Skye’s Decree
The following morning, Selena woke in her bare adherent’s cell—cot, table, lamp, small chest for belongings—to a Temple that bustled with noise like it hadn’t in ten years, since before the war. Armor clanked, booted footsteps stomped, and leather creaked. Men called out or coughed or laughed, their voices bounding down the halls, filling the empty space with glorious sound.
Lying on her back, Selena closed her eyes and imagined it was Paladins who tromped the echoing paths of the Temple. Aluren Paladins in plate armor that gleamed as brightly as the silver stitching on their blue overtunics. She could see sapphires sparkling on dozens of pommels, but the treasure was not the gems, but the sheer number of men and women who wore the Paladin’s sword.
But after she dressed and stepped into the halls, there were no Paladins but herself, and she could not wear gleaming plate. It trapped the icy breath of her wound, encasing her in cold. She had to wear dull chainmail that would never gleam no matter how she polished it, and her overtunic was always thick blue wool.
The tromping boots and low voices belonged to Alliance guardsmen in blue and red, there to protect the Admiral, and to Justarch Osten’s retinue of soldiers in green and gold. A sliver of dread slipped into Selena’s heart as she walked—slowly—to the Vestibule. Four Justarchs presided over the four big islands of the Alliance. Yuri Osten was Justarch over Isle Parish, the island that was home to the Guild, and housed the Order of Shipwrights and Order of Armaments. All three vital to the defense of the Western Watch, and, of course, vital to ensuring the armada was prepared for war.
Ilior wasn’t in sight at the door to the Great Hall that would lead to the interior of the Temple. Lanik Thrakill, with his too-wide smile, stood waiting.
“Where’s Ilior?” Selena asked.
“He had intended to meet you here, though I regretfully sent him away. They wish for you to come alone. The High Reverent insists upon it. Master Ilior told me he’d be waiting for you in the atrium when the meeting was adjourned.”
“Fine, then,” Selena said, though she felt anything but fine. She felt as if she were about to go into battle without the strong wall of a fortress at her back.
“He is a loyal bodyguard.” Lanik opened the great oaken doors for her.
“He is not my bodyguard,” she snapped, more harshly than she’d intended, and stepped inside the Great Hall. Lanik followed after, closing the door behind him.
White marble walls rose high on all sides, threaded with silver, and carved in undulating waves. At the very top, fifty spans high, was set a skylight in pure crystal. A perfect circle of thinly cut quartz let in the day’s sun, muting its light into a soft radiance that lit the entire chamber. At night, it harnessed light from the moon and stars and lit the Great Hall in the glowing white hues of sea foam at midnight. Day or night, the circular shape of the crystal cast a full moon on the polished marble floor.
The beauty was marred by neglect. Dust motes danced in the air, and oily smudges climbed the walls where lamps were ensconced. Justarch and Armada officials and guards milled about, some stopping to watch her approach.
She turned to Lanik. “Again, I’ve lived within these walls since I was a child. I can find my own way to the Vestibule.”
“Of course, Paladin,” Lanik said, “but the High Reverent insists.”
Selena bit back her irritation and allowed Lanik to lead her down the broad passages of the Temple as if she hadn’t walked these paths a thousand times since her youth. Here, it was quiet; she and Lanik had left the officials behind, and their footsteps echoed around them hollowly. Stained glass windows lined the walls and cast rainbow hues against the marble. The syrupy colors were too bright, too cloying, like decorations for a festival no one attended.
They arrived at another heavy oak door, set with a silver disc the size of a dinner plate. In its blurred reflection, Selena thought her blue eyes looked tired and her skin pale—always pale, never flushed with heat or colored by warmth. Her pallor was the product of fear as well. On the other side of the door, she would learn the purpose of the summons. Another war? Or to deny her petition to drink from the God’s Tears. Or perhaps worse. She had sometimes wondered if the Reverents who made up the governing body of the Aluren would vote to exile her. The thought made her shiver nearly as strongly as her wound did. The Temple was all she knew. But for Ilior, it was all she had.
Two of the Admiral’s guards and two of the Justarch’s stood before the huge doors. They crowded the entrance to the Vestibule with their muskets and cutlasses, but discipline kept any one from appearing awkward or uncomfortable. Lanik cleared his throat delicately.
“I’ll announce you, Paladin,” he said.
“No, I go in alone.” Selena held up a hand when he started to protest. “I know what the High Reverent has ordered, but on this I insist. I will not be announced.”
