Sometime in the afternoon, I fall asleep. When I wake up, we’re on another support platform, with a spiral stair wrapped around the central pylon. Everyone is sprawled on the deck again, so the day’s march must be over.
My head is clearer than it’s been since the fight, though I still feel as weak as a kitten. I look around for Marvel, and find her nearby, carefully pouring water from a skin into a larger clay jug.
“Could I…” My throat is dry, and I swallow. “Could I have a drink?”
“Victoria?” Marvel looks up, and her face is like a punch in the gut. Her eyes are red from crying, and every line of her speaks of exhaustion. