Page 24 of The Enemy's Daughter

My eyes close.I am a door that is wide open. So wide.

A choking sound comes from Tristan’s throat, sending terror surging up my spine. Perhaps I should just copy what Tristan did. I lean over so my face is above his, assuming the position he took when our roles were reversed. I grab his hand. “Tristan.” I lower my lips to his ear, allowing our cheeks to touch. “I’m here. Do you feel me?” With a tilt of my head, I drag my cheek down the side of his jaw. I focus on the heat of him. His life still thrumming to a fast beat in his veins. The way I desperately don’t want him to die. Not just because my survival may depend on his. But because he’s risked his life for mine. And I still don’t know why.

My stomach flips with the sensation of falling.

I jerk back a few inches. “That was it, wasn’t it?” But Tristan doesn’t acknowledge me, which is really bad news. “Stay with me,” I urge, as I drop back over him. Our cheeks touch again, but this time I bring a hand to his opposite cheek. “Please, please, please,” I chant, holding him to me.

My breath catches as if the floor drops ten more feet. I’m falling, then suddenly I’m not, but everything inside me has shifted. Moved over. It’s as if room has been made for him. His emotions—frustration, fear, anger—spill across, resonating within me. I sensehis exhaustion. His grief. His feelings are layered and complicated. Woven and intermingled. I go still as I’m met with something hotter that stirs heat in my gut. It’s heavy and heady and extremely pleasant to experience.

He’s feeling this? Right now?

As much as I have access to his inner sensations, he has access to mine—only instead of observing and exploring me like I am with him, he’s sleepy and unfocused. Because he’s about to die.

“Tristan,” I say, shaking him. “You need to wake up. I don’t know—I don’t know what to do. Wait!” My head snaps up. “What do I feel like toyou?” Isn’t that what he asked me when I was in his place? I move in closer. So close, my lips brush against his cheekbone. “Do you feel that?” I ask, as I speak against his skin.

My lips tingle from touching him.

The floor drops another story.

I gasp, sensing his pain. It doesn’t touch me, but the heat of it rages like a house burning down, and intuitively I know all I’d have to do to save him is to reach for it.

And let the fire burning him turn on me.

“You don’t have to,” he rasps.

He must feel my hesitation. My revulsion. But can he blame me? I know how bad it’s going to get. “No. We’re doing this,” I say, convincing myself as much as him.

I push my face into his neck, bracing. The rope, this new link between us, snaps tight.

Then I call for the flames wounding him. I see nothing, but I sense them stretching out between us. Reaching for me. Heat scalds me, then jumps to my mouth. My airway cuts off. Pain slides down my throat like razor blades. I gag. Twist in pain. It continues tospread, crawling across my ribs, out to my arms. Every heartbeat pushes it farther, betraying a new part of my body.

Despite all this, I’m also acutely aware of Tristan’s relief. His lungs expand. His limbs regain their strength and curl around me.

But ultimately, it’s not enough to distract me from the damage devouring me.Stop!I need it to stop. Our connection slips as I jerk away from him.

Tristan lifts a hand to my face. When he speaks, his voice sounds stronger. “Breathe.”

My eyes flutter closed as I fight for air. It helps if I focus on him. On his relief instead of my new reality: sickness and pain. But if I compare us, he remains worse off. There’s still so far to go.

“Just take a break.”

I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s no point dragging this out. I drop my cheek to his again and throw myself into it, inviting the pain to return. My skin splits as the wound on my lower back opens up again. I bite back a whimper. The arrow hole in my elbow arrives next.

“Stop,” Tristan urges. His voice is stronger still. “That’s enough.”

Oh, please be true.I flop onto my back, so we’re lying side by side. My head turns, and I see his chest, rising and falling with a hardiness I feared I’d never see again. “Show me your elbow.”

He does. His wound has grown smaller but is still substantial. And bleeding. I lift mine and find it’s not even a quarter of the size of his. I blink rapidly to hold back the tears. “Just a little bit more.”

“It’s fine,” he growls, staring at me. I can somehow feel his conviction, deep within my chest.

“No, it’s not,” I say back. “The only way we both survive this isif we share the poison equally. Which means our wounds need to match in size. It’s our only guide.”

His disapproval is so thick it tastes metallic on my tongue, but he doesn’t object. “I really hate this,” he says, then gives a humorless laugh.

“So much,” I agree.

His fingers slide over and grip mine in an act of solidarity. But his touch makes me hyperaware of him. Tingles race up my arm. To distract myself, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “You should really make Samuel switch from lollo sage to prickle posy.”

---