Page 190 of Skalterra By Nightmare
The fire in my veins burned, and the porcelain chicken pulsed in my hand where I held it against my chest.
“And take my cat!” Lips pressed against my forehead. “I love you, Wren. Tell your mother when you see her that I love her too.”
“No…”
I fought through my blurring vision for a final glimpse of my grandmother, but then Ciarán was running and lights were bursting overhead as I called for Gams. Ice groaned and cracked, and a massive chunk of ceiling fell. Maybe telling Stanley to warn Tamora was a mistake. She’d been a useful distraction, but she wanted the same thing Ferrin did.
Screams echoed through the cavern, and blue lightning flashed in the enclosed space, sending fissures spiderwebbing across the frozen surfaces of the walls.
“Ciarán!” The cavern was collapsing, and from my vantage in Ciarán’s arms, I could see the ice above us crumbling.
“I’ve got you,” he panted.
“But Orla and—”
“Worry about yourself for once, Blue.”
The cave opened up overhead, revealing a fog-laden sky. Skalterran sun percolated through and bounced off the icebergs that floated in the water around us. Everything was in shades of white, blue, and gray, and Jonquil mewed somewhere nearby.
I was meeting Skalterra for the first time, in the light of day with my real face and my real self.
I’d made it back, but I wanted to go home. I wanted my mom. I needed my grandma.
“Gams…”
An explosion of yellow and green rocked us sideways, and the sun snuffed out.
45. Intro to Storm Chasing
Everything hurt.
A dull heat throbbed in my muscles, and sweat slicked my brow. I could feel it pooling beneath my back too, but I shivered, impossibly cold despite the heavy blankets that covered me. Nausea and pain roiled in my stomach, and a metal taste tinged my tongue. My ribs were the worst, though. Each breath I took sent shooting pains up my sides and across my chest.
While the purring weight on my ankles was familiar, the musky pillows beneath me were not, yet there was something cozy and reassuring about their smell.
But I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know if Gams was okay, or if the world was still in one piece. I felt like a dying fire, crumbling to ashen embers in my borrowed bed, used up, dried out, and turning cold.
I pushed myself up, forcing my way through the agony spasming through my ribs. Fur pelts insulated the wooden walls, and the lack of windows made it feel like a cave. A lantern that flickered with an orange flame cast long shadows up the pelts and across the ceiling beams.
Its light illuminated the dark sheen of Ciarán’s hair where he stood with his back to me in the doorway. I wondered where his cloak had gone, especially with how cold the room was, but then I recognized its tattered folds across my lap.
Jonquil blinked at me from the foot of the bed, curled up next to Liam’s backpack.
“Water?” I croaked. My tongue felt like sandpaper.
“There’s a skein next to you.” Ciarán kept his back to me.
I prodded at the shadows of my quilts until I found the leather container. I uncorked the mouth, and gagged on the liquid when it seared my raw throat.
“Careful,” Ciarán murmured.
“Where are we?” I demanded. “Where’s my grandmother?”
“We’re at an outpost in the foothills.”
“And Gams?” I pleaded. He was silent, as quiet as he was immobile. “Ciarán?”
“My Lady?”
