had no idea what she’d do. And as she chased him through the winding trails heading north, her breath coming in great heaving gasps and her side cramping, Lydia eventually resigned herself to the fact she wouldn’t do anything at all.
Falling to a walk, she followed his footprints at a slow trudge, wishing the sun would move more quickly across the sky and force him to make camp. Her wet boots were rubbing her feet raw as fast as her mark could heal them, and she focused on the sting rather than the hurt in her chest.
Was this how it was going to go? She’d known there was no chance of them being together. But not once had she considered that their friendship would devolve into spitefulness and hate.
Then she rounded a large boulder and found Killian pacing back and forth across the path, his head snapping at the sight of her. “Thought maybe you’d given up and turned around.”
She kept walking past him. “Did you really?”
He huffed out a breath of annoyance, then muttered, “Hope springs eternal.”
The sun descended over the mountains, dark settling over the forest, but still he didn’t tell her to stop to make camp. And though Lydia knew she was being childish and prideful herself, she refused to ask him to.
Only when it grew so dark that both of them were tripping over roots did Killian stop. “This will do.”
From what she could make out, the spot was a wide clearing in the forest, the ground covered with dead grass and brush. Dropping her pack in the center, Lydia gathered firewood without comment while Killian set to clearing a spot for a fire. When she returned to drop a load next to him, he already had a small blaze of grass and twigs burning, but instead of stopping to warm herself, she started back out for another load.
They worked in taciturn silence, Killian cooking dinner and Lydia cleaning up the mess without either of them saying a word. Misery coated her insides as she watched him spread his bedroll next to the fire. “Go to sleep,” he muttered. “I’ll wake you when it’s your turn to watch.”
Unrolling her blankets, she took off her boots. But instead of lying down, she said softly, “Do you remember Emmy?” She’d no idea whether this was the right course, but she had to make Killian understand. For her sake.
And for his.
“Of course I do.” He was quiet for a moment. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Yes.” Pulling off her spectacles, she set them aside, rubbing at her eyes. “She was infected with blight, but not in the way you saw before you left Mudaire. It evolved, those who rose from the dead no longer mindless, bloodthirsty things, but rather nearly perfect replicas of themselves in life. Only someone with Hegeria’s mark can see the truth—that they are walking corpses animated by the Corrupter’s power. To everyone else, they both appear and act as themselves.”
Replacing her spectacles, she saw that Killian was watching her from across the fire.
“Most often, the infected were killed by soldiers when they were discovered, but Quindor kept Emmy in one of the rooms in the lower levels of Hegeria’s temple.”
Killian’s jaw tightened. “He kept a little girl in a cell?”
“Yes. And no.” Biting her bottom lip, Lydia considered her words. “She was kept in every comfort. Fed the best food. Given toys and new dresses. Quindor said he kept her alive to monitor how the infected were evolving, but I think it was that he held out hope she could be cured. That he could bring her back. He … he died trying to save her using the same method I used to pull the blight out of Lena. But one can’t bring back the dead.”
