Torrents (DROPLETS Trilogy Book 3) (42 page)

A strangled cry tore through my already wounded throat. It echoed in the darkness, meeting silence.

     As suddenly as the sound had leapt into my throat, it turned into a scream of agony as my shoulder lit with a fire I had never experienced. The new scar from Morven’s blade exploded and I writhed beneath its power until it burst into oblivion.

     My heart shivered, and my limbs trembled. The fog in my mind completely disappeared, only to be replaced with the reality of what I had witnessed

     “Patrick!” I croaked, scrambling to my feet with what was left of my strength. My head pounded heavily, as I sprinted across the roof on wobbly legs. Tears poured from my eyes, causing me to go blind in the already torrential rain.

     Reaching the wall, I threw my chest up against it. I swung out over the edge, terrified of what I might see.

     White fingers clung to the side of the castle, straining to hold onto the few inches of stone edging. His arm twisted, the rest of his body struggled to help the fingers maintaining his weight.

     “Here!” I called, my voice sounding as though it came from someone else. All pitch was gone, replaced with an indelicate gargle.

     At my call, he looked upward, his arm shaking and his eyes wide. When my hand came within reach, he swung his body upward to meet it. His solid grasp encircled my wrist, and I grimaced when the edge of the wall bit into my stomach. In sheer desperation, I wrapped both hands around his wrist and pulled back, refusing to let the water separate us. Agony tore through my shaking arms, but he inched closer to the edge of the wall.

     Crawling up, inch by inch, he released my hands and pulled his shoulders onto the ledge. I reached around him to grab the top of his pants. Glancing down, I caught sight of a twisted and mangled body at the base of the wall. His dark hair splayed across his face and his unmoving chest contorted at an unnatural angle. Other merfolk gathered around him, staring as though uncertain it was true. Hyven all across the shores knelt to their knees, arms behind their heads.

     It was over.

     Relief flooded through me, and with one final tug, Patrick’s body forced its way over the edge, knocking me backward. We collided with the ground roughly and just before my head could hit the stone again, he caught it in his hand. He hovered above me, the warmth of him seeping into my skin. When he crushed me to his chest, I clung to him as though there was nothing else tying me to this world.

     We were pain, agony, and desperation trapped together in an embrace of necessity to remember what had been.

     Curling into his chest, my fingers wove around his neck as his pulled me against his body. The scent of him surrounded me, somehow through all the sweat and rain I could still smell the fresh musk of his skin. I inhaled as my heart slowed, steadying to a normal rhythm.

     He shifted our bodies until his back was up against the wall where only moments ago, he had been clinging for life. His legs braced around my body. He tucked my head under his chin, where the steady beat of his heart calmed my nerves.

     All around us the rain continued, running through our hair and along our fresh wounds. We fell into one another. There were no words between us, the simple pleasure of being with him was enough. My eyes drifted, the dizziness taking over, and when his head grew heavy against my own, I knew he was falling into the depths of sleep as well.

     A grinding scuff along the stone floor reached my ears, and with effort, I forced my heavy lids to open. Somewhere along the edges, a door opened. I groaned, unable to move.

     Three images of the same merman formed before my eyes, disorienting me as they moved in unison. Squinting, I forced them together. When they coalesced, I finally saw Tunder emerging from the depths of the castle onto the water-swept roof. His shirt and pants were torn, revealing wounds beneath, his feet gaining purchase on the slippery roof. Flashes of what I had almost done to him made me internally cringe.

     “Lissie,” he said, holding his hands out in front of him. The simple gesture, to put my mind at ease, would have made me smile if I had the energy.

     I nodded and the movement shifted Patrick’s head. He woke with a gasp and tensed upon seeing someone before us; only after a moment did his arms relax.

     “Patrick,” the Lathmorian king nodded in his direction.

     I couldn’t help but notice the gratitude in his eyes. Patrick had saved his life when he threw his body between my voice and Tunder. If I had been given the chance, I would have held him entranced, until Ressa had murdered the newly crowned king.

