Page 239 of Carousel

“Cosmer?”

His eyes remain shut.

“I’ll get you up⁠—”

But he talks over me. “Drake,” he says, in a decisive way. Like he’s worked something out.

I use both of my hands to loop his arm around my shoulder and get him resting on me. His head lolls into my neck.

Humouring him, I ask, quietly, “What about Drake?”

He states, in the husky, high-pitched voice I associate now with osimidite, “He’s the person you were engaged to.”

The words keep me suspended.

“I…” I begin, about to deny it.

But I can’t. I love him too much to lie to him outrightly.

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter, because I have a plan. Like I told you.”

But it’s like he didn’t hear that part at all. Only the yes.

Because he just murmurs, “Drake is a prince. The Prince.”

“Yes,” I say again.

He says nothing else.

I haul him up to a standing position and walk us jaggedly over to the ladder. He can take steps, but barely. I’m supporting almost his full weight.

But it’s okay. As long as I can get him out of here, we’ll be fine.

The closer we get, the more I can breathe again. The cooler, fresher air is taunting.

I’ve almost got us to safety, I let myself think. I can’t quite believe I’ve managed it, but I have.

We finally reach the ladder.

“Do you think you can climb it, if I go first and pull you up?”

His answer is immediate. “I can’t do it.”

“Can you at least try for me? I don’t want to have to leave you to get help.”

Because I don’t trust you not to go right back to the tank.

He lets out an odd laugh.

His eyes flicker open.

They’re frightening. His pupils are huge, an effect only enhanced by the thick bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept in years. The whites of his eyes are bloodier than ever, and his irises are no longer a rich, beautiful brown. Now, they’re a dull, flat stony colour. If death came in colour, it would be this.

“Not the ladder, Ara,” he sighs. “Being with you.”

I almost drop him.

I croak, stupidly, “What did you say?” Because maybe I misheard him.