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Wylan didn’t know how he was still breathing, but he was, often even checking that he was awake and this wasn’t just another awful nightmare. His legs carried him aimlessly, following close behind Jesper, having no other choice but to blindly assume he knew best.
They raced down the stairs to the opening in the wall that led them out to the courtyard. Jesper’s arm was thrown out in front of Wylan, and he almost crashed against it, winding him a little. Six guards ran into the courtyard, which was probably what Jesper wanted them to stop running into.
‘Turn back,’ Jesper said, but Wylan barely noticed, his gaze turning to the sight at the other side of the courtyard, where the guards seemed to be focusing their attention.
Wylan pointed shakily at them. ‘Look it’s…’ He didn’t want to be correct, because if he was, he wasn’t sure what this meant for the others, let alone him and Jesper.
The man in drab olive robes stood by one of the stone slabs, the uniform familiar. Wylan braced for something to happen, and just as his muscles tensed, he spotted another one, this time a woman who walked through the wall. The glimmering ghost of a figure solidified on the other side, and instinctively, Wylan’s hand reached to Jesper’s arm and pulled his sleeve back.
‘They’re Tidemakers,’ said Wylan.
‘The Shu. They’re here.’
Wylan flinched slightly at the guards opening fire, not knowing what to expect. He hadn’t seen a Tidemaker on jurda parem before, and he hadn’t planned on it. But he’d never thought he’d see such a display of impossible science, the figures seeming to spatter as if the guards were firing on liquified mist. It would have been awe-inspiring, if adrenaline and dread wasn’t shooting its way down Wylan’s veins.
The Tidemakers disappeared then reappeared behind the guards, lifting their arms in perfect synchronization. For a moment, Wylan watched as nothing visible happened, but it soon became apparent what they were doing.
The guards screamed and dropped their weapons. Wylan’s stomach began to swirl with a mix of horror and perturbation at the sight of the strong men weakened so quickly. A crimson haze formed around them, which got denser by the second as the guards kept shrinking. Wylan’s throat got tighter at the sight of the guards’ flesh slackening, getting tighter and shrinking against their bones.
‘It’s their blood,’ Jesper said beside him. ‘All Saints, the Tidemakers are draining their blood.’ Wylan didn’t know how to respond, if he could even speak words in this situation.
And what a predicament it was. Because Wylan had a slight suspicion that this could be their fate. Red pools formed in the air in the faintest shape of the men they came from, and finally splashed onto the ground, droplets spreading, just as the guards collapsed. What would that even feel like, to lose so much blood out of your body without an opening in the skin?
The two of them were closer to each other now, as if for comfort. Jesper whispered, ‘Back up the stairs. We need to get out of here.’ Wylan dumbly nodded and they both spun around.
As if she had heard them though, the female Tidemaker appeared in a flash on the stairs. Wylan’s eyes widened into pools of dread as she balanced her weight on the banisters with her hands and planted her boots against Wylan’s chest, kicking him backwards. He had no time to process the strike of pain that went through him before he fell back into Jesper, feeling arms try to steady him but fail as they both landed on the black stone of the courtyard in a heap.
He hated the feeling of his heart beating out of his chest like that, bringing back bad memories that he had very little time to dwell on. He was lightheaded, and helplessly tried to force himself to move his muscles enough so he could stand, as Jesper was trying to do too. He felt the breath catch at the back of his throat as Jesper was cuffed at the back of the head, making all his motivation dissipate.
Well, if he was wondering what it would feel like to be drained, he was about to find out.
As a desperate last resort, Wylan turned his head to the side to see if Jesper was being stronger than he was, opening his mouth to say something in a panic.
His face grew cold. He saw Jesper too, being drained of energy as he felt his ebb away as well, and his heart wrenched. Breathing hurt, even moving any muscle at all brought on waves of pain as he looked up. The faint red haze was over the two of them now, and they were being drained.
Even though it took all of his energy, Wylan looked to Jesper again, searching for solace. Veins were popping in his forehead and temple, jaw clenched like a clamp. He wondered what it was like for him, for Jesper, to be killed by his own kind.
His own kind.
Wylan caught sight of the metal shaving still laden on Jesper’s clothes from the chain, and he tensed, the ideas flowing through him like a river. But he could hardly move a muscle, let alone articulate what he was thinking.
