Chapter 8 · Poison and Mud

I woke up with my mouth full of sand and the river still working at my boots, like it hadn't finished the job and wanted credit for trying.

My leg was wrong. I knew that before I knew anything else. There was a hot line running from my knee up to my hip, and the water around me was pink, and the pink was coming from me.

I put my hand on my stomach first. Before my own name. Before his.

Still there. Flat as ever under my soaked shirt. Nothing to feel yet. It had been flat at the granite altar too, silver fire spitting in the rain, when I said the words that cut us both loose. That was tonight.

Six weeks I'd been carrying Torin's child. I had been running since the vault, and telling nobody.

I got up. Or I tried. The mud took my knee and held it, and I had to rip the leg free with both hands and a sound that wasn't words.

Inventory. One boot. No coat.