Water & Storm Country

Again, without command from me, Passion trotsup the wet-sand beach and clambers over the dunes. The plains arerain-drenched and muddy, but she never misses a step. I try not tolook at the bodies staring unblinking and vacantly at the sky.

Remy waves to me as we approach. Dazz isbeing worked on by a Healer, his friend Buff hovering over him.

All of a sudden I find tears springing up asemotion swells in my chest. The desire to be close to someone againhits me so hard I swear someone’s pounding on my stomach. I have noone to hold, no one to comfort me. My mother and father are stillwith me, yes, but too far away to give me what I need. I have nofamily.

Remy stares at me, his eyes wet with sadness.Or is it just the rain in his eyes?

I start to dismount, but a flame of painshoots through my hip. With everything that’s happened, I’ve almostforgotten about my injury. I’m pretty sure it’s notlife-threatening, but it hurts like being dunked in a bath ofspearheads.

But I don’t need to dismount, because Remyruns to me, grabs me around the waist, pulls me down. The shock ofthe pain in my hip and his hands touching me is overwhelming,swarming over my skin and through my blood like a warm blanket anda lightning strike and the thrill of battle.

My legs wrap around him and the pain meltsaway and he holds me in his arms, kisses my neck, nuzzles me withhis head. I want to kiss him, but not now, not with the bodiesaround us, not with the lives of our people so casually ended.

But I will hold him, forever and ever andever if he lets me.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Huck

As I climb the ropeladder to the deck, I’m scared about what I’ll find.

When I left her there was so much blood.Should I have fought my father then? Could I have? I know theanswer is no, that he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her then andthere, but I still wonder.

I whipped her half to death. At least I hopeit’s half and not whole.

Just before I swing my leg over the railing,I whisper a silent prayer. Deep Blue let her be alive. If onlyso I can say goodbye properly.

The moment my eyes find their way above deck,my heart beats erratically.

Because she’s there. Not unconscious andlying in a pool of her own blood—the blood that I beat out ofher—but standing, looking right at me, a blanket wrapped around hershoulders.

My feet are nailed to the planks. I can’tmove toward her, because what will I say? What will I do?

One of her hands pokes through a gap in thefront of the blanket. Her fingers gesture me to her.

Does she mean it?

I lift a heavy leg, then another, stumblingforward. I don’t care if she forgives me, don’t care if she everwants to see me again after today. None of that matters, becauseshe’s alive. Of her own strength, she’s alive.

When I’m two or three steps from her, I stopagain. Her black hair is wet and hangs in shiny strands around herface. She looks so calm, her wounds hidden behind the blanket andher emotionless expression.

What do I say? Should I even try for herforgiveness?

She speaks first. “Huck…”

I wait for it. For the anger, for the blame.It’s what I deserve. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. I have to try.“I’m sorry for everything. I’m a terrible, terrible person and I’velived a terrible, terrible life. Everything I’ve touched has turnedto—”

“Huck,” she says again, but I wave her offwith a hand.

“No,” I say. “I have to say this. I’ve hurtyou in so many ways. I never should have let it go this far. I wasweak, still am, but maybe a little stronger than before. My fatherwill rule me no more. He can’t—not from where he is.”

“Huck,” she says once more.

But I’m not listening, my mouth on automatic.“You should hate me, you should leave me far, far behind. Neverlook back, Jade. Never look back at these miserable yars. Forgetabout—”

“Huck!” she says, this time more forcefully.“I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to move on. I forgiveyou.”

“What?” My vision blurs, but I blink my wayback to clarity. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” Jade says, stepping forward, closingthe gap between us by half. “You risked everything for me. Youkilled for me. You hurt me to save me. I heard what your fathersaid. If you didn’t…do it…he would’ve killed me. I don’t blameyou.”

She steps forward again, right up against me,her face just below mine. My arms want to wrap around her, but Ican’t because of her ripped, torn back. I can’t hold her because ofwhat I’ve done to her.

“Are you sure?” I say, feeling her breath onmy lips as she breathes—really breathes!

“Yes,” she says, and then she rises up on hertiptoes and kisses me. Soft and tender and forgiving, and shedoesn’t want to leave me, doesn’t wish to forget me, and I’ll neverdo anything to hurt her again—never ever ever—and although I’venever kissed a girl before, it’s easy, because it’s her. It’sher.

I curl my hands behind the back of her head,careful not to touch anywhere that might be raw. We kiss twice,thrice, four times, just little pecks, before pulling away to lookat each other.

And in that look is everything I’ve everwanted. The pride of someone who cares about me. It never had to bemy father—never should have been my father—just someone.Someone worthwhile. Someone like Jade.

If a rainbow were to appear, falling from thesky, coming down to shine colors for each of my emotions, itwouldn’t have enough colors. ’Cause I’m feeling so much, everyemotion there is and everything in between, streaking through meand around me and across me and in me.

I’ll never let this girl go. Never ever ever.Not in my heart, at least.

“Jade,” a voice says from behind.

Siena

The boy’s taller’n her and partially blockingher, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it is her.

“Jade,” I say, calling out to my long lostsister.

Her little head that’s so much bigger’n itshould be—or at least bigger’n how I remember it—pokes ’round theSoaker boy, the one who helped end the battle.

She’s the spitting image of my mother,beautiful from head to toe, although I can’t see much of her ’causeof the blanket ’round her shoulders.

Skye pops up beside me, a moment behind onthe ladder. “It’s her,” I whisper, but I don’t hafta say it, ’causeshe knows too.

“Burnin’ chunks of tugblaze,” she says, buther voice is way behind me, ’cause I’m already ru

“Get the prickler-burnin’ scorch outta myway,” I say.

“Sorry, I—I just wanted to tell you to begentle. She’s injured. On her back.” The boy steps aside.

“Don’t touch my back,” Jade says, rushingforward and smashing into me, hugging me so fiercely that she warmsme from head to toe like there’s a fire and about ten tugskinblankets inside of her. My arms don’t know where to go, ’cause I’mnot s’posed to touch her back, so they just hang in the air allawkward-like. Maybe I can’t hug her, but I can kiss her, and Iplant a dozen on her head, on her hair, which is wet and don’tsmell so good.

But I don’t care, ’cause it’s my sister andshe’s hugging me and I’m saying over and over again,“JadeohJadeohJadeohJade.”

And then Skye’s there and she’s hugging usboth, and the boy’s reminding us to “Be careful of her back!” and Ithink one of us grazes her skin once or twice because she shuddersbut don’t cry out, ’cause she’s our sister and tougher’n a pack ofgreen-eyed Killers.

We got no parents, but we got each other. Andif Skye or me got anything to say ’bout it—which I ’spect we doconsidering we’re here, ain’t we?—we’ll stay together till the Firetakes us all.