     “She won’t hurt you,” Patrick’s groggy voice lifted above the din of the rain.

     Even though Tunder had tried to hide it, the way his eyes shifted in my direction, told me the fear he felt. My connection and control over him had been absolute. Seeing and experiencing were two entirely different things. Only now did I feel as though the Lathmorians understood what we had been up against.

     “I’ll take your word for it,” the king shook his head coming closer.

     “And I won’t either,” out of the corner of my eye, I saw Patrick’s mouth turn up at the side. Tunder smiled back and stepped closer.

     “That’s new,” he smirked, and when he was within arm’s reach he stopped again, squatting down to our level. His gaze shifted to mine, perhaps I looked as though I was in shock because the depth of his voice changed when he spoke. It reminded me of the way a parent spoke to an upset child. “It’s over now.”

     I blinked at him, letting the words roll through my body. I knew he was right, it was over. I had seen the body lying at the foot of the castle, he would never control me again, never threaten me, never take me from my home. He could never harm Patrick again.

     Relief like I had never known before, swept inside my arms and legs as I slowly relaxed and let the water run down my face.

     “The rest of the Hyven?” Patrick’s voice rumbled against my ear.

     “Surrendered. Voon is gathering them into the dungeon as we speak. It will take some time for us to decide what to do with them.” His voice grew dark and I realized his task was only partly done. “But that’s unimportant right now.” He tried to crack a smile.

     “How many casualties?” Patrick asked, and I tensed beneath his arms.

     “Too many to count,” he sighed and stood, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re going to stay here for a few days. Everyone needs to regain their strength to make the journey back.”

     His words made me realize something I had long since forgotten. Tunder cared for his people, really cared. The thought took form, but when I moved to speak, there was no sound. Instead, a gruff hand seemed to have a hold of the inside of my throat, and when I tried once more to speak, no sound came out.

     “Shhh,” Patrick hushed me, even though I hadn’t made a noise. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

     I wrapped my fingers around my throat and pressed against the base of it as though it might help. For a moment I strained, the muscles in my throat bobbing.

     “Kr—Kr,” it seemed to be the only sound I could make, clicking the back of my tongue. Looking up, Patrick’s brows were furrowed in confusion, trying to understand what I was saying. I tried again and got no further, but comprehension dawned.

     “Kryssa?” he asked me, and when I nodded, he looked to Tunder. “Kryssa?”

     “She’s alive, along with Elik.” There was a tinge of something else hidden by the way he shifted as he spoke, but his words were enough for now. I closed my eyes in the overwhelming relief, and for a moment, I was lost in thankfulness for their safety. I wasn’t unaware of what had happened to the youngest princess and her husband.

     “Good,” Patrick said, and I knew he was avoiding thinking of all the others who had lost their lives over the past few days.

     “Let’s get inside, shall we?” Tunder extended his hand toward Patrick and when he reached to take it, he glanced down.

     “Lissie, you have to move.” He grimaced as he shifted me away from his chest and I attempted to concentrate on my limbs, as they unfurled beneath me. The ache across my back only tightened more as I reached up for Tunder’s hand, seeming to rip apart, when he pulled me to my feet.

     The stone roof dipped and swayed before me and when I took a stumbling step forward, strong hands steadied me. Still the ground swiveled and when I bent over to empty the contents of my stomach, a solid hammer shattered inside my skull. Gentle hands patted and rubbed along my shoulders. When the world returned to normal, I straightened, holding my hands out for balance.

     “She hit her head,” Patrick explained, with a tinge of regret in his voice. “Just keep your head steady, I’ll lead you.”

     I squeezed his arm in thanks, and we limped away from the roof toward the open door. Taking our time, we wound down the spiral staircase and through the dimly lit hallways. My legs throbbed, limping beneath the torn skirt which clung to my skin with a suffocating dampness. Each hallway looked as similar as the one following it, and in my disoriented state I felt as though we were walking in circles. If it wasn’t for Patrick’s warm hand around my arm, I would have thought I was dreaming.

