Page 24 of Ash and Feather

It was in this frustrating, embarrassing position that Mai happened across me. She scrutinized me from head to toe—likely making sure I wasn’t in any immediate danger—before scrunching up her nose and sniffing as though I’d dragged something dead in alongside me.

“You look like shit,” she remarked.

“Thank you,” I said, wincing as I took a deep breath. “That’s helpful.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Well? What did you find out?”

The images from the night’s travels raced through my mind. I shook them away. “Later,” I told her. “I need to go wash the pieces of that realm from my skin.”

Mai’s gaze turned softer and brighter—a mixture of concern and curiosity—but she only bit her lip and gave an understanding nod.

“Karys,” I began, “is she...”

“She’s fine. Still asleep, last I checked.”

I gave her my thanks and staggered to my feet, waving her away as she tried to offer a hand for balance. I managed to stand and walk well enough on my own, and without another word, I climbed the stairs toward my bedroom.

Chapter 7

Karys

I wokein the middle of the night, not because of nightmares or flames building around me, but because of a sudden pressure in my chest—like someone had taken hold of my heart and was trying to wrench it out.

I sat up in a daze. The potion Rieta had given me made my head feel as though it had been stuffed with dandelion fluff. It took several moments to form a coherent thought. Several more to blink my eyes back into focus and remember where I was.

Dravyn’s room.

His bed.

He’d carried me to it, hadn’t he?

Beside me was Moth; he’d slipped under the covers and now rested on his back. His beak was hanging open, little snores occasionally slipping out of it.

It was colder than it usually was in this room; the fireplace was full of nothing but glowing coals.

How odd.

I’d never seen that fire go out.

I rubbed my eyes, blinking a few more times to make certain I was seeing clearly…and what I saw made the uncomfortable pressure in my chest even worse.

At the foot of the bed sat Dravyn, his eyes closed, his head bowed low, his hands clasped together in front of him. His hair was damp. He smelled of mint and soap and oil, and his arms looked to have been scraped roughly enough that welts had formed on his skin, as though he’d gotten carried away while trying to scrub himself clean.

“Dravyn?”

He didn’t reply. Didn’t lift his head or stir at all, even as I sat up straighter and leaned toward him.

“Are you okay?”

Still no reply. I threw the covers aside—waking Moth and earning a disgruntled growl as I did—and I crawled toward Dravyn.

He jumped slightly as my hand fell upon his arm. Up close, I confirmed what I’d suspected: several of the welts looked prominent enough that they’d likely bled before closing into the raised wounds I saw now. Nothing terribly deep, certainly not concerning for a god; they would be healed in the next few minutes, most likely.

But what had caused him to do such a thing?

He still didn’t look at me, so I cupped my hand against his jaw and turned his face toward mine. He didn’t resist. As our gazes met, I had to fight the urge to jump myself. His eyes frightened me. They were glassy, wide, seeing right past me. And his skin…it wasn’tcold, but it was not full of the warmth I was used to from him.

I drew my hand down, pulling it into a fist against my chest as I tried and failed to suppress a shudder.

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