“Go,” Clarion whispered. “Please.” He looked stricken. “I can’t.” He knelt at her bedside. “Not yet.” “Please. Milori.” She fumbled for something, anything, to sway him, but she had nothing. She could barely make sense of the sounds that had come out of her mouth. Through her delirium, she could see the sheen of sweat on his face. She could hear the healers shouting at one another. Clarion registered only fleeting sensations. Cool water at her lips. Glimmers of pixie dust. The prick of a needle.
