Chapter 12: The Giver

The chain hit the floor with a thin silver sound.

Clara swayed in her chair, and I was already running.

I caught her before she slid off the cushion.

She weighed almost nothing.

Her head fell against my shoulder, and her eyelids fluttered.

"I'm okay," she said, not at all okay. "I'm fine. I meant it."

"I know you did."

"Don't put yours on."

"I'm not putting anything on."

Her skin was grey, and I could feel her pulse in her wrist, quick and thin.

Without the silver, nothing was holding her up.

The wasting had waited twelve years for exactly this.

"Hester!" I said.

"I'm here." The old woman was on her knees beside us with her bag open. "Don't panic. Don't move her yet. Brynn, take her hand."

"Which one?"

"Either. Skin to skin, both palms."

I put my bare hand around Clara's.

The same gentle tug came, the one I had felt at the Moon Stone, and I let it open.

Warmth ran out of me and into her.

I felt it go, not a rush but a steady pour, and I saw her face come back to something like itself.

Her lips pinked, and her breathing slowed.

"There," Hester said, watching my face. "How is that?"

"It's okay. It's heavy, a little."

"Heavy is fine. Cold is not. Tell me the moment it turns cold."

"It won't."

"Tell me."

"I'll tell you," I said.

Clara's eyes opened.

"Brynn, how long can you do this?"

"I don't know."

"That isn't an answer."

"It's the one I've got."

The whole Hall was watching us.

It was the strangest thing, to be at the center of that many eyes and not mind.

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