Page 18 of Hearts Lost

ITHRONEL

ALIVE

Iwake to a low pulse of fear threading through my chest, beating in time with my heart. There’s something nearby, some creature, and it’s afraid. Not panicking, not yet, but not that far from panic either. The animal’s fear pulls my muscles tight, and I reach out with reassurance, soft and warm and light. Whatever it is you fear, I tell the creature, I’m not it. This woman is no threat.

The fear abates slowly, like mist dissipating before the rising sun, shifting from panic into general cautious wariness. Like any animal faced with something new, really. I want to push a question, to ask what new, frightening thing this creature is facing, but the animal is so jumpy that I doubt I’d get much of a response. I’ll have to wait until I’m more familiar with—

Wait, what kind of an animal is this?

My eyes flutter open, and I sense the creature pulling back. The world swims before me in strange violet hues. Is this some sort of prison? Is this kind of light a form of torture? Fear tightens low in my gut, and this time it’s not coming from something else.

“Stop,” I hiss to myself.

I close my eyes again, blocking out the strange violet light, and try to think. My memories are a jumbled, tangled mess. Elanerill telling me they’re going to take down the barrier. The teleportation hub humming to life. Magic thickening the air. The silver sphere falling from my hand, leaving its thick, oily residue on my fingertips. Aloserin, with his dark eyes and closely trimmed beard, giving me a look that’s not quite a smile.

And then I destroyed it all. Something hot presses against the back of my throat, and I roll over, gagging on my own guilt. I spit, wipe my hand across my mouth, and spit again.

This doesn’t feel like a prison. It’s hot, for one thing, and I don’t remember ever feeling hot in the Lands Below. And the stuff under my hands feels almost like… grass. I crack my eyes open and look down.

It is grass. Strange, thick, wild grass that looks almost blue. I raise my head slowly. Beyond the grass is a tangled line of strange trees with pale, sinuous, twisting trunks. They stretch up and up, their branches snarling a sky that is, without a doubt, bright purple.

“Shit,” I whisper.

I drop my eyes back to my hands, which have started to tremble against the indigo grass, and gulp a breath. The air here is so hot and thick that I can almost taste it. Panic swirls inside my chest, howling like a beast in a cage. I take another deep breath, focus on the grass beneath my hands, and try to shove the panic down.

I don’t know where I am. Yes, that’s true. I’m not in the Kingdom of the Summer. We don’t have strange, naked trees, and our sky is never, ever purple.

And I’m also not in the Kingdom of the Fall. It’s hot here, for one thing, and their sky is dark, for another. A jittery little laugh slips out of my lips. I’m not in the Kingdom of the Fall. They’d kill me if they knew what I’d done, but I’m not there anymore. So, hey, one less thing to worry about.

Moving slowly, and trying very hard to distract the panicked beast pacing circles inside my chest, I pull myself up to standing. The indigo grass bobs all around me, undulating in rhythmic waves, although the heat-heavy air is thick and still. I try not to think too hard about what makes the grass move like that as I examine my surroundings.

I’m on some sort of a slope. The ground here slopes away from the trees and toward a series of grass-covered ridges. Beyond the ridges, I see nothing but that strange, purple-tinged sky, which is a bright lilac directly above me but fades to almost black above the ridges. The cheerful chattering of water flowing over stones sings from somewhere in the distance. That’s good, I tell myself. Water is a start.

Okay. So. I twist my hands together and reach out my consciousness, trying to find the creature whose fear had awoken me. I sense it in the woods, watching and hesitating, its thoughts shifting like smoke pulled by the wind. It’s not terrified anymore, which is good, and it’s not especially hungry, which is better. I can usually convince an animal that I’m not worth eating, but it’s best if I don’t need to.

I take a step toward the sound of running water. And then I freeze.

There’s something in the grass ahead of me. I hold my breath, watching, listening. Grass rustles softly all around me. Water chatters behind me. Somewhere in the distance, there’s a rhythmic thudding sound, like waves against a beach. The creature, or creatures, whose fear had woken me are somewhere hidden, somewhere safe, watching with prickly wariness. That thing, that black shape in the grass ahead of me, they’re afraid of it. They think it’s dangerous.

It’s not huge, whatever it is. It’s smaller than a horse, at least, and it’s lying very still. I can’t sense anything at all out of it, no awareness or predatory patience. It might even be dead.

My lip curls with distaste. The thought of landing here next to some scary dead thing is rather disgusting. I take a step forward, then another, my heart humming in my chest and my magic alert for any sudden changes in the creatures in the woods. Or from the thing before me.

Oh. Oh, stars. I bring my hand to my mouth to cover whatever noise might escape from between my lips.

Because it’s Aloserin.

Blood hammers inside my skull. The strange blue grass waves all around Aloserin’s pale visage and black, close-trimmed beard. He’s flat on his back in the grass with his arms splayed over his cloak and his eyes closed, and oh stars, of course he’s here. He was standing right next to me when the screaming started, when what looked like a second sun burst into existence in the middle of the teleportation hub, when black tendrils of smoke closed around the figures inside the hub and I was lifted and pushed.

Aloserin was standing right next to me when I activated the silver sphere. When I broke whatever magic they were doing inside that hub.

My vision swims. I shove my fist into my mouth and close my teeth over my knuckle. I want to say something, to whisper an apology or an explanation, to tell the one person in all the Lands Below who’d been kind to me that I’d had no choice, but what good would any of that do for a dead man?

“Shit,” I whisper.

My voice shakes. I raise my head to the trees, to the low rise of blue-tinted hills, and finally to the violet sky. Then I draw in a long, ragged breath and wait for my vision to clear.

Well, now I have something I need to do. Aloserin was kind to me. I can at least bury him.

I approach him slowly, guilt twisting in my gut like a knife, and then come to my knees beside the body. He’s unfortunately rather attractive, this former Acting Captain of the Royal Guard, although something about his expression looks stern and almost sad. He looks, I realize, like a man who always wears a dagger. My gaze drops to his chest where, sure enough, there’s the strap for a scabbard hidden just below the neat little satchel he’s wearing on his hip. That strap leads down to his waist and vanishes in the folds of his dark cloak.

I rock back on my heels. I don’t have a dagger, of course. I could have taken one through the portal, hidden it on my thigh or something, but that seemed too obvious. I wasn’t exactly looking to give the Kingdom of the Fall reasons to kill me. And I was supposed to be joining Princess Elanerill at the teleportation hub as a visible sign of the solidarity of the Kingdom of the Summer, so again, weapons would have sent the wrong message.

I bite my finger as my eyes trace Aloserin’s body. Heat presses down all around me, pounding against my temples and slipping down my back. I could use that dagger. Damn, I could probably use everything he’s got, from that thick cloak to his nice leather boots to whatever’s inside that satchel. I have no idea where I am or what I’m going to face here. Or if I’m ever going to see another person again.

My chest clenches, and I try to shove that thought down. Focus. One thing at a time. First, I’ll take his dagger.

I hold my breath as I lean over Aloserin’s body and bring my fingers to the strap of his scabbard. I follow that strap into the soft folds of his cloak, trying not to think about how the cloak is still warm, how his body is still warm. There’s some sort of buckle here—

He moans. I jump back, my heart fluttering like a bird trapped in my throat. Holding my breath, I watch the pale flash of his neck fade into the curve of his chest. It rises. Falls. Rises.

“Oh, stars,” I stammer.

He’s alive.