Anew: The Archers of Avalon, Book One (27 page)

“Tristan,
no
!”

Scarlet saw the arrow positioned in the distance and called out in a hoarse voice. “Tristan!” Her heart pounded crazily, louder than any other noise in the forest.

He didn’t move. He didn’t respond. Like he was deaf and blind and….already lost to her.

The idea broke her heart and sent her running faster, reaching his body just as she heard a snap in the distance.

Before she realized what was happening, she felt something sharp slice into her back, cutting off oxygen to her lungs and shutting out everything but the sight of Tristan’s beautiful eyes opening in a look of absolute horror.

“Scarlet,” Tristan’s voice caught in his throat as he caught her falling body for the second time that night. “Scarlet…?”

His voice shook almost as much as his hands as he gently lowered her to the ground.

What was going on?

Her hand fell to the side, still grasping the shiny ring, as he shifted her gently. She saw a tear fall from one of his brilliant green eyes.

Scarlet looked up at him in detachment. She felt no pain, no sadness…just curiosity at his pained face.

Why is Tristan crying? Why is he sad? He’s alive!

Peaceful joy settled on Scarlet at the realization that Tristan hadn’t died.

He was alive.

She had saved him.

Her eyes began to burn and Tristan’s face contorted in agony. “No, no, no…Scar…no, no. This can’t happen…oh, Scar….” He leaned down and started kissing her face and stroking her hair.

But she felt nothing.

His broken voice fell into her ear, “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry….” He was coughing and crying and shaking and cold.

He was
really
cold. And his coldness was seeping into her.

She blinked.

No.

She
was cold.

Everywhere.

And she couldn’t feel her hands or feet or head….

“Tristan…?” she said, confused.

He kissed her forehead through his tears. “I’m so sorry…so sorry.” He choked on his emotion. “I’m so sorry, Scar….”

Sadness came over her as she watched agony overtake his shaking body. Her burning eyes began to go blind as a memory assailed her. She drank it in, trying to absorb as much as she could.

After a time, she blinked her way out of the memory and back to Tristan’s sweet, wet face.

Darkness was coming down on her, shrinking Tristan into a tunnel and pushing him far, far away.

“Tristan…,” she said, her voice distant and muffled. With every fiber of strength her had left, she whispered, “I know where the fountain is.”

And with that, everything went black, cold, and dead.