He moved his fingers and the muscles felt sinewy, as if they were hanging onto his bones by the thread. Pain jolted through his whole arm as he reached his pinky finger out. He thanked all the saints that Jesper’s hand was so close to his already, the slight touch between them seeming to make Jesper turn his head.
Weakly, they linked, like a chain.
Wylan wasn’t sure how he found the strength or the energy, but he said strangled, ‘Jesper.’ He gasped a little. ‘Metal. On… Just— Fabrikate.’
As soon as he closed his mouth again, the pain reached new heights, his whole body throbbing like an alarm, hoping that Jesper understood him as most of his muscles spasmed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he heard himself scream, yelling breathlessly, teeth clenching together as the cold feeling reached his toes. He wasn’t sure if his body had shrunk or was on fire, at the same time as feeling completely frozen.
The unwelcome feeling of his heart slowing down came first. Then came another sound. He was wheezing, or something, and his eyes were heavy as if they were about to burst in his head. His eyelids opened slowly to see a blurry sight.
The image of the Tidemakers’ shaking arms finally lowering gave him no time to feel relief. Just as he felt a rush of breath in his lungs, pain sparked in his head like he had been shot.
There was a rushing sound in his ears, like waves, the waves of Ketterdam harbor, waves he’d fought against.
He was falling.
Something clapped against his back, though it was a very hazy feeling, almost like it wasn’t all there.
Then water rushed over his eyes and he was under the waves, with the blurry, sparkling image of the bottom of the ship above him.
He couldn’t breathe, he knew it, and yet his body automatically made him intake a breath, feeling the water come into his mouth and invade his lungs. His muscles still spasmed.
Every movement he made with his legs or arms to try and get to the surface was futile. He was sinking, sinking, lower and lower. He felt his eyes shut gradually as the sunlight slowly disappeared from view.
He had been choked to death. Then he would drown.
He had just wanted to go to music school.
He was a fool for being hopeful. A fool for ever believing that his father saw what he could do, rather than what he couldn’t.
Please don’t let it be him that did it. Please.
The world went very dark and cold.
‘Oh you’re definitely not a morning person, are ya?’
Wylan felt himself sink a little deeper, but he was on something. Something soft and comforting. He turned his head, and it still hurt like the devil, but there were pillows surrounding him. He buried his face into them and softly groaned.
‘Come on sleepy head,’ the gentle voice said again.
It couldn’t be .
He cautiously opened his eyes, only to be met with the vivid image of his mother leaning over him, hands on her hips, auburn curls framing her beautiful face. Alive.
Healthy? Healthy.
She didn’t look pale. She looked lively. Before the illness got her, Wylan thought grimly.
A surge of desperation rushed through him and he tried to get up, before realizing he was back. Oh saints, he was back in his old room.
But it wasn’t the same as when he had left it. His mother’s presence lit up the whole space. She was there, somehow, and Wylan found he didn’t even care to know the reason.
He sat up slowly to embrace his mother who was sitting on the bed. He willed himself to stay strong, be calm and not cry, in case it worried her. He buried his face into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut again.
‘Hey, hey there my little boy, what’s gotten you so cuddly?’ Marya said in her soothing tone, tightening her arms around him. His heart wrenched when he realized he hadn’t been hugged in so long. In fact, the last person to hug him was his mother, eight whole years ago.
Wylan mumbled something, but he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say.
‘You haven’t hugged me this hard for a long time, sugar.’
He felt tears rolling down his face, and didn’t want to pull away, not yet. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he also had someone wipe his tears for the first time in eight years either.
He couldn’t be strong, definitely not in front of the woman he’d wished so hard to see again. Definitely not when he knew deep down, that this wasn’t real.
‘You alright? Wanna let go so we can have some brownies downstairs?’ Marya urged.
Wylan shook his head numbly. He imagined letting go and seeing nothing. He imagined letting go and seeing Marya cold and lifeless.
‘Alright then.’
So he didn’t let go, and didn’t intend to. If he knew she was safe, then he felt that way too.
Over her shoulder, he took in his surroundings, realizing they had somehow transitioned from his childhood bedroom to the gardens, and they were beautiful. Birds tweeted cheerily, the sun beat down on the two of them, there was a cherry blossom over their heads, raining small pink petals.
It was tranquility incarnate.
