Blood Storm by Rhiannon Hart Page B

rabbit or squirrel as he fed. The reflex gladdened my heart. I felt a sharp tug on my insides, the thread between us, and wondered if he knew that the blood in his mouth was mine. My wrist looked even more insubstantial in his large hands, and I despaired at the insufficiency of it, doubting that I would ever be able to keep him alive.
    A few minutes later the wound clotted and Rodden slept a proper sleep. I felt light-headed and ate some more fish, though it was a poor substitute for the blood I needed.
    By afternoon I was tired of our sluggish progress and certain that if there were harmings around, they would have found us by now. I sat in the bow with the sun warming my back and began to summon a wind. Leap sat tall and proud beside me, his eyes slitted in the strongbreeze. The little craft surged forward, and I managed to keep it up for an hour before spots danced in front of my eyes. I thrust my head between my knees, trying not to faint. The boat slowed to a crawl.
    A moment later I checked our distance with the tor-line. If I was right we would reach Pol in two days’ time, perhaps a little more. We still had one full flask of water and all the fish we could eat thanks to Griffin, but I didn’t know how long we were going to last without blood. If it was just me I could probably manage. I’d been strong and well-nourished when we’d been thrown overboard. But Rodden hadn’t fed properly in nearly a week, on anything. I wasn’t sure how long I could go on giving him my blood. But I would continue, no matter what. I knew he would give the last drop in his veins for me.
    There was nothing for me to do but estimate and re-estimate our distance from land, press the usually puffy vein in the bend of my elbow and wonder how much blood I could spare before I too was too weak to move.

    At first light I swallowed some raw fish and gulped some water. I waited ten minutes for the liquid tothin my blood, and then cut my wrist again.
    This time, Rodden woke for a moment. He fumbled at my wrist with one hand as if expecting to feel a furry body and was surprised by its smoothness. Then he frowned and his eyes opened. He looked up at me, eyes unfocused and confused. I put the cut against his lips again. His body went rigid and he tried to sit up, an angry flash of refusal blooming in his mind. But with my free arm I easily held him down, my embrace a restraint. His eyes closed again, and he drank.
    Later I was too weak to call a wind. I chewed at a piece of clammy fish and wished for anything at all to break the monotony of the empty horizon. The sense of space was an illusion. I could see miles in every direction, sense the dark fathoms beneath. But we were trapped on this tiny vessel, an eight-by-four wooden structure that was becoming our open-air coffin.
    I remembered how often I’d gazed out at the ships from my room at the palace in Xallentaria, wondering where they were headed with their sails so full of wind and purpose. The sea, which had once seemed like freedom, was now a prison.

    I began to dream the old dreams, the ones I’d haduntil, unwittingly, I’d drunk from a flask of blood in Lharmell. The dreams of the slowly starving.
    I was a vengeful angel, black-winged and wielding a sword. I descended on the Jessamine with a never-ending banshee scream and killed all I found there. Orrik was always last, and I lapped at his carcass like a cat.
    I woke to find Rodden convulsing next to me, his body racked by the blood-hunger. I held him until his shaking subsided, hoping that in his stupor he couldn’t feel the pain of the violent cramps.
    When I tried to sit upright, spots appeared in my vision again. I would trigger an attack of cramps if I persisted, so I lay still. Lying listlessly in the bottom of the boat, I felt for the tors, but couldn’t find them. The cord was there, yanking at me like a restless child, but I couldn’t sense its direction. I’d lost us in this great ocean.
    Griffin dropped fish on me