“But…if I may ask,” Lanik said, “why would you not wish for an entrance befitting your station?”
Because when you announce my name, ‘Selena Koren’, will ring out in our empty halls and the ‘Tainted One’, will echo after, she thought. Aloud, she said, “My station is serving the god. You may go.” She smiled to help take the stiffness out of her command. Lanik acquiesced, and with a final bow slipped back down the hallway.
“Gentlemen.” She nodded to the guards. They moved aside and she stepped inside the Vestibule.
In the twenty years since she’d called the Temple her home, she’d only had cause to visit the Vestibule a handful of times. Her initiation into the faith had been one. The occasion of her Paladinship ten years ago was another. That had been a hurried affair, barely holding to tradition. The Zak’reth war had been a roaring inferno and Aluren Paladins were tossed into the fire as fast as their vows could be uttered.
The Vestibule was plainer than the Great Hall but better maintained. The walls were free of oil smudges and the marble was polished to a high sheen.
Celestine does her best, Selena thought, for one so heavily burdened at such a young age. The High Reverent sat in a plain chair on a long, raised dais at the end of the hall. She was flanked by her two Reverent Paladins—Gerus and Taliah. The Admiral of the Alliance Armada sat beside Gerus, and to his left was the Justarch of Isle Parish. They spoke in hushed tones and fell to silence as Selena approached.
Every time she sailed the outer islands to heal those in need, Selena returned to see the Moon Temple and its inhabitants with new eyes. Just as the foliage in the atrium seemed worse for wear in just a few short weeks, so too, did the High Reverent. Celestine’s beautiful face was stiff with her usual seriousness— a cold visage framed by rich brown hair—but showing signs of fatigue, like little cracks in the surface of white porcelain. Her robes were immaculate, and the silver pendant of a full moon rested in the exact center of her chest. The pendant looked as though it weighed a thousand pounds. She noted too that Celestine’s hands were folded on the table, but clenched too tightly.
Selena stood before the assemblage and bowed low.
Celestine began to speak but Reverent Taliah broke in first.
“Time grows short,” the Juskarii woman growled by way of greeting, as if they’d been sitting in the Vestibule waiting for days. “Our purpose is urgent and we’ve much to discuss.” Her red skin seemed to glow like hot embers in the light of the oil lamps burning in delicate sconces on the walls at paced intervals. Selena wondered, with a twinge of envy, if the Juskarii woman felt as warm as her coloring made her seem.
Reverent Gerus snorted. He was not quite seventy, but his ebon skin glowed with health. Or anger, judging by his next words. “Urgent,” he said, drawing Taliah’s indignant stare. “Urgent my eye. This is nothing more than a disgrace. A charade—”
“Silence,” Celestine cut in. “This is an Alliance meeting and will be afforded the proper decorum. Your objections of earlier are duly noted, Reverent Gerus, and now we must proceed.” She looked to Selena, a small, tight smile on her face. “Paladin Koren, greetings. I believe you’ve met Admiral Archer Crane?”
“I have,” Selena said. “Good afternoon, Admiral.”
“And to you, Paladin,” the Admiral replied with a wan smile.
He was older than her twenty-eight years—in his early forties—and handsome with dark hair and eyes. Selena recalled him as a happy, somewhat insouciant fellow, always with a smile and a jest on his lips. She had not known him well; they’d only spoken in passing, but he’d always been kind to her. Selena remembered his kindness well.
Archer Crane’s keen leadership skills and mastery of nautical tactics had earned him his rank though Selena thought the authority fit him like an undersized coat. “Bureaucracies belong on shore,” he was known to say, “but I belong at sea.” Even as she watched, he tugged on the collar of his red dress uniform and leaned back in his chair as if to affect a nonchalance he didn’t feel. He twisted a hammered gold doubloon worn on his little finger around and around.
His wedding ring.
He’s a good man, she thought. I hope Skye knows what she’s doing to hurt him so.
Celestine continued with the introductions. She indicated to the man on the Admiral’s right. “This is Justarch Yuri Osten, of Isle Parish.”
Selena bowed low. “Justarch Osten. An honor.”
An honor, she thought, so long as you are not here to send me to war.
A slender man with a salt-and-pepper beard worn impeccably neat and trimmed, Justarch Osten regarded her with a stony, thin-lipped silence. His doublet was a fine rich green in color, and gold rings glinted on several fingers. He might have been handsome had his expression been warmer. His answering nod was short and shallow.
