Six Scorched Roses (Crowns of Nyaxia)

I opened the door, and Farrow stood there, his sandy hair wild and eyes wide. Sheer terror.

He sagged against the frame when I opened the door, like he was so relieved to see me that all his muscles gave out.

Mine, on the other hand, tensed, as my fragile newfound hope smashed to the floor.

“You have to go.”

He said it so fast that the four words ran together in a single exhale.

“What—”

“They’re coming for you,” he blurted out. “They came to the city looking for help. They’re coming for him, and then for you. You have to go.”

He grabbed my arm, as if ready to haul me away by force. But I remained rooted, stuck, dread falling over me like a cold shadow.

I didn’t need to ask who “they” were.

Because I could picture Thomassen’s cold, suspicious stare. I could picture Vale’s ravens and magic. I could picture all the little marks of my friend I left around this house, now so blatantly, foolishly, stupidly obvious.

What was the obvious end to this story? Ignorant zealots who didn’t want to die were presented with a god that no longer loved them, and an illness that just kept spreading, and a vampire upon which they could blame it all.

Easy. A simple equation.

They’re coming for you.

They’re coming for him.

“You have some time, but you need to leave,” Farrow was saying in the background. “You can stay in my apartment in the city. I’ll have a carriage waiting and—”

“No.”

I wrenched my arm out of his grip, turning back to my office.

“No?” he echoed.

“Take Mina and leave without me.”

“But Lilith—”

Farrow kept talking, quickly, but I wasn’t listening to whatever he was saying. I let his voice run into the background.

We had no time for words. Only actions.

I grabbed my coat. My bag. My precious, precious bag.

Mina. I needed to—

“What do you mean, no?”

Funny, how Farrow’s voice disappeared into the din of my rushing blood, while Mina’s, weak as it was, made every other sound disappear.

I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard her sound like that. Enraged.

I turned slowly. She stood in the doorway. Or, maybe “stood” was too strong a term—she leaned heavily against the frame. I was struck all over again by how weak she looked—it seemed like she had even shrunk. How long had she been standing there? Only long enough to hear Farrow arrive, and yet dust already gathered in the ridges of the floorboards at her feet.

I realized, with a sinking feeling, that Mina couldn’t go anywhere, no matter what Farrow said.

We were running out of time. My sister’s was almost gone.

My eyes slipped away. I rummaged through my bag.

The medicine. It was early. It was risky, but—

“What do you mean, no?” she repeated. “Where are you going?”

“I just…” My tongue wouldn’t cooperate with me.

She made a strangled sound, almost a humorless laugh. “You’re going to him.”

If I hadn’t been so distracted, I might have been surprised. My sister saw more of me than I thought she did.

I just said, “I have to go. Here—”

“Enough, Lilith. Just—just stop.”

Mina’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to make me pause.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

My fingers, deep in my bag, closed around that single precious vial of medicine. I couldn’t bring myself to lift my eyes.

“Look at me. You never look at me anymore.”

I turned around slowly.

I never found it necessary to look people in the eye when I spoke to them, a bad habit since childhood. But with Mina… it was different. It wasn’t about discomfort or disinterest or manners. I had to force myself to meet her gaze, to acknowledge all the blatant signs of death devouring her. She stepped closer, not blinking. She had our father’s eyes. Light and bright, like the sky.

Right now, they begged me for something.

My risk calculation resolved to a single solution.

“Give me your hand,” I said.

It wasn’t what Mina wanted from me. I knew that. But I couldn’t give her that warmth, that affection. What I could do was try to save her life.

“Don’t go there,” she said. “We can fix this.”

Ridiculous. What would “fixing it” look like, in her mind? Restoring the status quo? Curling up to die quietly in a socially acceptable manner?

No.

“I am fixing it,” I snapped. “Give me your arm.”

“This isn’t—”

“I refuse to let you all die.” I didn’t mean to shout. I did anyway. “It isn’t supposed to take you and I won’t let it. So give me your gods-damned hand.”

Her jaw tightened until it trembled. Those blue eyes shone with tears.

But she thrust out her hand, exposing a forearm of pale skin so thin the webs of veins beneath were easy to see.

I didn’t give myself time to doubt as I filled the needle and injected her. She winced, and I realized I was so used to the durability of Vale’s skin that I’d pushed too hard. A veil of dust fell to the floor. So fragile now.

I withdrew the needle and turned away abruptly.

“Don’t open the door for anyone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I thought she’d tell me to stay, again. Thought she’d still try to talk me out of it. Farrow was looking at me like I was some kind of foreign beast—the same way he looked at a specimen that didn’t make sense, his brow knitted, jaw tight. He was seeing something new in me, something that didn’t reconcile with the version of me he had always known.

Maybe I was seeing that in myself today, too.

I couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing.

“I’m coming with you,” Farrow said.

I didn’t look at him. I grabbed the axe from the wall and threw my pack over my shoulder. “Fine,” I said. “Then let’s go.” And I slammed the door behind me.