Jittery with power, I bring trembling hands back to Griffin’s chest and send magic into his wound. It tears from me like layers of skin peeling off one by one. I cry out, and Griffin pales, fighting to stay conscious. Magic seeps into him, agonizing for us both. I grit my teeth and keep going until I realize he’s not getting better fast enough. He’s too far gone.
“Get me a knife!” I yell.
Griffin focuses on me one last time before his eyes close.
“No! No! No!” I shriek, shattering on the inside.
I don’t know who hands me the knife. I grab it and make a long, shallow incision from Griffin’s shoulder to his elbow. Flesh splits, and crimson wells up. I flip the flat sides of the knife in his blood, coating both surfaces. No one taught me to make a Death Mark or say the chant. Most of the times it happened to me, I was unconscious. The few times I wasn’t… It’s not something a person forgets.
I raise the knife to Olympus and pour healing magic into the blood, chanting fast and low. I say the incantation ten times. It’s either six or ten. Anything else invites chaos, and more is always better, right?
With the last words, I smear the blood back onto Griffin’s arm. Tossing the knife aside, I put one hand on his chest and the other on his arm and drain myself of the healer’s power. I empty every last drop of it into him. When it’s gone, I pour in some of myself. My magic doesn’t knit wounds, but I have power I don’t understand, that I didn’t even know existed before today.
Once I start, I can’t stop. I was never any good at self-control. My magic begins to shred. It’s startling and painful to feel it ripping free. Disjointed threads collide and splinter, latching on to parts of me that I then dump into Griffin with the single-minded focus of a person on the verge of unbearable loss.
Time is irrelevant. I have no idea how much passes. The flow of magic ebbs as I weaken, leaving me numb. I’m only dimly aware of the first part of the army arriving. Dust swirls, catching in my nostrils and sneaking grit into my mouth. People talk. It’s indistinct, but I think they’re stunned by what they see. The carnage—my carnage—seems far away now. Over. It doesn’t concern me.
Piers falls to his knees across from me, his face washed of all color. Griffin’s face is even paler, and frighteningly still. I want to shove Piers away, but I can’t move. My vision is dulling, my senses cloaked in an ever-thickening fog. Low voices sometimes penetrate it. I hear Kato and wish he would pat my head while Flynn says “shhh” in my ear. This is a nightmare, and I need them to wake me up.
My eyes close and won’t open again. I wage a fierce battle against fatigue. It wins, and I collapse across Griffin’s chest. His tunic is wet and sticky with blood. I want it to be cool like a Fisan lake, but it’s hot. He’s hot. I force my lips to move, to continue a chant I’ve heard healers use, but after a few mumbled words, they stop. I’m heavy on the outside, empty on the inside. I probably did something wrong. I don’t feel my magic anymore. I can’t feel my blood or my breath or my thundering hate. I can’t even tell if Griffin is alive, and I want him to live so much I’d make dark bargains with shadows in the night.
“Poseidon! I’ll do anything!” I silently beg.
An unfamiliar voice invades my head. “Daughter of Fisa, turn to me!” The booming echo between my ears is so frighteningly powerful that I use the last of my strength to cringe. A white light flashes, bright enough to sear unseeing eyes. The accompanying crack of thunder is terrifying. Deafening. I taste Griffin’s blood on my lips before darkness crashes over me like a wave.
CHAPTER 21
I’m not sure where I am. I rattle doors that won’t open, pound on windows with no view. If this is the Underworld, it’s not what I expected. It’s endless, timeless. Crushingly eternal. I thought there would be peace here. I thought it would finally be over. Haven’t I proved my warrior’s heart?
Trapped in this unsettling, empty gloom, my only regret is leaving Griffin.
But then his familiar voice comes to me from somewhere beyond the shadowy veil. Relief sweeps through me, only to be crushed by a devastating thought. Is he alive, or are we both dead? He’s talking, but I can’t hear. The words are garbled and faint, like he’s above the surface, and I’m below.
I kick, trying to reach the light, to hear, but I sink farther under, wondering how I can breathe down here in the dark.
CHAPTER 22
I wake with a moan. The strong arms circling my waist tense, and a long exhale warms the top of my head. I’m instantly aware of the hard, bare chest against my bare back, skin on skin.