Page 196 of Daughter of No Worlds

Everything hurt.

Max’s forehead was pressed to mine, hands clutching my face as if he couldn’t believe I was here.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he breathed, at last.

“Sorry.”

In a daze, I removed his left hand from my cheek and flipped it palm up. Dragged a circle through the blood.

I could still feel my connection to that one deep, deep pool of magic, though the thread that tethered me to it was quickly growing thinner and thinner. I had one more thing I needed to use it for.

One line, then another.

“Tisaanah.”

Max was beginning to sway.

“What?”

I drew the final line of my Stratagram.

“I love you.”

We crashed upon the cobblestones outside of the Mikov estate. I collapsed to the ground, as did Max. And around us, dozens and dozens of slaves joined us. Every slave in the Mikovs’ city, drawn to us like flower petals in the best damn garden in Ara, far across the sea.

But I didn’t look at them. I looked only at Max, our cheeks pressed against the stone ground, my hand still cupped around his. The thread tethering me to the deep well of magic finally snapped, leaving me in my fragile mortal body, magicless.

The world dimmed.

“I love you,” I whispered. And I curled my hand around his, squeezing as tightly as I could as unconsciousness took us both.

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Tisaanah

Iwoke up with a start from a dreamless sleep, air sputtering in my throat. Everything assaulted me at the same time: my body, my senses, the memories of everything that had happened at the Estate—

“Take deep breaths.” It took me a moment to become aware of a presence at my side, a low, calming voice murmuring soothing instructions. “Careful, careful. Don’t take all in too fast. In, out.”

A hand moved over my back in time with the commands. Soon, my breath and heartbeat slowed.

I was in a small but well-furnished bedroom. One look at the furniture told me that I was still in Threll— probably somewhere expensive. But that was the last thing I was thinking about. I whipped my head around to look at Sammerin, who sat at the edge of my bed.

Sammerin. Looking at Sammerin made me think of Max, and thinking of Max made me think of the way he had looked the last time I saw him, the depth of his wounds—

“Max,” I blurted out. “Is he—?”

“He was in worse shape than you were, but he’s fine. He’s still unconscious, but that’s to be expected and probably the best way for him to heal, considering how he abuses his body when he’s awake.” His voice sounded like the earth, comforting and stable even through that quip.

“I want to see him.”

“You will. How are you feeling?”

My head throbbed. The room spun. But when I looked down at my palms, there was no trace of the burns that had almost covered me. “Awful, but alive.”

“To be expected.” He stood, crossing his arms as he gave me a searching stare. “From what I hear, you went through quite a lot.”

Images flashed through my mind. The flames, both blue and red, the rot, Max going up in fire — Gods,thatwas something that warranted more discussion — and of course, Reshaye—

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