Chapters (49)
- COVER
- DEDICATION
- MAP
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- DISCOVER MORE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- PRAISE FOR
She kissed him again, a quick, laughing kiss, because he had been right the first time. Happy. As implausible as it seemed, she was happy, despite Diego’s attempts to derail her. She had Nomi. And she had Val.
“Come on,” she said, moving to the door without picking up a bag. “The guards can go without rations until the morning. Won’t kill ’em, right?”
Val nodded decisively. “Right.”
Bolstered by their kiss and anxious to see Nomi again, Serina found it easy enough to ignore the guards as they headed back down the hall. The shouts of “I’m going to kill you” and “You’re dead, flower” had lost their power to frighten her.
FOUR
NOMI
“I CAN’T STAND it in here any longer,” Maris said as she paced their corner of the infirmary. She stared at the women lying prone at the other end of the makeshift infirmary. One of them was moaning incessantly. Hopelessly.
Nomi squeezed Malachi’s limp hand. He was still too pale. Too still. “I’m afraid to leave him. What if… what if the others don’t listen to Serina? What if they try to hurt him?”
“I know you’re worried.” Maris ran both of her hands through her hair, obsessively finger-combing out the tangles. “But what if we stand just outside? For a moment, for some fresh air? We’ll keep him in view.”
She had always kept her agitation deeply hidden. But now she looked as if her very skin were a restraint she wanted to tear free from.
Nomi hated to leave Malachi alone, but she couldn’t bear to see Maris so distressed. She stood up, her gaze still pinned to the movement of Malachi’s chest. Up and down, up and down. Almost steadily. The moaning bothered her too, and the coppery smell of blood. Fresh air would do both Maris and Nomi good. “Just for a moment.”
Maris led the way to the door, almost running in her haste. Nomi kept her eyes on the golden square of daylight and away from the shifting, miserable women trying to live through their wounds.
Daylight broke upon her, and the scent of plumeria and a lit match, like a scented candle just blown out. The burnt smell came from the volcano, she assumed. Maris stopped near the crumbled fountain, tipped her head back, and closed her eyes.
Nomi stayed closer to the doorway, but she took deep breaths of the fresh, fragrant air.
Women filed through the courtyard, directed by Anika and others. Nomi looked for Serina but didn’t see her. Instead, strangers passed, women dressed in ragged, sleeveless shirts, in boots or flimsy slippers, with spears and makeshift knives in their hands. Some carried handfuls of citrus fruit pressed into their chests. One woman, tall and sturdy, carried some kind of carcass over her shoulder.