The Archshade

Thirty-Six

With the peponi dose stashed securely under my arm, I wriggle out from under the bed and scurry back into the servant's passage. The boy who guided me to Darcron's chambers is long gone.

After clambering through the passage, I emerge in the kitchens again and run the entire way back to Daynar's chambers. Throwing the door open, I barrel into the dark sitting room and rush into Daynar's bedchamber. I pop open the lid of the box, grasp the needle-point tool, and toss the empty case over my shoulder.

"I found—!"

I never noticed it before that moment, but living people give off a certain feeling—an aura—of being alive. As I enter, its absence is tangible—the chill of an empty room. Daynar's chest is still, his jaw slack, and his eyes softly shut. He looks so peaceful, but that peace chokes me with panic.

"No no no no no no no."

I repeat the word over and over like a mage chanting a spell. Slick with sweat, my fingers fumble with the tool, then in one motion, I plunge the tip into his thigh as I remember Syris doing. I press down on the back lever, releasing all the fluid. Is it too much? Is it not enough? I withdraw the now useless apparatus. With every inhale, my breath hitches, fighting past the choking sting of despair in my throat. Every second drags by like an hour.

Nothing.

Angrily, I throw the needle tool across the room and move closer to Daynar, straining to listen. Please, gods... something... anything! I cup his face in my hands, his skin already growing cold.

"Daynar?"

Leaning closer, I notice the wet spots on his face wrappings as blood oozes from festering wounds. Being so close brings the rancid smell of the Rot to my nose, but I also breathe in the passive cologne I've come to recognize—a biting ginger sweetness mixed with an earthly smell like fresh rain.

"Daynar!" I shout. "You can't do this!"

Still nothing. Beneath my hands, the cold press of lifeless flesh is his only response. The gnawing fear inside me ignites into a desperate, hammering panic.

"You can't just leave me!"

With a furious strength, I pound my fist against his chest.

Daynar's eyes snap open. Warmth floods his skin like a fever as he wakes with a wild gasp. Beneath my hands, life flares back into him. He heaves in several more breathes, wincing and shivering as the fire from the peponi drug races through his almost dead body. Just like before, Daynar begins thrashing and shuddering.

I lay across his chest, pressing down with all my weight, trying to still the worst of the writhing. I squeeze my eyes shut. The agonized pitch of his cries brings tears to my eyes and sends shudders across my skin, but at the same time, relief weakens my shoulders.

He's alive.

Steadily, I count the seconds between Daynar's ragged breaths, listening to his heart beating weakly beneath my ear. Ever so slowly, his breathing slows to match mine until we're both inhaling and exhaling together. His body settles back on the bed, and I sink against him, dizzy with relief. Beneath me, his chest steadily rises and falls.

Only then do I feel his arm draped over my shoulder. I open my eyes and stay frozen, unsure what to do. I stare down at his other hand and watch with almost tantalizing horror as it weakly moves to rest against me. Encircled by his arms, I blink and tell myself it's just another effect of the drug. Slowly, I turn my head.

Green glass eyes meet my gaze. They're watery with weakness and rimmed with black circles yet burning with life. I struggle to speak past the sudden flutter in my lungs.