But immediately, a tiny flicker of doubt tickled inside her chest. Would she have? She had already failed to do so.
She forced the doubt from her mind. It was a mistake—nothing else.
“I’m not a killer,” Luc said. He crossed the room and stood next to the bed, and she found herself unconsciously shrinking away from him. It wasn’t fear, though. The harsh accusation in his eyes bothered her in a way nothing had before. He thought she was a killer. But that wasn’t true. Not really.
She thought of all the beautiful fates she had executed: the births and the last-minute redemptions, the children she had brought home after they were lost, the kisses and the reunions and the hope given to humans who despaired.
The patron saint of lost causes …
“You don’t know me,” Corinthe said, and was surprised that her voice was trembling. “Don’t pretend you do.”
Luc rolled his eyes. He didn’t hate her, perhaps. He just didn’t care about her at all. This thought knifed through her, suddenly painful.
“Look, I’m sick of your riddles. Just tell me what you’ve done to my sister.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Corinthe was growing frustrated. This fate was far different from anything she’d been tasked with. Complicated. Unclear. Things were supposed to be clear; that was the point of fate. “I didn’t even know you had a sister.” Pain shot through her temples and she pressed her hands to her head, as though she could drive back the sudden ache.
Rhys bent over her and felt her forehead. “Still warm,” he murmured. “How long has the poison been in your blood?” he asked her.
“What poison?” Luc broke in.
Corinthe ignored him. “I’m not sure,” she told Rhys. “I—I can’t remember very clearly.”
“What poison?” Luc repeated. He sounded almost angry.
“Looks like hornets’ venom.” It was Rhys who answered. “Almost certainly fatal.”
Rhys placed a hand on her back and made Corinthe inhale. Then he felt the pulse in her neck. His rough hands were surprisingly gentle. When he rolled up her sleeves to explore her wounds, she let out a weak, guttural cry. The leeches had left dark welts all over her skin. Mags cawed softly, and even Luc went pale, which unaccountably gave Corinthe some small satisfaction. She refused to show fear in front of him.
“Leeches, eh? Not my first choice. But they’ll do in a pinch. Probably bought you a little more time.”
“She’s … she’s going to die?” Luc stared disbelievingly at Corinthe.
“Might do,” Rhys said curtly. Corinthe’s stomach tightened, but at least he was telling her the truth. “All depends.” His white eye seemed to fix on her, and she felt, strangely, as though he were staring directly into her. “Strange for someone like you. You ain’t supposed to die, are you?” He had lowered his voice, so that Luc couldn’t hear.
Corinthe couldn’t answer immediately. He knew what she was? Or what she had been. She drew her hand away. “I was exiled,” she said in a whisper.
He patted her hand and leaned in close to whisper back, “Happens to the best of us.”
She wanted to ask what he meant—had Rhys been exiled, too? From where? But Luc took a step closer to the bed. She noticed that he refused to look at her directly. “Can’t you just give her one of your vials?”
“What do you care?” Corinthe asked.
Now it was Luc’s turn to ignore her. “You have to do something,” he said to Rhys. “You said you were a healer, right?”
Rhys shoved his cap back and rubbed his forehead, frowning. “I can’t stop the poison, but I might manage to slow it down,” he said. “I need to head back to the raft. Got some pinches and potions out there.”
“I’ll go,” Luc said, too quickly.
“You don’t know what to look for, boy. You stay here and watch over our guest.”
Corinthe was about to protest, but Rhys had already turned and stumped out of the cave. Mags swooped after him.
Luc still refused to look at her and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Luc began to pace. Corinthe leaned back on her pillows, keeping her eyes on him. She felt a small spark of admiration. Luc was a mortal. He had traveled the Crossroad and been thrust into this awful world of sun and dust, and yet he was okay.
She had never had much respect for humans. They were too weak, too easily swayed and broken. But Luc was a survivor, just like she was. She had sensed it the moment she saw him on the boat. It was what had drawn her to him when she should have been focused on her task.
It was also what made her hesitate at the Marina.
Luc stopped in front of the fire, stoking it with a charred stick leaning in the corner. Corinthe knew it was an excuse to avoid talking to her. She vowed she wouldn’t speak first. But as the silence grew heavier, Corinthe couldn’t stand the weight of it. She couldn’t help it; she needed to say something—anything—but Luc spoke first.
“You’re dying.” His back was still to her, but she heard him perfectly.
“Rhys said he could buy me some time.” Was she actually trying to reassure him? Did he need that? “The poison won’t matter if I can just get home. I can regain my strength there and—”
“And try to kill me again?” When he turned to face her, his eyes were cold. “You’ve tried twice already, but maybe the third time’s a charm?”
“I was just following orders,” Corinthe said, then immediately regretted it. Too close. It was forbidden to discuss the marbles and what they revealed. Executors would have no power if humans knew what they were, and how they worked.
“Following orders?” Luc repeated. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He crossed the room fast—too fast. He was close enough that she could reach out and touch him. He smelled like citrus and salt and a little bit like sweat—and like something else, too. Something that reminded her of Pyralis. It made her want to bury her face in his neck and inhale until she was satisfied.
She curled her hands into fists and squeezed. She was confused. Her thoughts were like vapors: swirling, impossible to hold on to. It had to be the venom working its way through her veins. A wave of nausea washed over her body and she closed her eyes, feeling frustrated and helpless. How could she perform her last task if she was this weak? It was impossible. But so was failure. Going home depended on this. Seized with fear, she fumbled around her neck, checking for the locket. Thankfully, it was still there, safely tucked under her shirt.
“It’s not my decision,” she said, turning away from him. “That’s all I meant.”
He snorted. “So, what? Little green men told you to do it?”
She turned back to him. It occurred to her that he was making fun of her—thought she was crazy. “I told you,” she said coldly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Please.” Luc spread his hands wide. “Explain it to me.”
She couldn’t without telling him what she was. What she did.
“I knew it,” he said shortly. “You can’t give me a reason because you don’t have a reason. You off your meds or something?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “That woman in the car—the one who died. Was that you, too?”
Corinthe said nothing. For a second, they glared at each other. Luc exhaled forcefully, a cross between a snort and a laugh.
“And now you’re trying to make me crazy, too? Kidnapping my sister? Dragging me to this—place?” He was losing it. He spun in a circle, aiming a kick at a wooden chair and sending it skittering across the room.
“I told you.” Corinthe, too, was losing it. Her chest flashed hot and cold. Anger. She’d never been this angry before. “I didn’t even know you had a sister.”