Part 11 (1/2)

She did not move. ”Are you real? Did I imagine all this?”

Perrin slid around her, studying the plastic strip binding her hands. ”Your wrists are raw. Are you imagining the pain?”

He received no answer and set the blade against the restraint. Her skin was so warm. Definitely a fever, he thought.

”You're sick,” he said.

”Later,” she replied, voice strained. ”I need to be free.”

He cut the plastic carefully but caught her hands in one of his before she could pull them apart.

”Slowly,” Perrin said, swallowing hard as her scent filled his nose. Fresh as the sea, and clean. He set down the knife and drew her back against his chest, wrapping his free arm across her upper shoulders. Her feverish warmth flowed into his body. ”How long have you been bound?”

”Days,” she said, stiff inside his embrace.

He wanted to kill A'lesander. ”This is going to hurt.”

She nodded, and he loosened his grip on her hands, just a little. Her breath hissed, and he held her tighter, bracing her shoulders against his chest as she spread her hands farther apart. Another small sound of pain escaped her.

”Easy,” he murmured.

”You act . . .” she swallowed hard, breathless, ” . . . like you've done this before.”

Perrin smiled, knowing she couldn't see him. ”You'll be sore for days, but it'll pa.s.s.”

She was silent a moment. ”I know your voice.”

He stopped breathing and closed his eyes. When he did that, when all he could count on was touch and sound, it felt like the dream again, on the beach in the cold sunlight.

”How do I know your voice?” she whispered, trembling beneath his arm.

He didn't know how to answer her. Except, after a moment of dead quiet, a melody coursed through his head, and he hummed it. Just a few bars.

That was enough. The woman sucked in her breath, leaning hard against him-and then, with a hiss of pain, pushed away. She staggered across the room, arms hanging limp at her sides. Tangled red hair covered half her face, but he could see her eyes-wild, haunted, as though he had cut her with that song.

”You,” she whispered.

”Me,” he said, just as quietly.

She shuddered, backing away. He did not follow. His feet were frozen to the floor, just like his heart. All he could see were her eyes, the eyes he remembered from childhood and his vision-wide with wonder, then wide with rage, and now stormy with emotions he could not name, but feared. He was so afraid of her, of what it meant to find her. Now, of all times.

”I don't . . .” she began, and touched her head, swaying. She tried to speak again, looking at him with an urgency that made him step toward her. She held up her hand as though to stop him but didn't. Her eyes were turning gla.s.sy, blood draining from her face-which was hardly enough warning when her legs buckled. He dove to his knees and caught her. The base of his skull throbbed.

He cradled her close, breathing hard, pressing his hand against her brow. Her skin burned him, and she wouldn't open her eyes. The pain worsened in his head. So did panic.

”Come on,” Perrin whispered, pulling her tight against his chest as he found his feet, awkward and unsteady. He didn't know where to take her, and the helplessness that hit him was almost too much to bear.

He finally remembered seeing a bed in some room he had pa.s.sed while dragging A'lesander. He made his way down the corridor, and the bed was where he remembered it: unmade, rumpled, thick with the Krackeni's scent. Turned Perrin's stomach to lay the woman on those sheets, but he did, and rushed to the nearby bathroom to wet a rag. He placed it on her brow. She never stirred.

Fevers killed. He knew that about humans. About himself, too. He had suffered terrible illnesses for his first several years on land. No immune system. Common colds were devastating. The seasonal flu, before he had learned about vaccinations, had nearly killed him.

Perrin rummaged through the bathroom drawers but found nothing useful for bringing down a fever. Nothing in the main cabin, either. The drawers were full of clothes and maps-cash in one, books, a pa.s.sport with A'lesander's picture in it-all the trappings of a normal human life, one that had been lived with ease and safety. Put a bitter taste in Perrin's mouth.

He checked the woman, flipping the rag to the cool side, and left the cabin. He needed to find aspirin, ibuprofen-even antibiotics. After that, radios. She needed a doctor.

Perrin pa.s.sed a metal door with a gla.s.s insert. Inside, he saw lab equipment. He entered, scanning the room, opening drawers. No first-aid kit, no medicine. He didn't give much thought to anything else he saw, though it seemed to him that this must be some kind of science vessel.

There was another door at the end of the room. He pulled it open, got hit with a blast of cold air-and stopped in his tracks.

A dead woman lay on a stainless-steel table. Not just a woman. A Krackeni.

He knew without getting close. Blood knew blood. She was long and white, and her hair was silver. He stared, breathless, leaning hard against the doorway. He could see her face where he stood. Not well, but enough.

Bile pushed up his throat, and he bent over, gagging. He couldn't stop. He vomited nothing but air and spit, so long, so hard, his throat and chest felt like they were going to crack open. Tears burned his eyes.

By the time Perrin stopped retching, he was on his hands and knees. He nearly had to crawl to reach the corpse. Reached up, tentatively, to touch a cold, still hand. He glimpsed her face-closer now, familiar-and looked away. He pressed his brow against the rim of the icy steel table. Scented death and rot.

”Pelena,” he whispered, shaking. ”Pelena, Pelena.”

He finally managed to stand, his gaze falling upon gaping wounds, bruised flesh. A white sheet lay on the floor beside the table, as though someone had torn it off her body and not had enough respect to replace it.

I'm sorry, Perrin thought, suffering a trembling grief that he didn't know how to express. Gone eight years, and now this. He forced himself to touch that cold face, heart breaking as he traced a line against her familiar cheekbone.

And then, swallowing hard, he used both hands to turn her head-and felt the base of her skull.

He found a hole. But nothing else.

Perrin hadn't even realized he was holding his breath, but it left him in a rush. He picked up the sheet and very carefully pulled it over her body. He stood for a moment, staring at that long white lump-exhaustion bleeding into his bones.

He went to find A'lesander.

Still unconscious. Or just pretending. Perrin stood in the doorway, watching his old friend. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't move. Too tired, in body and mind. It had taken him all night to get here. He was not as strong as he had once been, but being in the ocean was a better high than heroin, and the adrenaline that surged through his body was power enough to keep him going. Bittersweet though it might be.

He had been seen, of course. Sharks, small schools of fish-and from a distance, a pod of dolphins. He couldn't be certain any of them recognized him, but word would get around. Only a matter of time before one of his kind learned he had returned. No such things as secrets in the sea. Eyes everywhere. It pained him that he couldn't trust those eyes. Hurt more than he thought possible. Being home, in the sea, did not fill his heart with comfort as he had fantasized it would. It just made him feel emptier-and, perversely enough, homesick for land.

Perrin went to the bathroom and found plastic cups. He filled one with water, which he splashed on A'lesander's face. When that elicited little more than a twitch, he grabbed the Krackeni's broken nose and twisted. The Krackeni jerked awake with a scream.

”f.u.c.k,” he gasped, tilting his swelling face to peer at Perrin. ”Gonna torture me now?”

”Maybe,” Perrin replied evenly. ”I just saw my cousin's body.”

A'lesander's gaze darkened. He had legs again, and lay on his stomach, arched backward to accommodate the rope around his neck and hands. No good way to hide his face, which he tried to do-jerking sideways, pus.h.i.+ng his cheek into the floor. Perrin swayed closer, following him. Rage pulsed in his throat, but he swallowed it down. If he let go now, he wouldn't stop until A'lesander was dead. He couldn't afford that. Too many questions needed answering.

After that, anything was possible.

”Pelena,” he said, voice breaking on her name. ”She was always kind to you.”