“I understand your devotions on lesser isles have gone well,” Celestine said to Selena.
“I believe so, High Reverent.”
“I have heard your healing has brought relief to a great many who required it.”
“That was my aim, High Reverent.”
“Modest, eh?” Taliah muttered. “The news of your service arrived quicker than you.”
“You are strong in Aluren magic, Paladin Koren.” Celestine threw Taliah a short look. “The god has Heard you and Heard you clearly. And yet,” the High Reverent said stiffly, as if bracing herself, “your wound remains. And it’s with the intention of helping you find a means of healing it, did we summon you.”
Heal my wound.
She was stunned silent. Hope flared at the words. In the six years that Skye was the High Reverent and the four of Celestine’s rule, no one had offered or suggested any means of healing her wound.
“My petition…?” Selena ventured.
Celestine shook her head. “My hands are, as ever, tied on that matter, Paladin.”
Selena should have expected such an answer, but it was a sharp blow to the gut anyway. She swallowed her humiliation, mindful of every eye trained on her.
“Forgive me, I don’t wish to sound rude but why then must Admiral Crane and Justarch Osten be a party to Aluren business?”
Why must they be a party to my shame?
“The matter of your wound,” Justarch Osten said, his lips turning upward on the word as if he had tasted something sour, “is part and parcel to a greater issue concerning the Alliance.”
“We convened this morning before your arrival,” Celestine said, “and will continue our talks after you have taken your leave, such is the gravitas of the news that arrived this morning.”
Selena swallowed. “What news?”
“The not good kind,” Gerus said.
“The worst of it concerns the Bazira,” Celestine said. “It seems the faithful to our god’s darker aspect have grown mightily in numbers since the Zak’reth war, even as our own dwindle. The war’s devastation has proven very lucrative for them.”
“They grow and spread like a fungus in the dark,” Taliah muttered.
“Indeed,” Celestine said. “The Alliance saved many people of the Eastern Edge islands from the Zak’reth but then we—”
“Abandoned them,” Gerus put in.
“—returned home,” Celestine continued as if she hadn’t heard, “and they have few resources to rebuild. Many are angry and have turned to the Bazira.”
“Turned to the Bazira for what?” Selena asked. “To become adherents? Have that many Heard the Shadow face of the God?”
“Not adherents,” Gerus said. “The Bazira are building a damn army. A rough-shod, unorganized army of brutes and rogues, but an army nonetheless.”
“Inhabitants of the island cluster known as the Farendus Isles have taken to calling themselves the Forgotten Isles,” Celestine said. “These Forgotten Isles have suffered terrible atrocities, even though the war is ten years ended: murder, rape, robbery and such. Thieves and scoundrels and mercenaries have been ravaging the islands for a decade. But now, we believe these ruffians are being enticed to serve the Bazira.”
“If I recall, the Farendus Isles were always fiercely independent,” Selena said. “Why would they agree to serve anyone?”
“Doubloons. Food. Survival,” Gerus said. “The Forgotten Isles are a mess, and that’s all there is to it. Of course those Baziran bastards are behind it. Preying on the fears of people who have no hope. Goading and prodding them into thinking their way is the best way…”
“And so they are amassing willing soldiers, not adherents, though they outnumber us in that regard, as well.”
“Of course they do,” Taliah snapped. “During the war the Bazira sat back and watched us get slaughtered by the Zak’reth.” She turned to Selena. “Baziran strength is what makes it imperative that we obey Skye’s directives.”
Selena’s eyes widened and she took a step back. “You’ve heard from Skye?”
Without meaning to, her gaze went to Archer Crane. He remained slouched but she saw the tension in his jawline and he twisted his wedding ring with a vengeance. Selena had heard the whispering about him, that he would abandon the Western Watch—and his own son by his first marriage—to chase after Skye if he could. But having been the subject of so many rumors and whispering herself, Selena disdained such talk.
But to hear from Skye after all this time. Four years since the night she left Isle Lillomet with only a short list of orders to carry out in her absence. The rumor went that the list declined even a passing mention of her husband, the Admiral.
Celestine pursed her lips in annoyance. “One thing at a time, Reverent Taliah, if you please.” She sighed and turned to Selena. “A peliteryx came several days ago. We know not from where; the bird was unmarked for return and near mad with hunger. It killed two other peliteryxes and had to be put down. It carried a message from Skye, warning us of the unrest in the Forgotten Isles and how the Bazira seek to benefit from it.”
