So when the dagger is finally passed to me, I know what to do. All five of them hold out the chalice before me. Each of them supporting the base with two fingers.
I unbutton the top button of my shirt and run my fingers over the hollow of my throat where I know Ruvan’s blood mark is on me. Gently, carefully, I pierce my skin. Blood flows freely in rivulets over the dagger, down my fingers, and spills off my knuckles into the cup. I give more than the rest of them. I pour my power out until the wound closes over. The last of the strength Ruvan imparted to me with his kiss leaves my body with the crimson liquid.
“Blood of the bloodsworn,” I intone.
The liquid in the chalice deepens in color, giving off its own natural light briefly. The glow is similar to the shade of the dagger in the smithy. I wonder now if, or how, it could be used in these rituals. I have so much to learn about the blood lore. There’s so much more I can do for them if I’m bold enough to learn and brave enough to try.
The light fades, leaving nothing but a thick and inky paste in the goblet.
“Give it to him,” Callos says reverently.
I take the stem of the chalice and the rest of their grasps fall away. Alone, I move closer to Ruvan. The group hovers a few steps away at the bedside. Gently, I slip my hand underneath Ruvan’s neck, right at the nape, lifting slightly so the weight of his head tips back and his mouth parts slightly.
“Drink, please,” I whisper. His eyes flutter, as if he hears me. The skin of mine that touches his warms slightly. He knows I’m here. I’m sure of it.
Placing the chalice at his lips, I tip slowly. The thick liquid oozes into his mouth. His throat works to swallow.
“That’s it,” I murmur, continuing to pour. I want to dump the whole thing at once so he’s better instantly. Watching him imbibe, sip by sip, is agony.
The chalice is empty and I hand it back to Callos. On instinct, I press my fingertips into the base of his throat, where my mark is on him. I try and pour something of me into him—something more than the blood I gave.
I’m already suffering the absence of my brother and distance from my home, don’t make me suffer your loss too.
Ruvan’s eyes flutter open and I breathe relief. His skin begins to fill out once more. The gray seeps away. His usual pallor returns. Even the rosy hue of his cheeks and dusk of his lips is back. His eyes are lustrous pools of molten gold once more and yet his expression is one of heartbreak and sorrow.
Our worlds narrow onto each other and, for a second, we breathe in tandem. He has returned to me and I to him. My fingers twitch and I fight the suddenly insatiable urge to pull him to me. To crash my mouth against his. To hold him until we fall into a deep and dreamless slumber.
“How long was I out for?” He sits, rubbing his temples lightly. I ease away to give him space, trying to exhale the tension as I do.
“Only a few hours,” Quinn answers. “At least, that would be my assumption based on how you were last night and when I found you.”
“A few hours and I feel like death.”
“Looked like it, too,” Winny chirps, but her voice is void of its usual songlike levity. She’s trying to lighten the mood, but misses the mark slightly. Worry has taken root in all our hearts.
“It’s getting worse.” Ruvan voices what we’ve all just seen. What we already knew.
I open my mouth to object, but Quinn cuts me off.
“It is,” he says gravely. None of the others are able to look at Ruvan.
“I won’t succumb yet; I still have work to do,” Ruvan says, determined. “We haven’t even had time to go through all the records. The curse anchor wasn’t in the workshop, but I’m sure those records will lead us to it.”
“And what will you do if they don’t?” Ventos demands to know.
“I’ll keep hunting.”
“Until you become a Fallen or, worse, a Lost?”
“I will work until the last moment if that’s what it takes to free our people from this long night!” Even though Ruvan is seated in bed, he suddenly seems to consume all empty space in the room. The very foundations of the castle seem to tremble at his voice.
“I don’t want to kill you.” Lavenzia is the one who finds the bravery to speak in the wake of Ruvan’s rage and frustration.
“What?” I whisper. None of them hear, even though I’m searching each of them for a truth other than the one being presented before me.
“No other lord or lady has expected it of their covenant,” Ventos says solemnly.
Ruvan avoids their pointed stares and murmurs, “We’re so close, I can feel it… I must keep working.”
