Page 81 of Xantera
No, Lucan interjects for the first time since Sylvia shared her memories.Courage can be used in different ways. And you’re the most courageous person I know.
Sylvia’s eyes flit between me and the necklace as my cheeks grow warm with Lucan’s praise. I can hear the echo of all her questions,but her eyelids are also growing heavier by the second, as if sleep is trying to wrap her up in dreams—or nightmares—once more.
I chew on my lip, glancing down at the shape of her body lying there beneath the sheets.Do you mind if I take a look at you? I’m a healer.
She opens her eyes again.Youwerea healer, you mean. Now you’re a prisoner, just like the rest of us.
My brows furrow at her. Although it’s clear she’s just as rebellious as her father is, something about her wording is tugging at the back of my mind. Because being Chosen is supposed to be an honor. Yet Sylvia obviously doesn’t think it is, and neither did that other Chosen One who tried to run away last night. In fact, none of the Chosen Ones have appeared to be enjoying themselves like they’re supposed to, save for maybe Tristan.
Sylvia seems to tilt toward me as much as she physically can.
Why do you think the Guardians choose us, Saskia?
When I blink at her, she gives a long, languid sigh into my mind.
They’re watching us from the start, of course. They know who’s starting to have questions and doubts. They know who’s suspicious and who’s angry. Who’s breaking the Cardinal Rules and going to cause them trouble in the future—who might cause a stir among other content civilians. So why do you think they choose us?
This time, the answer tastes like ash on my tongue as I remember my misgivings about Gaia, wondering why nobody had punished me for lying to the sentry.
This—being Chosen—isthe punishment. The Twelve Guardians must have known I was up to no good all along, but rather than make a big scene by hauling me in like Diggory, they saved me and the other dissenters for the Choosing.
Because if they dragged usallin kicking and screaming, everyone else would realize that Xantera isn’t the utopia they make it out to be after all.
See?Sylvia whispers.The Blood Moon Palace isn’t just the home of the Guardians and their living sacrifices. It’s a prison for the only ones who would dare to stand up to them, a place for them to keep us under lock and key away from everyone else. And slowly drain us until any threat we carry just… withers away.
My eyes rack her body again, noting just how withered she truly looks, almost as if any second could be her last breath.
But nobody—nobody—dies on my watch, regardless of the circumstances. I need to help this woman, and to do that I need to figure out what, exactly, is wrong with her.
Prisoner or not,I say finally,I will be a healer for the rest of my life.The Guardians may have assigned me my job and then ripped me away from it, but they’ll never be able to take away the love I feel for taking care of other people.
I hold out my hand.May I?
After a brief staring battle, Diggory’s daughter relents with a grumbled sigh, reminding me so much of her father lying in the Healing Center bed that my throat clogs with emotion. But now isn’t the time to shed any tears. Now is the time to analyze my patient and determine what’s wrong.
First, I peel back the bedsheets to take a look at her body—and it’s so much more rigid than I expected. Although her chest stillmoves up and down in a slow, feeble rhythm, her posture is so stiff that no part of her sinks into the mattress.
Frowning, I lower my head to place my ear against her chest. Her heartbeat pulses consistently, but it’s slow and weak. And her chest itself… it’s rock-hard. Not at all what I’d expect from a middle-aged female.
I lift my head and give her stomach a gentle push. Unyielding. It’s abdominal distention to the max, but she doesn’t look bloated, and when I run my hands down her arms and legs, the skin feels nothing like skin at all. There’s nothing supple or pliable about this woman in the slightest. Almost as if her body has started to…
Swallowing a gasp, I wrench the vial away from her palm so that she can’t access my thoughts before I have time to make sense of them.
The grinding sound her movements make. The chill from her skin. The cracks in her features. How is this even possible?
What is it?Lucan asks. There’s something about his tone that sounds reserved—distant. But maybe our connection is a little strained with a third person on the line, so I shrug off any misgivings for now.She’s not just dying, is she?
No.I press my lips together to keep them from shaking. None of the Chosen Ones are dying in the regular sense. The reason the Chosen Ones eventually quit coming to the balconies, the reasonIwill be just as bed-bound as Diggory’s daughter one day, too, if I can’t claw my way out of this prison…
It’s because the vampire venom is slowly fossilizing us.
The Chosen Ones are turning to stone.
The guilt racks my chest with each step Saskia takes back to her room.
She’s turning to stone as we… well, as wedon’tspeak. I don’t dare lower my shields to let any of my emotions taint her more than I already have.
I’m no good for her.
