Page 125 of Frost and Death
I blink slowly, feeling as if I am drifting in and out of consciousness.
Time slows without Dorit.
The cramping remains, gnawing and gnashing its way through me.
I lose my grip on the lip of the tub, and I slink back to the floor, curling myself into a ball. Darkness and light take turns as I lie here, waiting, pleading for medicine.
Once I have medicine, I will be fine. The pain will dull enough for me to function, and then I can dress for the day and maybe ask Cordelia and Ophelia for extra pastries.
Jerrick won’t be happy with my absence.
In the back of my mind, I fear he will withhold training for a longer period.
The thought adds to my stress and brings forth more tears.
I tuck my head into my chest, squeezing myself tightly. Sobs escape me as I tremble and lose control over my body.
An aching song wraps itself around me, unsure why each step toward redemption, toward saving, toward healing, is stripped and ripped away.
Darkness sings and calls to my pain, the abyss of grief creeping to the surface of my mind, knowing my misery will be joined with good company.
My breaths turn ragged, a figurative idea of Oblivion not only dragging me from my family, but torturing me for deceiving those I’ve come to care for here in Palaena. The harsh reminder of guilt persecutes me, my efforts to rectify my assumptions and misgivings gone.
I wish there was somethingreal—something tangible to bring me back from the disarray of my mind.
Warmth prickles against my arm, and I whimper at the small prayer being answered.
But even through my agony, I cannot manage to face Dorit and thank her. I’m too wrapped in myself, body and mind, to break free of this torment.
I burrow deeper into myself, hating the feeling of helplessness that always seeks me out.
Helplessness is a wound which opens any time a glimpse of hope shimmers in my life, festering and infecting its way through my body and soul to keep me from helping myself, my people, and my kingdom.
But now it’s also keeping me from helping Palaena, from my friends, from—
The warmth trickles down my arm again, and it only makes me bawl harder, believing this small mercy will be taken away soon, too.
“Tove,” a feminine voice says. “Tove, we are here. I’ve brought medicine.”
The soft sound touches my heart, but it’s the second familiar, beautiful, rich tone that touches my very soul.
“Come here, Frostbite,” the man murmurs in my mind.
I scrunch my face tight, the nickname Jerrick gave me sounding endearing and beckoning. Deities, if he were here, hewould probably scold me for not bringing our food tray to the library.
I would take being scolded by him rather than the throes of misery right now.
At least if I were around him, rather than dealing with this, I could offer him extra pastries from the kitchens, only to gorge on them myself when he wasn’t looking.
A gentle hand touches me, gripping tight and tugging me away from the shell I’ve hidden in.
My face is damp from crying, light salt in the air, but when I am dragged out from under myself, cologne hits me like a boulder.
I whimper as Jerrick’s smell and touch guides me from the pit of darkness in my mind, drawing my eyes open to see him.
My turmoil and suffering dissipate as I take him in, my heart hammering.
And when thatdamndimple appears through his worried gaze, relief overcomes me. I don’t know if I am crying because he has seen me in worse conditions or because he is here and helped drag me away from my despair.