     “We’ll take this one,” Patrick pulled up next to a wooden door.

     “If you get hungry you know where the dining hall is.” The mention of food made my stomach flip.

     “I might know my way around,” he smiled, and the king turned away, after giving him a smirk.

     He disappeared from sight and Patrick strode to the wooden door. He pushed it open and a loud squeal erupted, making me cringe. The world swirled again, but his arm guided me through the door. I was only partially aware of my surroundings.

     A soft mattress bumped against my knees and I stood shivering beside it, while Patrick left me leaning against one of the bedposts for support. Across from where I rested, he tugged on the doors to a large wardrobe, one of which had a hole through the center of it. The hinges swung toward him and he disappeared for a moment, only to reappear with a blanket, two large shirts, and two pairs of pants in his hands. The sets of clothes were for a male, the fabric seemingly dingy and faded.

     As if from a dream, I suddenly remembered being in this room and looking at the clothes before. There used to be a dark cloak in the wardrobe as well, and I knew if he dared to look in the bottom drawer, there would be a shirt with blood stains across the shoulder.

     Tossing the clothes down onto the bed, he grasped the sheet in his hand and used his blades to cut it into long strips. Only when he was finished and had discarded the pieces onto the mattress, did his warm gaze meet mine, and my throat tightened. I swallowed heavily as he moved toward my side of the bed. A shiver wracked through my body and I noted the way he tried to hide the limp and his injured hand.

       “We need to get you out of this,” he fingered the dress, and I swallowed. “Will you need help?” His already dry hair hung close to his eyes, I reached up to brush it away from his face. He kissed the inside of my palm.

     I opened my mouth to speak, the pain lanced across my throat and I shut my lips with a pop. A chuckle escaped his lips and I gestured with my hands toward the back of my dress with a cutting motion.

     He stepped behind me, and his blades sliced across the fabric while goosebumps rose over my flesh. His fingers fumbled to pull away the fabric, and I knew he was trying to be gentle as he peeled it away from the cut across my back. I winced and held the front of the dress to my chest.

     “Almost done,” he said, sliding my hair across my shoulders and out of the way. He bent over to better inspect the wound, his uninjured hand grazing across my skin every now and again as he plucked pieces of fabric away. “I’m so sorry.” He said and rubbed his hands over my shoulders.

     I shook my head, hoping he understood what I meant. He had done what was necessary.

     With seemingly practiced movements, he pulled strips of the shredded sheet toward us and began to bandage the wound along my back. Each time his hands slipped beneath the dress to pass along my belly and to my back again, I felt my face grow red. When he finished, he stepped back, the distance between us seemingly large after being so close. I turned to him with my arms still holding the dress to my chest.

     His eyes burned with something I had never seen before and I ducked my chin, the heat flooding my cheeks once more. Leaning over the mattress, he grasped one of the shirts and pants and handed them to me. He then left me to undress.

     A musky smell enveloped me as I attempted to push my hands through the overly long sleeves and slipped on the too long pants. Drowning in the clothes, I turned to find the hearth lit with the beginnings of a stirring fire.

     His back was facing me, his shirt torn, revealing his own scars beneath. I had thought he was working on something when I realized he was waiting for me. The gesture was almost too much after such a disastrous couple of days. Knowing I couldn’t call out to him, I walked to his side, almost stumbling on the too large pants, to get his attention.

     He turned when I reached him and pressed his lips together to suppress a laugh. I blushed, knowing I looked ridiculous, but before he could say anything, I reached for his injured hand, binding it with a strip of cloth I brought from the bed. As soon as I finished, he reached out to roll up the sleeves of my shirt. When he bent to do the same with the pants, I played with a few strands of his hair as tears prickled at the corners of my eyes.