Page 145 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“Cade?” I called after the man. My legs were like jelly, and I needed Skal, but I managed to keep up. “You’re Orla’s brother?”
“I knew this would happen,” he muttered more to himself than to me. Orla had never mentioned a brother, and it was difficult to guess which of the two were older. “I told her not to go. Begged her.”
“She’s not dead yet.”
But the ghastly pallor that had taken over Orla’s face made me second-guess the words. I’d carried her all this way. She couldn’t be dead. Not when I’d tried so hard.
We ducked down a side corridor. Green Skal-light reflected off the polished surface of the floor, and I tried to swallow my heart back down into my chest where it belonged.
However, it continued to beat in my throat as the corridor opened into a long room lined with cots. Moonlight poured in through the open wall opposite the beds, and stars glittered over a carpet of misty clouds that stretched on forever below us. Despite having little more than intermittent columns of rock to block out the elements, the room was warm and windless. White Skal burned in lanterns, and men and women in pale blue tunics hurried to take Orla from the guard.
They lowered her onto a cot and began pulling her armor away. I let myself get shoved to the edge of the fray. Medics called for supplies and for space to work, and one of them pulled Cade back despite his efforts to stay at his sister’s side.
I watched them extricate the strips of cloak I’d used as makeshift bandages. They were soaked through with blood.
“Nightmare!” Rough hands grabbed my shoulders to spin me around. Galahad’s grizzled face was inches from mine, and I stumbled backwards. His stomach and chest were bandaged under his leather duster, and maybe it was the white light from the lanterns, but he looked paler than usual.
His gray eyes burned with something like fury, and I gulped.
I’d nearly killed him by taking all his Skal.
“I’m sorry,” I gushed. “I didn’t mean—”
He put his gnarled hands back on my shoulders, and pulled me in for a hug.
I froze in the embrace.
Maybe it wasn’t a hug. Maybe it was a very slow tackle.
Galahad gave a shuddering sigh in my arms, and then pulled away with tears in his eyes.
“I thought I’d killed you,” he said. “I thought I’d worse than killed you. I was so certain you’d turned rotsbane. I don’t know how you didn’t.”
I shrugged, still taken aback by Galahad’s sudden remorse and affection.
“I don’t know,” I lied. Ciarán’s tether was still there, weakly burning in the pit in my stomach. I hoped Galahad couldn’t feel it.
He stared over my shoulder at the medics surrounding Orla’s cot.
“Who’ve you told?”
“Told?” I repeated. “You mean the purple—”
He pressed a finger against his lips.
“I’d heard her mother was close with Oren, but…” He trailed off, and I felt as if the infirmary floor had dropped out from under me.
Ferrin had told me about Oren and how Orla’s mother had died protecting him.
“Oren Quill?” I asked. “But he was a Divine Sovereign.”
Galahad nodded slowly, and I twisted around to try to get a better look at Orla in her bed.
“The Quills were known for their purple Skal,” Galahad whispered. “And you’re sure it was Orla’s Skal you saw burning purple?”
“Positive. But why would they keep that a secret and not tell at least Orla?”
Galahad snorted.