She drew forth several pages of parchment that wanted to curl for having been rolled to fit a peliteryx’s pouch canister.
“This is the better news. Here, she finally answers for us the question we have all been asking: why did she leave four years ago without word to her Temple, the Justarchy, or her…family,” she said, not looking at the Admiral. “Time is short to relay every detail. Suffice to say that Skye intends to bring harmony to all of Lunos, just as she did to the Western Watch.”
Selena let this information wash over her, hoping to feel relief or joy. She felt only confused. “To bring harmony? But how?”
“That’s the question, eh?” Gerus snorted. “It’s an empty promise if I ever heard one.”
Taliah rounded on him fiercely. “Your disrespect of Skye was galling enough in private chambers,” the Juskaran woman seethed. “It is made worse when displayed before this august council.”
“Respect Skye, do you?” Gerus huffed. “Is that what blind devotion is called nowadays?”
Taliah’s reddish-hued skin turned crimson and her gold eyes flared wide. The High Reverent laid a restraining hand on her arm.
“Reverent Gerus,” Celestine said, “now is not the time to state your concerns all over again.”
“No? I think it’s exactly the time and place, and I’ll state them over and over again until I’m heard.” The old warrior shook his head. “Cover your ruddy ears, Taliah,” he said, “because what I’m about to say will sound mighty disrespectful.”
While the Juskaran blustered, Gerus leaned over the table and pounded his fist to emphasize his words.
“This whole thing, it’s a farce. I think it’s a travesty that all the most powerful heads of faith, state, and ship hang their hopes on the words of a woman who left these isles four years ago without so much as a by-your-leave to anyone. So that now, after all this time, a bird from her sends the entire Alliance into a tizzy to do as she bids without one drop of evidence to say she’s got the right of things.”
Taliah’s eyes were wide and her mouth hung ajar. “It’s Skye…”
“Pish-tosh to your Skye.” The older man’s voice rose loud and deep. “We’ll send Selena Koren to her death over Skye’s decree? Yes, I said your death, missy,” he said to her, “for you’re supposed to kill not one, but two Bazira priests. And one is no trifle. He’s been dubbed the most powerful Bazira to come out of the Shadow face’s ranks since Horace the Rotten. And why do we do this? For the worst, most horrid reason. A corruption of hope. Your hope…”
Gerus paused to catch his breath and Taliah pounced.
“Enough of your blasphemy!” The Juskarii slapped her palm on the table. “You have shown contempt to the Temple and its greatest Paladin—”
“Oh, to speak against her is blasphemy now, is it?” Gerus countered. “What, Skye is godly now? Is her word as sanctified as that of the Shining face itself?”
“We’ll have order,” Celestine began but Gerus would not abide.
“And Skye is our greatest Paladin? Can Skye call the sea to do her bidding? Eh? No. But she can!” Gerus stabbed a gnarled finger at Selena.
Call the sea. Selena stood in the midst of a maelstrom, whipped by their words and memories. She would never again call the sea. Never. She would rather face exile if it came to it.
Taliah seethed through clenched teeth. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I do not believe our numbers have dwindled so much so that the order should suffer your presence, Gerus. I’m certain there is a more worthy choice to sit your seat on the Temple’s sovereign board—”
“There is!” Gerus rose to his feet and jabbed the air in Selena’s direction again. “And she’s standing right there!”
Taliah’s mouth snapped shut with a clack. Celestine seemed about to speak but bit her lip instead. Justarch Osten, favored Selena with a curious stare and the Admiral watched her with a newfound scrutiny. Selena stood silent for a moment, too stunned to speak.
“I appreciate your faith in me,” she told Gerus when she’d found her voice, “but I am not fit for…such a rank. It is impossible.”
“It is impossible,” Taliah agreed with a huff.
“My eye,” Gerus spat. “What’s impossible to comprehend is why this girl is not honored for her service. Instead, we give her a death sentence.”
Death sentence? Skye had made contact, the Bazira were amassing an army, and now this. Selena’s head reeled.
“You disparage Selena Koren’s power even as you seek to defend her,” Celestine said, her tone cold. She fixed the old man with an icy stare, as he was still on his feet. “There is no reason to doubt Skye. She has always Heard the god better than any; she would not send Paladin Koren to fulfill a task if she believed it to be futile. Now, if you please. This conference has been too much distracted by petty bickering…”
“No, Taliah is right,” Gerus said. “I don’t belong here any longer.” He nearly toppled his chair leaving the dais, and strode toward Selena. “Whatever they ask of you,” he told her, “tell them no. It is a deadly farce.”