But it was almost too peaceful. The environment glowed too bright. It wasn’t real. This was a fantasy. Marya was treating him like he was eight, but he wasn’t, he was older now.
Wylan looked towards the background. The mansion loomed over them like a monster searching for its next victim. Like the ones that Wylan used to be scared of when he was a child, the ones that his mother assured him weren’t real.
And they hadn’t been. Until she died, and his father began to do all those things that the monsters had done.
The sky was gray. The tree had no petals. The grass was wet and mulchy. The mansion cast a shadow over Wylan’s face.
Marya was gone.
Wylan scrambled, searching around him for any sign of his mother. No, no, no, no . She was gone again. He hadn’t been strong enough to keep her here. He needed her, he needed her to stay so he could stop being weak, so he could deal with what the Ice Court job threw at him.
‘Please come back,’ Wylan whispered into the ground as he leant down, putting his face to the grass.
Tears were streaming down his face and onto the dirty grass as the image of her inside his head began to fade again. Her vibrant smile, her laugh, her nicknames for him.
She didn’t come back. In the end, he couldn’t have expected her to. No one did. No one could save him now.
‘Son. Get up.’
Wylan looked up with puffy eyes.
Are you a murderer? He wanted to ask. Instead he said nothing to his father before him.
But he knew that he wasn’t waking up any time soon.
♪♪
As Wylan began to scream, Jesper understood in a flash what he was meant to do, ignoring the wrenching in his heart at the sound of Wylan in such pain. He had no idea it would affect him that much. But there was no time to think, no time to doubt.
Focusing all his attention on the tiny particles and shavings from the severed link in the gate chain, Jesper thrust his hands forward. The bits of metal flew from his uniform and hung in the air as a gleaming cloud of gray before shooting towards the Tidemakers.
The female Tidemaker screamed as the metal burrowed into her flesh and she tried and failed to turn to mist, the other one doing the same thing. Jesper, even though he could no longer hear Wylan screaming, didn’t relent and drove the metal harder and deeper into their organs. The woman fell to her knees and the man coughed up blood ridden with clumps of metal.
‘Help me,’ the woman sobbed, edges blurring and vibrating as she struggled to fade to mist.
He couldn’t do it anymore, dropping his hands. Energy flowed back into his veins, adrenaline pumping around his body like it was a race track, and he scooted away, assuming Wylan would follow. The bodies were writhing on the floor.
Had he really just killed two of his own kind? They hadn’t exactly deserved it, he thought, as his mind went back to the banners on the wall.
His gaze switched from the bodies that were now getting quite still to Wylan, who was also still. Too still.
Jesper rolled his eyes slightly and rushed back to where they had been, ready to tell Wylan to pull his sorry ass together. But when he reached him, Jesper stopped short.
The merchling was so pale he looked transparent, veins close to the surface. His chest was rising and falling, but extremely slowly. His lips were practically white. For a moment, Jesper haltered.
No. They needed to get out of here, there was no time for a nap. ‘Wylan? Merchling. Look alive,’ he said, shaking Wylan by the shoulders.
The limpness of his body disturbed him, as Wylan flopped around like he didn’t care that Jesper was touching him. He wasn’t awake, he wasn’t conscious. Jesper paused for a second, looking around him and wondering if he had time to wake him up or if he should just leave him there, already dead. He cursed himself as he felt for a pulse, and cursed himself even more at the relief he felt when there was a heartbeat.
He didn’t have time. He knew it. But still, he slid his arm under Wylan’s back and the other underneath his knees and stood up, carrying him to a large alcove in the wall. He was surprisingly light, and his lead lolled back which stretched his neck, but Jesper could feel the after effects of the blood haze. Once he had set Wylan carefully onto the ground, sitting him upright against the wall, Jesper gasped for air.
After he had finally caught up with the pummelling of his heartbeat, Jesper sprang into action. He sat up, looking Wylan over, shaking him slightly, then harder.
‘Come on, merchling, I know you’re in there,’ Jesper muttered, brushing the sweaty curls back from Wylan’s forehead. His now-pinkening lips were slightly parted, and his eyelashes rested on his under-eye, but that was it. Even after Jesper shook him as hard as he could, he didn’t stir.
Jesper pressed his shaking fingertips to the soft skin of Wylan’s neck, and there seemed to be nothing. Grunting in a panic, Jesper leaned his ear against Wylan’s chest, searching. Please, please, please, he found himself thinking.
