Tella wanted to fall back asleep the instant she woke up, if this stifling form of consciousness could actually be considered wakefulness. Her eyes would not open. Her lips would not move. But she could feel the pain, searing so sharply. Her entire world was formed of injured bones and sliced skin, punctuated by fragments of sounds and wayward words, as if her hearing couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to work.
There were two voices, male, both echoing. Tella’s groggy head conjured images of rocky walls hidden deep underground.
“What did…” “I—”
“Save … her…”
“I know the risks … but Fates … She won’t heal.” “I thought the Prince … was the only Fate free?”
“These Fates … stayed hidden for years … or the spell imprisoning the Fates is weakening.”
The other voice muttered a curse.
Tella felt it then, something that wasn’t pain, wet against her lips.
Thicker than water and slightly metallic. Blood.
“Drink.”
Something warm pressed more firmly against Tella’s mouth, until she could feel the damp blood dripping onto her tongue. Her first instinct was to spit it out. But it was still impossible to move, and she enjoyed the way it tasted, like power and strength and something fierce enough to make her heart race. With extreme effort she managed to lick and drink down more.
“Good girl.” It was one of the voices from before, but now that some of her pain had dulled Tella could add a name. Julian.
“That should be enough.” The second voice was lower and more commanding. Dante.
Tella’s heart beat even faster.
An instant later there was no more blood. The pain was still present but it was dulled to an aching.
“Find her sister.” Dante again. “Get her into Tella’s room at the palace. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”
A pause followed, extended in a way that made Tella fear her hearing had failed her until Julian’s voice broke the quiet. “You really care about her?”
Another pause.
“I care about finding those cards, and she’s our best hope for it, brother.”
