Essi’s hurt.
She always tries to hide when she’s hurt.
I dash toward her, rip the blanket off, and grab her by the shoulder, tugging her gently onto her back despite her coiled reluctance. My gaze is immediately drawn to her hands clutched atop her abdomen, both of them shaking, slathered in … in …
Blood.
My gut churns as I take in her pallid complexion. The sheen of sweat dappling her brow despite her chattering teeth. I drop to my knees, pulling her hands back and lifting her shirt, revealing a stab wound leaking a constant ribbon of blood.
Every cell in my body stills, my lungs seizing—like jagged shards of ice just slit through them.
I’m suddenly sure I’m in a different place. A different time. Or perhaps I’m caught in one of my slumber-terrors?
Yes. That must be it. Essi’s not lying on the seater, covered in blood. She doesn’t have a hole in her abdomen, right where there are important organs that take time and finesse and a specialized mender to fix.
No.
She’s sitting at the table, working on a diamond cap she’s been obsessing over, eating buttermin loaf that makes our house smell like a home.
This isn’t real.
Not real.
Not—
“I don’t want to end up in the snow, Raeve.”
Our stares clash, her wide eyes wild with a fear that claws through my chest, threatening to cleave me apart.
Snow? What’s she talking about?
“Please don’t drop me down to the cold or put me in the ground,” she begs through trembling lips, her eyes so wide the tips of her lashes meet her brows, the red flecks in her irises lit like blown embers. “Feed me to the fire where I’ll never be cold again.”
“Stop talking like you’re going anywhere,” I growl, stuffing the blanket on her wound to stem the flow. “You’re staying right here with me, safe in our home.”
Just as soon as I get her fixed up.
“You’re going to be okay,” I murmur, looking to the kitchen cupboard where my mending kit is stored. I need to grab something to pack the wound full and bind it in place so she doesn’t bleed out while I carry her down to the Ditch.
Sereme can fleshthread. She’ll help if I fall to her feet and beg. She’ll probably drip Essi’s blood into the vial, using the excuse that she needs the bind to mend her, but I’ll find a way to deal with the bitch once Essi’s safe.
Fuck the repercussions.
“Put pressure on this.” I shift her icy hand and press it upon the blanket. “I’m going to grab some supplies so I can get you to Sereme—”
“I’m cold, Raeve.”
Her fractured voice cuts a messy hole in the silence, carving into my chest, deflating my lungs.
I meet her watery stare that’s barely holding focus.
Fear erupts behind my ribs with such violent force that cracks weave through my stony heart, exposing the fleshy core—so raw and vulnerable, withering like a juicy fruit tossed to a hungry flame.
“I can’t feel your h—” Her words cut off, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she works to catch her rhythm again, panic exploding in her eyes. “I can’t feel your hand on me. I can’t feel it, Raeve—”
“You’re always cold, Essi.” I swallow the lump in my throat, battling to keep my voice steady. I know the signs. I’ve seen death too many times not to know the fucking signs. “We live on the cold side. This is normal.”
It’s normal.
It’s normal.
It’s—
Her face scrunches, and my chest feels like it mimics the motion, making me want to ball up around the ache.
“Hold me?” she asks, a wobbly plea that begs me to fall with her into the hungry maw of resignation. Her entire body jerks, hands clawing at her middle, an angry spill of red seeping through the blanket and squelching between her fingers. “Please?”
I climb onto the seater and curl around her, my hand flattened across her chest, the other tangling with the one on her abdomen. She releases a shuddered breath, and I crush our bodies together, holding her so tight I picture my strength binding her like a bandage. Picture her sitting at the table, etching a normal trinket into something exceptional, her mind full of magnificent thoughts and an ample amount of blood in her veins. Whole.
Happy.
But she’s not.
She’s broken in my arms, draining away …
“Who did this, Essi?”
She flinches, like my cold, monotone words slit her through.
“I didn’t see. I rounded a corner and w-walked straight into him. It was … d-dark.”