Page 64 of This Shattered Star

He gave me a tight smile, one that resembled more of a grimace. He dutifully avoided the second splatter of blood. “A strong soldier nurses their own wounds. Right?”

I’m sorry,I wanted to say. But my lips were sewn shut, bound by thread stronger than any chain. Those two words burned at the back of my throat, clawing and shredding until they died there, buried forever.

It was Brannon’s turn to stifle a yawn. My own limbs sagged as I turned away, drifting over to the foot of the bed and perching on it like a skittish bird. I couldn’t look any of them in the eye.

Coward,a small voice whispered in the back of my mind.Mine.It wasmyvoice.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

“If you’re going to parade about with open wounds, that’s fine by me. But don’t get blood on the sheets,” Kodhan bit out, unmoving from his spot by the entry.

He starred absently at me—no,throughme—like I was as non-corporeal as the shadows dancing across the walls once more. I was bare. Exposed. His fingertips brushed together absently before clenching into a tight fist.

Theia wordlessly made her way back to her spot on the floor, Brannon following closely behind.

I would find a way to apologize.I had to.But my body weighed several tons, bones creaking with every breath. Without thinking, I laid across the sheets, bloody hands and all. My eyelids drooped closed on their own. There was no use trying to force them open, they were melted shut.

The soup,that small voice screamed, horror cascading down my frozen limbs with a violent tremor.

The soup had been poisoned.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cold, hard metal bit into my legs and shoulder blades, a sharp chill seeping into the back of my vest and pants like hoarfrost.

No—that wasn’t right. Leathery black material no longer covered me. Padded armor and metal scales were replaced with smooth, frilly white ribbons. And the dark burgundy skirts covering my legs were heavily layered, yet moved like water as I sat upright.

I rubbed a single ribbon between my thumb and forefinger, its silkiness bringing a deep sense of comfort to a part of my mind that had long since been locked behind a door with several deadbolts snapped across the surface.

A door whose key was supposed to be lost forever.

This is my favorite dress,I realized, breathing in the sweet aroma wafting from rose bushes scattered close by. I was sitting on a steel bench—the one Mother had set in her gardens for me, to lay on during clear nights like these. A better alternative to finding me covered in dirt with another dress ruined.

Clean air. No dust or humidity from enclosed corridors that—

A dizzying throb pounded against my right temple, halting the thought. Three slow breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, had it subsiding.

I remembered now. I’d been told to wait here, while Mother tended to wilted flowers nearby.

Fickle thing, flowers. Beautiful, yet always dying. Barely living before turning grey under the gentlest of hands.

Still, that never bothered her.

Don’t you see, my little flower,she’d once told me, my small hands cradling a tulip I’d picked from a dying cluster in feeble attempts to save it.Don’t you see there is just as much beauty in life as there is in death?

She’d wiped at my tears, smearing dirt across my cheeks. Then, together, we’d uprooted the cluster of tulips and planted new seeds. The flowers that grew in their place were as vibrant as the lights in the sky. Like the previous roots had paved way for something even more extraordinary.

“Are you alright, darling?”

The breath that rasped through my lungs cut through the air like an arrow.

“Mother?” My voice sounded so small, so young.

Nothing could prepare me for the warmth of her palm as it slid over my brow to cup my cheek, her honey eyes boring into mine while she kneeled before me. Her hair, as gold as Diana’s, remained unbound, falling over her shoulders.

Though they had same shade, Mother always left hers down unless absolutely necessary, whereas Diana’s was always pinned up. They’d always been two sides of the same coin. One perfectly rigid, and the other melodiously chaotic. Perhaps it was why Mother was so adamant on wearing it differently.

I greedily leaned into it, savoring her touch even though it couldn’t possibly be real.