Her eyes drifted closed, and he was plunged deep underwater again, in the cold darkness, where there was no up. No air to draw into his lungs.
“She’s still breathing,” Roar said behind him. “I hear her. She’s just unconscious.”
Molly arrived, carrying a jar with a chalky white paste used for poison rashes.
“That won’t work,” Perry snapped. “It’s inside her skin.”
“I know,” Molly said calmly. “I hadn’t seen the wound yet.”
“What do we do? Should I cut the skin off?” The words had hardly left Perry when his stomach seized.
Roar’s hand came down to his knife. “I can do it, Perry.”
He looked at Roar, who was blinking fast, ashen, and couldn’t believe they were talking about cutting into Aria’s arm.
“That won’t help,” Molly said. “It’s already in her bloodstream.” She set another glass jar on the nightstand. Leeches cut swiftly through the water, agitated and eager. “These might, if they take to the spoiled blood.”
He fought off another wave of nausea. A belt around her arm. Leeches. Was this the best he could do for her? “Do it. Try them.”
Molly plucked a writhing leech from the jar and placed it over Aria’s Marking. When it latched onto her skin, Roar let out a loud exhale, but Perry still couldn’t breathe. Molly took another leech from the jar, and on it went, every second an eternity, until six leeches clung from Aria’s arm. On perfect skin he’d run his fingers across just hours ago.
Perry shifted his grip on her hand, threading their fingers together. Aria’s hand tightened, just a faint twitch before it relaxed again. Wherever she was in the unconscious, she was telling him she’d fight.
He watched the leeches grow dark purple, filling with blood. They had to be working. They had to be drawing the poison out of her. Then he couldn’t watch anymore. He put his head down on the bed, his knees aching from kneeling, and felt the passing of time in snatches. From the room outside, Bear’s deep voice, swearing his innocence. Then Cinder, pleading desperately with Reef to let him in. Silence. Then Molly shifting nearby, pulling the blanket over Aria and resting her hand briefly on his head. And silence again.
Finally, Perry looked up. Though Aria still hadn’t stirred, he sensed her returning. He stood, swaying in place, his legs stiff. Relief coursed through him, blurring his eyes, but it was overshadowed quickly.
He looked at Roar, who held his knife by the blade.
“Go,” Roar said, handing it over. “I’ll stay with her.”
Perry took it and strode to the cookhouse.
12
ARIA
Aria fractioned to a vast dome, feeling weak and dizzy. Sterile white rows stretched back hundreds of feet. Vegetables and fruits sprouted from them—ordered, perfect bursts of color.
Her heart began to pound. This was Ag 6—one of the farming domes in Reverie. She’d been here before in search of information about her mother. Soren had attacked her not far from where she now stood.
Paisley had died here.
Aria’s gaze traveled up. High above, black smoke hissed from the irrigation pipes, tumbling down and pooling around her. She tried to run for the airlock door. Her legs wouldn’t move.
A voice broke the silence. “You can’t get out, remember?”
Soren. She didn’t see him, but she recognized his taunting voice. “Where are you?” The smoke reached her, stinging her eyes and making her cough, but she couldn’t see anyone else in the dome.
“Where are you, Aria?”
“You can’t hurt me in here, Soren.”
“You mean in a Realm? Is that what you think this is? And you’re wrong. I can hurt you.”
A wave of dizziness sent her stumbling. Her knees buckled, and she went down, grabbing her head. Why was her head pounding? What was wrong with her?
A burning pressure grew stronger and stronger at her bicep. She looked down. Smoke poured out of her skin, seeping into the air. There was fire inside her. Her blood was burning. She yanked and tore at her skin, but invisible hands trapped her.
“Enough, Molly! Get them off her arm!”
It was Roar’s voice, but where was he?
Soren’s muscular form appeared above her. “You won’t get away this time.”
She struggled to tear her arms free. She needed to fight him, but she couldn’t break loose. “I’m not afraid of you!”
“You sure about that?” He darted for her, grabbing her around the waist.
“It’s me, Aria! It’s all right. It’s me.”
Roar’s voice. Soren’s face. Soren’s hands wrapped around her.
Aria struggled against his grip. She didn’t know what to be afraid of. She had no idea what was real, or why her blood felt like boiling water in her veins. She fell back against the farming rows, kicking, fighting, as her vision turned gray and then black.
13
PEREGRINE
Perry entered the cookhouse and found Wylan standing on a table, facing a small crowd. It was late—only a few stray lamps were lit across the shadowed hall—and most of the tribe had gone to their homes for the night.
“He’s a hothead; that’s all he’s ever been,” Wylan said. “He’s with the Dweller. He was keeping that from us. Now he says he’s going north for the Still Blue, but don’t believe that, either. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never comes back!”
“I’m back,” Perry said. He felt cold. Completely focused. As sharp as the knife in his hand.
Wylan whirled and nearly fell off the table. Around Perry, people gasped, their eyes dropping to the blade at his side.