Concern sparks in his eyes as he gathers my hands and pulls me tight against him, preventing me from hitting him again. “What are you talking about?”
“Light cannot abide darkness,” I scream into that cold, unforgiving wind. That wind I hate so much.
Father’s voice mocks me, devours me, destroys me. Over and over again, it is his voice plaguing me.
Lines deepen across Hector’s brow as he frowns. “You’re not darkness, Sol.” He caresses my burning arms until the darkness recedes into the corners of my heart. “You’re goodness.”
No, I’m not. A good person wouldn’t use this kind of magic.
Hector’s words whisper in my ears.“It’s Hero.”
The gods help me. I cannot forget about Hero. He tried to save us with his water magic. I cannot just allow him to die.
I lift my eyes to the gray sky. “Where is Hero?”
Hector places his hands against my arms and helps me stand. “I’ll take you to him.”
Hector leads me away from the field and the carnage that took place in the valley below.
Don’t look back.
* * *
As I step into the well-lit tent, I exhale the moment I see Hero. He lies on a mattress, his skin pale, his surcoat torn and stained crimson. Leah hovers near him, wiping the blood from his neck and face.
More of the darkness recedes as I step closer and lower my fingers to Hero’s neck, feeling his pulse beneath my fingertips.
He’s still alive.
Relief sweeps over me as I close my eyes and let out a long breath, a cleansing breath—the kind of breath needed to override the dark magic. My pulse thrums in my ears as I speak those familiar verses. Needles of pain pierce my serpent mark as I chant louder and louder, drawing light to me, to heal, to renew.
Hero inhales, and the color returns to his skin. The wound disappears, leaving behind a faint scar. Leah grabs a basin with water and cleans the blood on Hero’s neck and chest.
I turn away and crumble onto a stool as a blinding headache assaults me. It pounds behind my eyes and spreads down my cheekbones. I lift a shaky hand to my forehead and rub, but the pain keeps building and building.
“Sol.” Concern deepens the lines near Hector’s eyes as he places his hand against my arm. “Are you all right?”
“I’m f-fine,” I say through the intensity.
He studies my features. “You’re pale.” Gently, he touches my cheek. “And you’re freezing.”
The throbbing increases, pounding behind my eyes. I rock forward, and Hector catches me against his body. I try to focus on him, but nothing makes sense. Not the ground beneath my feet. Not the man holding me. Not the wind slamming against the tent.
Where am I?
Why is this happening?
I blink as everything blurs, and the stool lurches, slipping me further and further from Hector. Down, down, down, I willingly sink. Blackness surrounds me, luring me like a siren’s song to drift into oblivion.
So, I do.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Wonderful warmth surrounds me. I sink closer to it, needing it to chase away my lingering darkness. I shudder as I recall those maggots and the way the Bloodstone people squished them. The maggots were men before I cursed them.
Maybe not good men. Maybe they even deserved to be punished. It doesn’t stop me from hating what I did to them. Warriors deserve an honorable death. Not being cursed and being unable to fight.
I was born in light. A Kyanite is goodness, healing, renewal, breathing life back into the dying, the diseased, the afflicted. It’s not darkness. It doesn’t curse people.