He couldn’t let the last memory that Wylan had of him be that he didn’t like him, that he was annoyed by him. Because well saints, they needed Wylan. He needed Wylan.
Jesper let out a breath once he felt a faint heartbeat. He could hear Nina saying how she could be useful here, but he shook his head before all the guilt could rush in. He debated doing cpr, but it wasn’t like Wylan was dying, right? He just needed to wake up.
Jesper brushed his fingers over Wylan’s face and cheeks, seeing if even in his unconscious state, the boy still had the ability to blush. He debated what he was about to do, not sure why hesitation had finally come for him in this moment of all moments.
To stall, Jesper started, ‘Mer— Wylan. Wylan, pl…’ The words died on his lips.
Jesper took a deep breath and grimaced. Taking his hand off of Wylan’s face, he brought it back down sharply. The jolt from slapping Wylan in the face, not as hard as he intended, went up Jesper’s arm. It shook him more than expected.
Wylan didn’t move.
‘Oh come on,’ Jesper said, grinding on his teeth and wriggling with apprehension, nerves dancing beneath his skin. He thought that would have done it. ‘Stay with me.’
Harder this time, Jesper hit his face again, heart wrenching at the act. Pull yourself together , he told himself, What’s wrong with you? Wylan’s face faltered and instantly, Jesper drew his hands back, thoughts racing.
A little frown came upon Wylan’s face, and that was when Jesper felt the cool yet warm wetness of a few tears in his face. Yeah, there was definitely something going on with him. Wylan shifted very slightly, his mouth parting to take in a small breath. Jesper didn’t realize how much he had focused the entirety of his attention on Wylan until he heard the Black Protocol alarm bells ringing somehow even louder than before. They caused tremors to go through Jesper’s ears, his head stinging.
Jesper didn’t know what else to do. He touched Wylan’s neck again and his pulse seemed much quicker now, worryingly quick, and his chest began to rise and fall as if the boy was running. Jesper frowned at the fearful expression on Wylan’s face, face scrunching up.
Instinctively, Jesper grasped one hand on Wylan’s cheek, and debated hitting him again but his heart twisted at the thought. Maybe he could have hit Kaz, or Inej, or Nina, or maybe even Matthias if he dared, but not Wylan. Not the prince who had skin laden with soot like a fireplace made of marble. He felt Wylan’s muscles tense, his breath quickening, his eyes scrunching, his mouth pressing into a thin line of fear, and then—
Nothing. He slowly went slack again.
‘No. No, no, no,’ Jesper stammered, his voice breaking. He had no time for this, and if he was forced to leave Wylan behind, he was sure he wouldn’t forgive himself. ‘Stay. Just wake up, dammit.’
Jesper leaned in, inspecting Wylan’s face, his pale face that was as still as stone. Without thinking about it, he touched his forehead to his, like the brush of a butterfly’s wing.
Wylan’s eyes flew open. Jesper jumped backwards as Wylan inhaled the biggest gulp of air he’d ever seen, and leaned over himself, coughing, retching. His hands grasped at his throat, almost like he was checking for something, and he felt his face. Jesper fought the desire to rush toward him.
‘Saints, you…’ Jesper got out, catching his own breath. He didn’t know what he would have done if Wylan stayed still forever. ‘You scared me, merchling.’
Wylan looked up, his blue eyes widened, chest heaving. Jesper swallowed at the sight. Wylan’s shoulders relaxed.
‘We need to move—‘ Jesper began, starting to stand up by planting his foot on the ground.
Wylan rushed forwards, and hesitated. Jesper frowned at the sudden movement, and widened his eyes at the expression on the boy’s face, hair messed up, pupils dilated and eyes widened, lips parted as he panted.
‘Thank you,’ Wylan whispered. ‘I didn’t think anyone… you would do that.’
Jesper sniffed, debating. ‘You’re our demolition expert.’
Jesper expected Wylan’s face to drop a little, instead he genuinely smiled, and Jesper realized that was the first time he’d seen him do that. The merchling’s grin lit up the darkness surrounding them in the courtyard.
Suddenly, Wylan composed himself and stood up. ‘We need to move now.’ Then he held out a hand and Jesper took it, feeling himself be pulled up.
Once Wylan let go, he took one look at Jesper and took off in the other direction.
Oh no, Jesper thought, his hand tingling.