Greythorne (Bloodleaf 2)

Stop showing me this, I begged the air, the Gray, the Empyrea, anyone who was listening.

Aurelia! It was Zan in my head now. Aurelia, come back. Hear me. Follow my voice.

I still hadn’t found the bell, but I wanted to get away from the Bleeding Dream. I tried to concentrate, like I had before. To will myself out. To reunite with my body on the other side. But my head was fuzzy. My eyesight was beginning to dim.

Aurelia. Please come back.

I could almost feel Zan’s hand on my hand. But it was just my mind, using its last moments to remember happy, lovely things.

Zan touched my face. I couldn’t see him, but his fingers were light on my skin. I could feel the life draining from me, and I felt my spirit peeling away from the fetters of my body so that it could finally fly free like a bright, brilliant bird taking to the sky. I wondered, fleetingly, what shape my quicksilver tether would take. Who or what would lead me to the other side?

“Aurelia!” Zan’s voice was louder now. Why was he yelling? And so close to my ear. Didn’t he know how tired I was? Couldn’t he tell how desperately I wanted to sleep?

“Merciful stars, Aurelia. Please don’t do this. Please don’t make me do this.”

Zan. Why was he so sad?

I was so tired.

“Wake up,” he whispered. “Please. For me.”

I’d do anything for him, wouldn’t I?

So incredibly tired.

“Open your eyes, Aurelia,” he begged. “Fight.”

He brushed his lips against mine.

A sweet, soft kiss.

I reached back for him, following the golden light of my vitality as it was drawn toward his. And for one fleeting second, I reclaimed my body and kissed him back.

21

Onal was pounding on my chest. One, two, three. Again. One, two, three. Again. Between each blow, she uttered a string of curses so creative and colorful, they could belong only to someone who had been honing a collection for a hundred years. When I was finally able to draw a gasping breath, she hugged me tightly to her bony body, a show of affection more substantial than all I had received from her over my lifetime combined. Nearby, Kellan was doubled over as Rosetta scribbled hexes into the air above him—an effort to sustain him as long as possible while Onal restarted my heart.

Zan was hanging back behind the others, trying to catch his breath. His eyes, when they at last rose to meet mine, were simmering golden cauldrons. He’d kissed me back from the brink of oblivion, but now the light of my vitality was roiling under his skin, too; a transaction that healed and haunted him both at once.

“We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

Over the edge of the tower, I saw them: boats with black sails were headed into the harbor. Emblazoned upon them was the seven-legged spider of the Castillion family crest.

“How did they get so close without anyone noticing?” I cried. “Why didn’t you pull me from the Gray sooner?”

“We did notice,” Onal said. “It’s hard not to notice. And let me tell you, we tried everything. Why do you think we let Killer Touch over there kiss you? We were out of options.”

“How long was I Graywalking?”

“Two days,” Rosetta said.

“Long enough for Castillion to come out to the fjord,” I said, near tears.

“I knew this city, and I know its ruins,” Zan said. “They’re unfamiliar with them. They won’t be able to follow us.” He directed us toward the old stone stairs that led down to the canal passage.

“Why are we going that way?” Kellan asked. “There’s water that way. And ships.”

“And a way out,” Zan said, “that doesn’t involve thorns.”