In the distance, female voices shout out, followed by another loud bang.
“Look after Bram. He saved us.” I pat the lynx, then crawl into the tunnel.
“As above, so below,” Lucine calls after me. I don’t reply as I shuffle away.
My ankle protests, barking in pain as I drag it along behind me. The damp ground squishes beneath my hands and knees. Heart hammering, I crawl into the darkness.
My head bumps into the top of the tunnel, elbows grazing the sides. I can’t turn around. My chest tightens, each breath quicker than the last.
I’m trapped.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I whisper to myself. I try to breathe deeply, pulling in lungfuls of stale, earthy air. The faster I go, the sooner I can get out of here.
Roots in the ceiling of the tunnel whip my face and rip at my hair. I focus on putting one hand in front of the other.
“Timo, are you okay?” I call ahead.
Nothing.
How far ahead can he be?
My concept of time and distance is gone. My kneecaps ache, but I don’t stop.
A slow tingle runs along my whole body, as if I’m crawling through a finely beaded curtain.
The weird sensation passes, and I pause, suddenly nauseated. “Timo?”
“Up here!” a distant voice calls.
I crawl forward again, ignoring the pain in my knees. It’s harder to make headway as the tunnel curves upward. Not only that, but the ground beneath my hands and knees seems softer, gives way more easily. Less like mud and more like…
I look down. Red sand crumbles beneath my splayed palm. I squint ahead and continue crawling. The tunnel grows lighter, the sand less compact, then the passage takes an almost vertical turn. A small circle of light hovers above me, just out of reach.
I grip my hands along the sides of the tunnel to pull myself up and get a face full of sand for my effort. I splutter, coughing. Half-blinded, I plant my feet in the sand and push up with my legs, ignoring the pain in my ankle.
When large hands grasp my wrists, I yelp, inhaling another mouthful of sand as I’m pulled up, my legs flailing uselessly.
Then fresh air.
I blink the grit from my eyes. Sand is everywhere. It coats my tongue, my hands, my damp dress. Some of it falls with a soft hiss as I take a few wobbly steps, still half held up by the hands that pulled me from the tunnel
It’s dark, so it must still be night.
Familiar shapes greet me. The shadowy courtyard, the glowing tree, the vaulted archway above the door. It all comes into sharp relief and looks the same…but different. Not to mention that it’s sweltering.
Am I back in the Sanctum?
The doors open before me and there’s Timo, standing next to a tall sister I don’t recognize. His blond hair is streaked red with sand, his pale face still blackened with ash, but he’s okay. My shoulders sag a little and my knees threaten to buckle.
The person supporting me shifts. I forgot I was even being held up. I look up at my savior and lurch away.
No. It’s not possible.
“Kip?”
Then it dawns on me. It’s not a trick of the light or the sand in my eyes. The sister next to Timo isn’t robed in deep purple like Lucine. She wears the midnight blue of the desert-dwelling Lunar Sisters.
Stars above. I’m back at the Defiance.
People – so many people – swarm in through the doors, their alarmed voices raised.
The pain in the back of my skull is immediate and sharp, their emotions swelling, cresting like a wave.
Not now. Not again.
Hot blood streams from my nose. The voices become tinny and distant as the ground rushes up to meet me.
Chapter Six
I wake to the sight of red rock above me.
I roll to the side with a groan. The narrow dormitory is cave-like, hollowed from the same iron-rich rock as the rest of the Defiance. At the far end, a narrow window lets in a slash of golden light. It’s a familiar sight, and I distantly wonder if I’m in the children’s wing or they’ve placed me with the adults.
Wincing, I prop myself up on my elbows. I’m alone. My stomach hurts and my head feels foggy. The memories leading up to this moment are all jumbled up with dream-like snatches of childhood recollections.
I sit up slowly at first, then with a jolt at the sight of fresh blood on the white sheets. I yank them back with a yelp and search for any sign of injury on my legs, my torso. Then it clicks into place. My time of the moon has come a few days early. The hollow ache in my stomach gives way to a sudden cramp in confirmation.
Perfect.
I push the bloodied sheets away and pull myself around to place my feet onto the rough, cool, stone floor. The simple movement grounds me.
Only the ghost of a headache remains. I wipe a hand across my forehead, pressing my fingers to my temple. My mouth is dry as sand.
Sand…
Memories flash to mind – crawling through a tunnel, sand in my mouth and eyes, seeing Kip, people shouting. I remember a hundred emotions crowding me, all wanting to be felt. A blinding light split my skull, then nothing…until I woke up here.
I stand on unsteady legs, my soiled, white shift dropping to hang around my knees. A filthy, wraith-like creature stares back at me from the looking glass opposite, the silver oval chiseled into the rock itself. Dark hair curls below my breast on one side, but on the other, the ends look frizzy and charred, sitting just below my collarbone.
A distant memory glows like an ember.
Fire… I was in a fire.
I turn my cheek. A patch of pink skin mars my warm, tawny complexion, the only part of my face not smeared with ash, dirt, and stars know what else.
When I gingerly shift my weight to one side, my twisted ankle doesn’t hurt. One of the healers must have tended to me while I was sleeping, because underneath all the filth and blood, I actually feel fine.
My head aches, as if just to remind me that’s not quite true. I groan, massaging two fingers against my temples.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Come in,” I croak, cringing at my own voice. The door opens, Kip standing there.
Kip, who I haven’t seen since my thirteenth birthday.
The day after he saved my life.
I immediately knew it was him last night, despite the fact he’s now a good head taller than me, his skin tanned, broad shoulders filling the entire doorway. His shaggy, dark blond hair has been shaved close to his scalp, but I’d know his blue eyes and the constellation of freckles across his nose anywhere.
My throat tightens at the sight of him. I hug my arms around my body, embarrassed he’s seeing the disheveled girl from the mirror.
“You cut your hair,” I say, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
His mouth twitches like he’s about to reply. Instead, he thrusts a bundle of clothes at me without making eye contact.
He glances behind me at the unmade bed. “You’re up then,” he observes unnecessarily, his voice deeper than I remember. He frowns. I follow his gaze to the bloodied sheets. “Are you hurt?”
A hot flush rises to my cheeks. "No."
It’s not exactly the truth, but the sinking feeling in my stomach has nothing to do with my monthly cramps and everything to do with his lukewarm reception. I never thought I’d see him again, and now here he is, standing in front of me like a stranger.