Up close, Selena could see the sadness in his brown eyes.
“Don’t do it, child,” he said softly. “It means your death.”
“I don’t understand.”
He reached up slowly, hesitantly, and patted her cheek. “I’m very sorry. You have not been treated well. May the god Hear you. But this is not the way.”
He stomped down the hallway. Selena heard him mutter at the guards to get out of his way and then the Vestibule door slammed shut, sending a deep reverberation throughout the Temple.
“Apostate,” Taliah muttered after a moment.
“No.” Celestine sounded weary. “This has been a long time coming. But he has the god’s ear, still. We will deal with Reverent Gerus later. I apologize that you had to witness such uncouth behavior, Justarch, Admiral. And you, Selena.”
Justarch Osten slapped the papers before him onto the table. “If we could proceed…”
“Yes, we shall proceed,” Celestine said, sitting up straight, “so that we can release Paladin Koren to the task assigned before we continue addressing the rest of Skye’s plans. Before the sun sets, preferably.” She looked to Selena. “Skye, in her journeys, has learned of the existence of two powerful Bazira in the northern waters of the Eastern Edge. One is a shadow cleric by the name of Accora.”
Accora. The name meant nothing to Selena. “And the other?”
“The other, a Reverent named Bacchus, was reported to be with Accora but they have since separated. To where, we do not know and neither does Skye, according to this missive.”
Selena swallowed. “And she wishes me to…?”
Celestine met her eye. “Kill them.”
Kill them. Kill them all. She was whipped back to the war. She called the sea and the sea obeyed. The people—enemy and innocent alike—were far away but she heard their screams anyway…
Selena blinked the memories away and shivered.
“I don’t expect it will be easy,” Celestine continued. “There is great danger involved as these two have risen high in the Bazira faith. They are powerful and it is with no light heart that I ask you to take on this quest.”
“But why?” Selena asked. “It’s murder—”
“Murder?” Taliah snorted. “They are Bazira. The god alone knows what kind of terrors they are wreaking. It is not murder to stop murderers, it is justice.”
“It’s assassination,” Selena said. “I won’t do it.”
When Celestine flinched at the open defiance, Admiral Crane spoke for the first time.
“It’s a direct order,” he said with a hint of sternness in his tone. “Not just from the High Reverent or from Skye, but from the Alliance itself. If the Bazira are amassing an army, if they mean to strike you Aluren when you are so weakened, then the removal of two of their powerful would be a strategic blow to their plans.”
A strategic blow? Selena felt her stomach churn and turned her gaze levelly on the man. “If it is an Alliance matter, then why not send the armada? My days of murdering without cause are over.”
“Without cause?” Taliah barely choked out the words.
Celestine laid a hand on the Juskarii’s arm.
“I’m afraid you have no choice,” she said to Selena, bolder now. “I don’t wish to force your hand, but I will if I must with an official decree. To disobey means demotion from the rank of Paladin, perhaps even exile from the Temple. These Bazira are closer to the Western Watch than at any time in recent memory. We cannot have the Bazira establishing strongholds so near. War will certainly come again if our dark brethren are allowed to land the Shadow Armada on our shores.”
“And if our armada could deal with the Bazira alone, I would undertake the mission myself,” Archer Crane said and Selena heard the longing in the man’s voice. “But their magic is best fought with your magic. You know this.”
“What will the Bazira consider the murder of two of their own if not an act of war?” Selena asked.
“You need not concern yourself with the ramifications,” Justarch Osten said. “You need do as you’re commanded. The safety of the Western Watch must come before any trifling moral objections on your part.”
Selena recoiled as if slapped. Moral objections? The wound breathed its icy breath, a moral objection from the god for the life she had taken. The Justarch regarded her with undisguised repulsion. He had no idea what he was asking.
“The two Bazira are esteemed among the Shadow face’s ruling body. Bacchus especially,” Admiral Crane said. “We, the Alliance, feel that the benefit of their absence outweighs the risks.”
Selena clenched her jaw. “High Reverent,” she said to Celestine, “the last time I took life unprovoked…”
“Killing the invading Zak’reth was hardly done without provocation,” Taliah said. “This is no different.”
“No different?” A sudden, uncommon fury welling in Selena. “With all due respect, you haven’t the slightest notion,” she said. “I killed hundreds of innocents with that spell meant for the Zak’reth and now bear the mark to prove it.”
