Page 147

“Erik stitched the wound,” I said, as steadily as I could. “I ruptured it when I—”

The scene pierced me like an arrow—the blood and agony and the tumbling waters.

“It’s all right.” Keil moved closer, his face etched with worry. “You don’t have to explain.”

“You deliberately bled out the dullroot,” Stian pressed. “Correct?”

Keil glared at the healer. “Alissa has just woken. Give her time.”

Stian met his gaze evenly. “Is it not better that these questions come from me?”

Before Keil could answer, I said, “Yes. I bled it out.”

Stian nodded slowly. “A brave decision, but unspeakably dangerous. I wouldn’t recommend that method again.”

“It won’t happen again,” Keil said darkly.

Stian shut the box of dispensers. “And what of your power now, my lady?”

Keil stiffened, and I knew what he thought—that the sword had done its job. That Erik had stripped my specter, rendering me Hollow.

But there it was, resting within me, thrumming sluggishly from a week of disuse.

I looked at Keil and said, “It’s fine.”

Keil’s eyes widened as I silently conveyed my meaning: The sword hadn’t worked. And, by some miracle, Erik hadn’t won. Yet.

His tension melted with a slow exhale.

“Would you mind providing a brief demonstration?” Stian asked.

With a deep breath, I released my specter. It unspooled lazily, meeting the broad contours of Stian’s power. He made a quick but thorough inspection, running his specter along mine and prodding until I hissed. The sensation was unfamiliar, like a jab to a sore muscle.

“Tender,” Stian said, withdrawing his specter, “but nothing worthy of concern. You simply strained the spectral muscle by pushing it beyond its capacity when your body was weak. We’ll work on refortifying the power when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now,” I blurted. “I need to—”

“You need to rest,” he said kindly, then looked toward Keil. “And you must allow her the space to do so. Not to mention getting some sleep of your own.”

Fresh guilt crested inside me as I thought of Keil sitting in that armchair for a week, forgoing his own rest to watch over me.

Then another image flashed: the cool glint in Erik’s eyes, his vicious anticipation. I would have taken great pleasure in cutting him open in front of you. It’ll be something to look forward to.

“Stian’s right,” I said, repressing my shudder. “You should rest. I’ll be fine.”

Stian patted him on the shoulder. “She’s past the worst of it, my boy. I’ll take good care of her.”

As Keil’s hard expression thawed, I saw within it all the exhaustion he’d been trying to conceal.

With a promise to send up food, they left me to the room.

And in my solitude, the memories grew sharper. Erik’s scar-streaked specter. The windswept tower. The scent of Marge’s blood in the air.

My throat tightened, tears sitting heavily behind my eyes again.

But I couldn’t yet spiral into the depths of my failure. Not now that Erik had both the items he needed. Not now that I knew exactly what would happen to the Wielders of Daradon if he got those items to work.

So in the sleepy, sunlit silence, I drew an uneven breath and did what I’d done for over eighteen years.