Page 151 of With Wing And Claw

Hands touched her body, and everything became a thousand times worse.

‘Sashka!’ someone cried.

She clung to that voice. A good voice. A voice that shouldn’t be there at all, even though she did not remember why it couldn’t be.

‘Sashka, I’m so sorry …’

The pain subsided, andshe was gone again.

Sunset. Bed. Soft … soft blankets.

Sobbing.

Someone was sobbing.

Pain came and went, in pulsing, irregular flares. Like the sputtering of a dying flame. Like falling asleep but jerking awake again, over and over and …

‘Naxi,’ a voice was saying.

She knew who it belonged to. She just couldn’t remember, couldn’t make sense of him here, by her bed, in the sunset. More than anything, it seemed a voice that ought to hate her.

‘Naxi,’ it said again.

More muffled sobs. Other voices were speaking in the distance. Thysandra tried to move her head and couldn’t decide what side of her body it was on.

‘Naxi, I’ve got her. You can let go. I’ve got …’

The pain died away again.

Her mouth was dry as parched leather.

But she blinked her eyes open, and her mind was strangely, weightlessly clear – a spring morning sort of feeling, as if the dew was still sparkling on her thoughts.

She was in her own bedroom. In her own bed. Plants smiled back at her from the walls and the ceiling. She no longer hurt, and her breath was slow, her skin smooth and unharmed; all her limbs were where they ought to be, moving at her command. The damaged blue dressshe’d been wearing was gone, and instead a soft white nightgown had been tucked around her body.

A glass of water stood on the nightstand. She gulped it all down in a single swig.

Better.

What next?

Swinging her legs out of bed was an experiment. The rug was incomprehensibly fluffy against her toes, as if her feet had never touched anything like it before – and then she stood, warily, tentatively, and her legs held even as she turned and twisted to test her balance. When she didn’t fall, she took her first step forward. Her knees didn’t buckle.

From the living room, voices emerged.

Naxi.

A faint memory of bitter sobs rose in her mind, and all at once, her head was no longer so blissfully quiet.

She stumbled around to find her familiar green dressing gown, with awkward, clumsy motions, as if she was moving in a tangible body for the very first time. It wasn’t Naxi’s voice coming from behind the door, she realised only moments later. Still, it took her two more staggering steps to identify the person whowasspeaking—

‘… told an actualgodto stop fucking around?’

Emelin.

In her living room.

Sounding blissfully unconcerned, that rather puzzling question laced with barely suppressed laughter.