Page 96 of Wrath of a King

“Zoei.” Olly’s voice echoed as though she were miles away. “Zoei, you’re slurring your words.”

I shook my head, needing to say everything aloud before I lost it again. The words threaded the edge of my tongue, eager to be manifested into the physical world before I lost my gumption.

“And when it became obvious that you weren’t responsible for the assassin, I was too much of a coward to apologize to your face. I hid behind anger and doubt instead,” I murmured. “You’re right, Olly. You’re always right. I’m selfish,” I conceded.

Spots flared in my vision, and I reached for words that floated haphazardly in my conscience.

“I knew you wouldn’t be with me if I asked, ‘cause of…Cryssa.”

Her name was a snide sneer.

“I told myself it was only an interrogation. A way to make you tell me the truth.” My eyelids slid closed, unable to bear the traveling spots. “But the truth is, Olly, I’ve always wanted you. It’s always been you.”

I felt myself drifting, cradled in the arms of unconsciousness.

“Always.”

I thought I heard her voice, but it was a mere whistle in the wind.

*

Pushing past several layers of consciousness was no easy feat. They seemed to trap me in their murky folds, enticing me with their promise of blissful nothingness. I dwelled in the limbo of awareness and unconsciousness, buoyed by a familiar, trusted scent that lingered nearby.

Ultimately, the smell of fresh fish made my eyelids twitch open.

Gentle sunlight shimmered through the gaps in the protective foliage, illuminating the lean figure that sat cross-legged on the soft soil with a large slab of rock at her feet. A large pink-ish fish lay still, its head and tail extending past the perimeters of the rock.

“You’re awake.”

Olly’s gaze moved to my wound, and I realized she had used the last of her tunic to change the tourniquet.

“How do you feel? Any pain?”

I moved my thigh experimentally,

“I examined the wound while you were resting,” she said, using a smaller rock to cleave the head from the fish’s body. “It’s a flesh wound—deep but not fatal. It didn’t hit bone.”

“I don’t feel much,” I tried to say, although my voice was only a dry rasp.

“I found some forest creepers,” she explained. “Washed them in the river and ground them into a poultice. The wound should be numb for a few more hours at least.”

“It stopped bleeding,” I noted.

“You not moving for the past sixteen hours had something to do with it,” she said. “Gave the wound a chance to heal properly.”

“Sixteen,” I echoed, pushing myself upright incredulously. “Did you say sixteen hours?”

Olly shrugged. “That’s my best guess. I’ve been tracking the movement of the sun.”

“I’ve been asleep for sixteen hours?”

“I wouldn’t sayasleep,” she intoned. “Passed outis more accurate.”

She rose, cupping a mountain of flayed fish flesh in her palms.

“Here,” she said, kneeling next to me. “You need to eat.”

“Is that cooked?” I asked, eyeing the meat suspiciously.

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