Page 93 of A Crown of Tears and Treason
Zorin’s bloody, heaving body was at my feet, his eyes begging me to help. To treat the gashes. To fight death itself.
And I couldn’t move.
Not in my mind, not in the library.
My chest burned.
“That’s it,” Allie whispered excitedly. “Hold that thought.”
This horrible, horrid thought. I forced myself to stay in the nightmare as Zorin wheezed a ghastly wail.
Then his body transformed into Allie’s. Gasping and clutching the crimson gash on her neck. Her hand stretched toward me, pleading for help.
I couldn’t move.
The burn in my chest flowed down my arms.
“Good, good,” real Allie said.
Her bloody body turned into Dax’s.
Then Clara’s.
Then Dara’s.
Then Zandyr’s.
“Open your eyes!”
My eyelids flew open, only to be met with a haze of blue. Something burned around me, but I couldn’t see anything from the light.
Only Allie’s face shone through.
She was here.
She was alive.
She was breathing.
The light instantly vanished. I flopped onto the nearest chair, depleted of all energy.
“You stopped your power, we’re getting closer.” Allie said, sounding thrilled. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes.” My voice was raspy. Had I screamed?
“Power demands sacrifice. Do it again.”
Again.
And again.
And again.
Day after day, I was thrashed around by Adara, burned by Allie, and then had to balance weights on my head with Leesa, to “get that perfect queen poise” and be able to handle the huge pearl crown with grace.
Adara had started joining our little etiquette sessions, sharpening her knives in the corner. Her grimace grew with each lesson.
Poor Goose brought me soothing bandages each night in the library, making sure the ointment didn’t drip onto the mountain of books I’d surrounded myself with.
