could work with that.
âWhere ⦠where are we?â she said, her voice hoarse in her dry throat.
âWhere? That I canât say. I donât exactly know.â
âBut the soldiers! The armies must be close â¦â she couldnât have travelled far with short rations, no map and a mind muddled from cold.
âIâm told weâre safe, for the moment,â he said. âAre you hungry? Rhia is asleep, but she left food and water in case you woke.â
âI ⦠I am a little thirsty.â
He knew the darkness far better than she, but the movement sent ripples of fire through his arm again. When she heard the water slosh, she groped blindly for it, keeping her hands low so that they wouldnât touch his. She found it by the base, a water-skin nestled in a pouch of fur to keep it from freezing. There was a leather stopper in the horn spout, and Sierra pulled it free and drank thirstily in the dark.
Her hands shook as she remembered how he had screamed.
Once sheâd had her fill, the stopper eluded her, but finally she found it swinging on its cord and fumbled it back into the spout. She went to set the still-bulging skin down, but it knocked against something unseen in the gloom. There was a rattle of pottery and wood, and both she and Isidro reached out to catch it. Before she could stop herself, Sierra felt her fingers brush against his.
A spark of energy jumped between them, a glowing thread like a miniature lightning bolt, casting an eerie light over this tiny corner of the tent. With one blurred glimpse through watering eyes, Sierra saw the worn blanket that screened them, the rumpled furs and the wooden camp-stool sheâd upset. She saw his face, pale and gaunt with hollow cheeks and dark eyes â just one glimpse and then the light blinded her, sparking a fierce pain behind her eyes and an almighty thump within her skull. Within moments, the great pulse of power that flowed into her from that touch washed all that discomfort away.
All at once, she was within him, wearing his skin and feeling the bones of his arm grinding beneath the splints. She felt the healing burns itching on his back, the thumping of his own head and the flush of fever in his cheeks, and the weary ache of his lungs as the pneumonia still battled within him. He was exhausted by it all, utterly worn down by pain that would not let him rest and would not let him heal. The lingering infection was still there: as he neared the end of his reservesit would rise up again to finish him. She could feel it festering away, a mindless enemy lurking within his flesh.
For one moment, she was aware of every inch of him, then the rising tide of power flooded her with warmth. His pain was ebbing away, coming to her in a rush of power. His muscles went lax and she felt him slowly collapse even though he fought it, struggling to hold himself up and resist the outgoing tide that would leave him empty and dry.
Sierra felt him struggle, but with the power shimmering in her mind it seemed only a curiosity, something pretty to see, like sunlight on water. Of course it would fade as the sun set, the light dwindling to a few pale flecks.
But the power was coming so fast she couldnât drink it in quickly enough and it spilled over in a flood of light as multiple strands of energy burst from her hands, minute bolts of lightning that flickered and rippled ceaselessly, questing for some anchor. The light stabbed at her blinded eyes and with a yelp of pain Sierra broke the contact and quenched the light, pulling it back beneath her skin with a wrench of effort.
The tent was still and quiet once again, except for the pounding in her head. By the Black Sun herself, what just happened? âIsidro?â she whispered.
There was only silence â silence from him, and silence beyond the curtain that screened them. The flood of energy had lasted only a moment and the burst of light even less, not
âWhere ⦠where are we?â she said, her voice hoarse in her dry throat.
âWhere? That I canât say. I donât exactly know.â
âBut the soldiers! The armies must be close â¦â she couldnât have travelled far with short rations, no map and a mind muddled from cold.
âIâm told weâre safe, for the moment,â he said. âAre you hungry? Rhia is asleep, but she left food and water in case you woke.â
âI ⦠I am a little thirsty.â
He knew the darkness far better than she, but the movement sent ripples of fire through his arm again. When she heard the water slosh, she groped blindly for it, keeping her hands low so that they wouldnât touch his. She found it by the base, a water-skin nestled in a pouch of fur to keep it from freezing. There was a leather stopper in the horn spout, and Sierra pulled it free and drank thirstily in the dark.
Her hands shook as she remembered how he had screamed.
Once sheâd had her fill, the stopper eluded her, but finally she found it swinging on its cord and fumbled it back into the spout. She went to set the still-bulging skin down, but it knocked against something unseen in the gloom. There was a rattle of pottery and wood, and both she and Isidro reached out to catch it. Before she could stop herself, Sierra felt her fingers brush against his.
A spark of energy jumped between them, a glowing thread like a miniature lightning bolt, casting an eerie light over this tiny corner of the tent. With one blurred glimpse through watering eyes, Sierra saw the worn blanket that screened them, the rumpled furs and the wooden camp-stool sheâd upset. She saw his face, pale and gaunt with hollow cheeks and dark eyes â just one glimpse and then the light blinded her, sparking a fierce pain behind her eyes and an almighty thump within her skull. Within moments, the great pulse of power that flowed into her from that touch washed all that discomfort away.
All at once, she was within him, wearing his skin and feeling the bones of his arm grinding beneath the splints. She felt the healing burns itching on his back, the thumping of his own head and the flush of fever in his cheeks, and the weary ache of his lungs as the pneumonia still battled within him. He was exhausted by it all, utterly worn down by pain that would not let him rest and would not let him heal. The lingering infection was still there: as he neared the end of his reservesit would rise up again to finish him. She could feel it festering away, a mindless enemy lurking within his flesh.
For one moment, she was aware of every inch of him, then the rising tide of power flooded her with warmth. His pain was ebbing away, coming to her in a rush of power. His muscles went lax and she felt him slowly collapse even though he fought it, struggling to hold himself up and resist the outgoing tide that would leave him empty and dry.
Sierra felt him struggle, but with the power shimmering in her mind it seemed only a curiosity, something pretty to see, like sunlight on water. Of course it would fade as the sun set, the light dwindling to a few pale flecks.
But the power was coming so fast she couldnât drink it in quickly enough and it spilled over in a flood of light as multiple strands of energy burst from her hands, minute bolts of lightning that flickered and rippled ceaselessly, questing for some anchor. The light stabbed at her blinded eyes and with a yelp of pain Sierra broke the contact and quenched the light, pulling it back beneath her skin with a wrench of effort.
The tent was still and quiet once again, except for the pounding in her head. By the Black Sun herself, what just happened? âIsidro?â she whispered.
There was only silence â silence from him, and silence beyond the curtain that screened them. The flood of energy had lasted only a moment and the burst of light even less, not
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