Page 113 of The Eyes of Tamburah
The goddess’s amusement flowed through Shyla like a healing balm.That is your job, Shyla Sun-Kissed.
I tried.
Try harder.
I can’t. I’m dead.
Who says?
Are you going to perform a miracle? For me?Hard to believe. Shyla hadn’t been the most devout. Or devout at all.
You’ve performed your own miracle by being resourceful. It will serve you well in the future.
Future?Shyla would rather stay in this soothing state. The future meant betrayals, lies, and pain.
It also includes love, happiness, and family.
Are you sure I’m not dead?
Wake up Shyla Sun-Kissed, someone is waiting for you.Cold. So very cold. Ice coated every centimeter of her body. It numbed her limbs, slowed her heart and dulled her senses. She floated. But not hanging under a velbloud float. Nothing solid surrounded her. No hard surfaces pressed on her body.
No…wait, something cupped her nose and mouth. She inhaled and then exhaled. Not dead then. And not sure if she was happy or sad about that fact. She’d figure it out later.
Unable to open her eyes, she flailed. Her arms and legs moved through a viscous substance. Water? No. Water would move with ease…flow like air. Not stick to her skin and resist her motion. A brief image of being inside a velbloud’s stomach rose unbidden. Had the creatures eaten her for disturbing them? A ridiculous thought, but it helped ease her panic.
Just as she had when she’d woken up in the darkness, Shyla explored her immediate surroundings. She spread her arms to the side and encountered smooth…walls. Same with over her head. She was prone. Touching the cup on her face gently, she confirmed it kept the goo from seeping into her nose and mouth. Then she found a tube trailing from her chin. She followed it with her fingertips as it curved and rose.
Her hand broke through the substance and someone grabbed it. Heat soaked into her cold skin. Then a gentle squeeze and she calmed. Until the hand released her.
“No,” she said. But her raspy voice sounded inside her head—between her ears. Odd. She reached with both hands. Nothing.
Then an arm scooped around her shoulders and another under her knees. She was lifted, cradled against a warm body—a man’s, he wasn’t wearing a shirt—and carried. When he laid her down on a hard cold surface, she mewled in protest. But her hand was once again grasped.
The cup was lifted off her face.
“What—why can’t I see?” Had her eyes been cooked? And again with the strange echo in her head. “And what’s wrong with my hearing? Who’s there?”
A wet cloth rubbed gently over her eyes, cheeks, forehead, and ears, removing the goo.
“Open your eyes,” Zhek said.
She met his gentle gaze.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes. What—”
“Not yet. Let’s get you cleaned up, dressed, and fed before you pester us with questions.” He rinsed the cloth in a bucket and continued to wipe off her skin.
Us? She glanced pass Zhek’s shoulder and spotted Hanif. He smiled at her. She’d made it to the monastery without any memory of how she’d arrived. Then she turned to see who held her hand.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Unlike her, he wasn’t joking. Rendor’s expression remained neutral, but emotions swirled in his gaze. Worry, relief, and uncertainty. His arms and muscular chest glistened with the viscous gel.
Ah. He released his hold, but before he pulled away, she gripped it tight despite the slimy residue that coated both their hands. He stilled. Later she’d figure out if she could trust him and why he was still here. Right now, she needed his strength.
“Are you sure?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head to her body.
