Children Of The Sky (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 2)

Chapter 14

She wasn't supposed to wake up. She hadn't wanted to; she'd done everything she could to prevent it. And yet, she found herself once again on the brink of consciousness, hovering, hearing faint sounds as she came to.

Weeping. Someone was weeping. Softly, as if they didn't want to be heard.

Curiosity blossomed, but the little mental energy that took exhausted her mind. Gradually, like a thunderstorm rolling in over the ocean, she fell back asleep.

The next time she woke, it was to an empty room. The walls were bland, pale, painted the color of cream, the furniture mismatched and secondhand. It smelled odd, too, like herbs and the thick, cloudy disinfectant she'd seen Lillian use on occasion.

A hospital, then, or some medical facility. Noah had brought her here. And they'd saved her life. The life she wanted so badly to lose.

Something shifted in the corner, and Kariana turned her head on the pillow, neck aching, to find a figure draped out in a chair that was slightly too small for him, head bent to rest on his arm, pinning a blanket that'd nearly slipped off his shoulders. Red hair, the color of fire. A kind face. Circles under his eyes.

He'd stayed. Why?

She lay there watching him, her body weary and aching all over, until he stirred again, opening his eyes drowsily when the blanket slid to the floor. He sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing. Then, without looking at her or realizing she was awake, he rubbed bloodshot eyes and whispered something as he dragged his hands down his face. A prayer. Gripping the sides of the chair, he moved to push himself to his feet and froze when he caught her watching him. She held that brown-eyed gaze for a long time, a silent question stretched taut between them. Without a word, Noah stood.

"I'll get you some soup," he said quietly, not looking at her as he stepped out.

It wasn't him who returned, but an elderly woman with a sympathetic smile and shrewd eyes. She stayed in the room as Kariana ate, slowly, after forcing herself with some difficulty into a sitting position. Her weakness didn't surprise her--poisoning oneself had that effect--but it did frustrate her. She itched to get up, to walk out. To escape.

Noah's visits were infrequent over the next few days. He'd come and sit for a few minutes, watching her, never starting a conversation. She watched him in return with equal dedication, eyes on his back as he walked out, running his hands through his hair with unusual fervor. He was fraying. Finally. After six months of impossible strength, he was at last showing his fragile humanity, the struggle he faced in staying by her side. It hurt her, somehow, a deep sort of disappointment, but more than that it satisfied her. She'd been right, trying what she did. No one, not even Noah, could put up with her forever.

Time and food gave her strength enough to get up, after the second day. She'd pace the windowless room, sitting on the edge of the bed every few minutes to rest, staring at the wall and not caring about the fog in her mind. Not caring about anything. It didn't scare her, as it once had. She'd accepted it. Embraced it. There was no letting go now.

The fourth day, she made her move. It was well after dark; she was almost certain of that, based on the quietness of the hall outside and the lack of meals this time over the past days. When she inched the door open, she confirmed her suspicions: the window in the hall was dark, rain pattering softly against the glass.

No one stopped her when she left. There was a woman at a desk near the entrance, but she'd fallen asleep with a book in her hands. Taking the thick cloak hung on the hook by the door, Kariana slung it over her shoulders and stepped out on unsteady legs.

The street was empty, dark, little more than a muddy alleyway between the hospital and the building next to it. Over the soft sigh of the rain and wind, Kariana caught a faint wisp of music on the air, rowdy and loud, the promise of a familiar release heavy on its wings.