Page 127 of The Stolen Throne
Achlys reaches up to touch her cheeks, which flush deep red. “She said, ‘Someday I hope you’ll let me kiss you. Because I really want to.’”
My heart stutters in my chest. My sister being so bold. And so… Phew. If Reven did that to me right now… “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Achlys whispers. “Wow.”
I look across at Tabra…or what’s left of her. Even hollowed-out and sallow, her face is so peaceful in sleep. A desperate wish to wake her and get her side of the story, learn when she fell in love with Achlys and how she dared to approach her, all of it, washes over me. But I don’t. Maybe another time.
“I’ll take care of her.” Achlys reaches over and takes my hand. “I’ll put myself between her and harm. Always.”
I squeeze her hand. “I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else.”
The words aren’t even out of my mouth when a subtle movement crosses Tabra’s face.
A familiar ripple.
One I’ve seen cross the face of someone I love more times than I care to count.
Which is when the thing inside my sister smiles.
“Mother goddess.” I scramble back in a flailing of arms, trying to drag Achlys with me. I don’t stop until I hit Reven’s feet. “It can’t be—” I reach behind me to grip Reven’s ankle. “Did you see that?”
I catch the stricken expression tightening Reven’s features.
“See what?” Omma demands, peering down at my sister from where she’s standing on Tabra’s other side like she’s expecting a saw-scaled basilisk to slither out from under Tabra’s pallet.
But I’m already on my feet, grabbing Reven’s arms. “Did you see it?”
His eyes go flat like dark pools of moonless midnight as he stares at Tabra. “I wasn’t sure what I pulled out of Trysolde.”
I frown. What is he talking about? “That thing that floated away?”
He doesn’t answer.
I picture that moment in Wildernyss. Reven struggling so hard with that rope before it finally gave way, followed by the shapeless form of darkness that floated to the top of the room before dissipating, right before Istrella gave us Trysolde’s amulet.
Was that—
I glance at Reven, the question on my tongue. But his expression is so dark, I know whatever answer he gives me will be bad.
“I know what Eidolon poisoned her with.”
53
Draw the
Poison Out
“What poison?” Achlys demands when neither of us speaks. “Can you fix it?”
The blood leaves my head so fast, I think I’m going to faint. I train my gaze on Tabra, who is still sleeping. I know what I saw. I know it.
A face. His face.
That can only mean one thing. I take a shuddering breath. “Is it—”
“Yes.”
Son of a viper. I can’t fix this, but Reven might be able to. Except we were just talking about how his control is hanging on by a rapidly unwinding thread. What I’d be asking him to do is huge. Do we even have a choice, though?
