When Elena woke again, she was still cradled against Niegal's chest, the steady thunder of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Pain lanced through her chest. Sharp, white, blinding.
She didn't remember crossing the sanctuary gates, nor the march through its winding streets. One moment, the salt and dust of the road, soaked to the bone with river water; the next, she was being lowered into their bed in the small cottage that smelled of cedar and herbs.
Niegal's silver eyes filled her vision, silver clouded with worry, etched with sleepless hours. The lines bracketing his mouth were deeper, his lips pressed thin as though holding back words that might shatter them both.
Her lips parted to speak, but a shadow moved at the edge of her vision.
Señora Behike stepped forward, her weathered hands gentle as she pressed a cool, damp rag to Elena's brow. "Rest, mija," she murmured. "The time for talk is for after you rest. And you need it."
Elena's breath caught. Her body obeyed, but her spirit, her other self, rose like a storm tide. Guabancex's voice rolled through her, low and electric:
Where is Coatriskie?
The room shifted. Healers halted mid-motion. Niegal's jaw locked hard enough for the muscle to twitch.
Señora Behike inclined her head slightly. "He lives, thanks to you, mi diosa. Now rest. If you wish to keep your vessel, we must heal her- and quickly."
Elena exhaled, lashes lowering. The goddess's fury coiled inward, satisfied but restless.
As her eyes slid shut, La Señora's voice began to weave through the air, low chants in the oldest tongue, the syllables heavy with salt and wind.
The healers moved around her with quiet urgency, and before she could reach for Niegal's hand, they were shepherding him toward the door. One murmured something about needing space for the cleansing rites, another about shielding his mortal senses from the curse's undoing.
He lingered in the doorway, palm pressed against the frame as if it could hold him there. From within came the first quiet whimper of pain, the sound cutting into him like a blade.
El León Negro stirred in his chest, a growl vibrating through his bones. Stubborn woman, indeed.
Niegal shook his head, jaw set, and strode from the cottage. He passed the table without a glance, ignoring the children's startled faces, and slammed the front door so hard the wood shuddered.
Esperanza flinched. Phineus instinctively moved an arm in front of her, a protective reflex they'd both learned in recent days.
Juan, unbothered, peeled a mango with slow precision and handed a slice to a quiet Vera. "Is he usually so… like this?"
Esperanza shook her head, cheeks pink. "Something's off. He's never this angry."
Phineus dropped into the seat beside her, arms crossed. "I dunno, Espie… I'm starting to think he's been fooling all of us."
She smacked his arm. "Don't call me that, Phin!"
He laughed, ducking from her glare.
Juan grinned over his mango. "Espie?"
Her eyes flashed violet. "Don't push it, Ernesto."
He raised both hands, the mango still clasped in one. "As you wish… Espie."
A violet spark leapt from her fingers, striking the mango. It burst in his hands, pulp splattering across his shirt.
"I said don't push it." She tossed him a rag. "Now clean that up before Mama wakes up."
Laughter softened the air, tension bleeding out of the room.
On the far side of the sanctuary, Alejandro and Aurora worked in their old cottage near the healer's hut. Alejandro leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
"That man," he began, eyes narrowing, "the one Elena pulled from the river- he's a good one. My informants say he's one of them. And he survived a holy swimming."
Aurora froze, the bowl of herbs slipping from her hands and scattering across the floor. "No…"
Alejandro knelt to help gather the bundles. "They caught him intercepting a messenger hawk. 'Punished' him for it. If it weren't for him, the Inquisition's reach here would be much worse."
Aurora's hands stilled. "But how does Elena know him? Was it Guabancex who pulled her to him? He called her…" She swallowed. "Nanichi. Beloved."
"I can't answer that," Alejandro admitted, rising to his full height. "But I can tell you his name. Jaime. Jaime Coana."
Back in the cottage, Elena drifted between waking and dream. The fever pulled her deep, and in the waves of heat and darkness, Guabancex whispered:
Coatriskie. You live.
Across the sanctuary, in the healer's hut, Jaime Coana stirred. His skin still carried the salt-burn of the holy swimming, the half-healed welt of the curse branding his side.
When he opened his eyes, the dim lamplight caught on the faintest shimmer of scales beneath his skin, like the memory of another form.
I have waited a millennia… he breathed, voice rasping like tide over stone. His gaze sharpened, not on the healers, but somewhere beyond them.
Guabancex.