Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [96]
After setting his pack down, Vel stops before one of the open tombs, studying the skeletal structure by the faint glow of his torch-tube. I have no words for how alien they are, but they took great care with their dead, as the remains have been arrayed with kingly care.
“I do not believe they were bipedal.”
I’ve no idea how he discerns that, but I’m not arguing. I just want out of here before exhaustion, hunger, and sheer panic overwhelm me. My pulse pounds in my skull, and each new breath feels as though the oxygen has thinned.
“Let’s keep moving,” I say, my voice thready with fear.
He cuts me a sharp look, as if trying to determine what ails me, then turns back to the bones in abject fascination. “We cannot leave just yet,” he says. “Think of what scientists can learn if they can extract a suitable DNA sample.”
Before I can name any one of the hundred reasons I think this is a terrible idea, he reaches into the niche and plucks out a small, curved bone. The response is immediate; beneath our feet, the ground gives way. Desperately, I dive for the far side and catch hold of the stone lip, dangling with one hand as Vel disappears. The torch-tube bounces away into the darkness, leaving me alone with my ragged breathing and the fear of falling.
Inevitably, I think of Kai—and our last moments together—how I teased him.
Are you afraid of falling, baby?
No, I’m afraid of landing.
Oh, Mary, so am I. Get to solid ground, Jax, and then look for Vel. He can’t be dead. Not Vel. Oh, please, don’t leave me alone.
Each movement tears at the wound in my side, but I pull myself up, conscious of fresh blood dripping down my hip. Blindly, I feel for his pack and locate another torch-tube. Our last. I crack it without hesitation and shine it into the pit. At first, I see only the razor-sharp spikes that line the bottom. The Makers hated grave robbers. And then I spot Vel, clinging to the side about halfway down, his claws dug into the soft, crumbling stone.
“Sirantha,” he says calmly, “I cannot support my weight in this fashion for long. Already my talons have begun to tear.”
That sounds unimaginably painful. With a shuddering breath, I dig into his pack. I don’t need to be told to look for a means to haul him up before he’s crippled by loss of his claws, then impaled. Even my long-lived, damn-near- indestructible Ithtorian bounty hunter cannot survive that.
I must save him.
My hands are shaking, but at least I have something other than my fear of confined spaces to focus on. Now I’m terrified of losing him. I locate a thin, tensile cord that should be long enough to reach him, but I will need to anchor him and pull him up. I loop the rope around my waist and drop it down; once I do that, I inch backward until I can brace my feet solidly. There’s nothing for me to hold on to down here, just stone walls and bones, so I have to be strong enough to bear his weight. No other options—failure isn’t in my vocabulary.
“Can you climb?” I ask.
“Yes. Don’t move, Sirantha.”
When he grasps the cord, I stumble forward two steps, and Vel tumbles down farther, terrifyingly close to the spikes. His low curse, clicked in Ithtorian, shames me.
“I won’t let you fall,” I promise. “Give me a second.”
The passage is narrow, so I throw my arms open, using the stone to brace. I won’t let go this time. I won’t budge. Slowly, I widen my stance.
“Ready?”
“Come up.”
He crawls upward, using his claws as well as the cord. I hold steady, despite the unbearable strain. I’m bleeding profusely now, but I don’t shift. Not even a millimeter. When I glimpse the top of his head and his arms above the pit, I lie down on my stomach and slide forward, reaching to pull him up.
By the time I get him on solid ground again, I’m shaking from head to toe. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against the side of his face. He leans into me, and I feel tremors rocking him, too. Despite his constant composure, he’s not immune to fear. He just puts on a good show to reassure me. Struck by this revelation, I wonder if this misadventure has been