Page 18 of Zenith Tower

Caspian came closer. “Did you see Delphine?”

“No.” I dried my wet hand against my skirt. “But Marrow knew I was looking for her before I said her name.”

No one spoke.

The water in the pitcher settled. Beyond the closed door came the low rush of the Tower’s hidden channels. Somewhere below us, the same silver light crossed the boy’s room.

Astra

Kieran reached for the water.

I filled the cup and brought it to him. His fingers closed around it, then opened again without warning.

The cup struck the stone floor. Water ran beneath the bed.

Hale was moving before I understood what had happened. He caught Kieran by the shoulders as his body folded forward.

“Kieran.”

Kieran tried to answer. His mouth formed the first sound, but no voice followed it.

The green-gold line showed through his shirt.

It had been a narrow burn along his shoulder when I left for the water. Now light spread beneath the cloth in branching lines, crossing toward the center of his chest. His back arched once against Hale’s arm.

“Pull the cord,” Hale said.

Caspian crossed the room and pulled it hard enough to strike the wall. The cord gave him nothing.

I climbed onto the bed beside Kieran and took his face between my hands. His skin was burning.

“Look at me.”

His eyes found mine and slipped away.

Hale pressed two fingers beneath Kieran’s jaw. His other hand spread over Kieran’s ribs. “His pulse is too fast. Kieran, breathe out.”

Kieran’s chest shuddered. The breath came, thin and wet. He could not draw the next one.

“Again,” Hale said. His voice stayed level, but his hand shook against Kieran’s ribs. “Come on.”

Caspian opened the door and shouted into the corridor. “We pulled the cord. Get someone in here now.”

The attendant appeared at the far end. She saw Kieran in Hale’s arms and ran.

The movement startled me more than the shout had. Until then, no one in the Tower had hurried for us.

Kieran’s fingers dragged weakly across the blanket. I caught his hand and held on.

His grip closed once around mine. The silver-green light flared across his chest, then dimmed so quickly that the room seemed darker after it.

Hale swore under his breath.

The woman from the bridge entered with the reader who carried the leather case and two stewards bearing a narrow stretcher. She went straight to the bed.

“How long?” she asked.

“Less than a minute,” Hale said. “Loss of grip first. Then speech. He stopped drawing breath after that.”