Her hand went to her chest with a half-mad intention of ripping aside her tunic to show them the wound. The chamber hushed. She could feel them craning in to see. But she let her hand drop. Only Skye and Ilior had ever seen the wound and she intended that no one else ever would.
Celestine cleared her throat. “Yes, of course, of course,” she said. “Taliah, Paladin Koren is correct. We cannot hope to understand the pain she has suffered and continues to suffer in service to us, the Alliance, and to Lunos. But it’s with your wound in mind, Selena, that Skye’s plans bear the most fortuitous fruit.”
My mouth went dry. “What do you mean?
“It is Skye’s decree that you kill these two Bazira, Accora and Bacchus,” Celestine said, “because she believes doing so will close your wound.”
The bathhouse in the basement of the dormitories was empty. A servant typically lit the fire and drew the water from the well, but Selena took up the bucket herself. She had to be alone for what she intended to do.
Close your wound…
She had left the meeting in a daze, hearing nothing but that promise resounding in her head. Ilior had been waiting for her at the atrium as promised, but she couldn’t speak. She had told the High Reverent that she needed one night to meditate, to pray to the god for guidance in this matter. That was only partially true. Selena’s heart quaked in fear at taking life unprovoked. She knew all too well the god’s wrath. But Skye had the god’s ear like no other. If what she said was true…
When the bath was drawn, Selena stood alone in the bathhouse. Dripping water echoed on the stone floors, while steam from the bath water curled up in gentle tendrils. Her wound exhaled, and she shivered.
Whatever they ask of me, I won’t Summon. Never again. The price is too high.
Selena stepped out of her sleeping dress and into the bath. The tingles were sharp; the water was near scalding. The water came just below her breasts, wetting the bottom lengths of her pale blond hair that she kept draped over the wound.
Selena washed herself, and her long hair with powered soap that left the water chalky. Every inch of her skin had known the touch of the washcloth but one. She took a deep, tremulous breath and pulled her hair over her shoulder to lay the wound bare.
Her gaze went to it immediately, mesmerized. Blackness. A black crescent moon, stark on her pale skin. Not the black of a tattoo or bruise, the blackness of a shadow, a starless patch of night sky. Blackness that had depth. That breathed.
She stared at it, and her hand rose limply, as if on strings, to trace its crescent shape. The draft over her fingertips was colder now that there was no clothing to muffle it. She felt the smooth ridge where her skin ended and the black nothingness began. Her head cocked to the side. She watched as her fingers touched the edge of the wound and then vanished into the great void where there was no bone or muscle or beating heart to count the passing moments…
I ran inside the house. My father’s travel sack and hat were in the foyer. He’d come home! With my heart pounding with joy in my chest, I clambered up the winding stairs. The big house seemed empty, but I heard something in my parents’ sleeping quarters. As if someone had dropped a sack of flour onto the floor.
I slowed my steps. I could feel a tingle over my skin, like cold breath. I pushed open the door and stepped into a nightmare.
My mind wouldn’t comprehend the whole of what I was seeing. It was too much. My vision shattered into pieces...The knife was silver. The blood was red. The body on the floor wasn’t moving. My mother’s eyes were filled with tears and madness.
“Selena…You’ll be all right,” she told me and then thrust the knife under her own ribs...
Selena jolted, sloshing water over the side. Always the worse memories, she thought, as sobs choked her. And that one, the worst of them all.
She blinked, and shook her head to clear it, confused. Something was wrong. Her arm was held in an awkward position. She looked down. Her entire hand was gone, lost inside the wound.
Selena thrashed and a scream tore from her throat. She ripped her hand from the hole in her chest, out of the endless blackness bored deep inside her where no heat lived. She held up it up before her, staring at it with wide eyes, her breath hitching and her heart pounding in her ears. It was rimed with frost from the tip of the fingers to the wrist, coated with shimmering ice crystals, as if she’d dipped it in diamond dust.
No, not again…
“No, no, no,” she whispered. “How long have I…?” She plunged her hand into the bath water. Muted tingles told her it was no longer scalding hot, but lukewarm.
“No. No more. Please. I can’t take it any longer. Please…No more…”
She scraped the frosty crystals off her skin, rubbing frantically long after they had melted away. She gathered her hair and yanked it down over her left side, and then wrapped her arms around her knees. She sat for long moments, rocking and adding her tears to the quickly cooling water.
And when the water was cold and she began to shiver in earnest, she threw her head back in a silent wail of anguish that no one could hear.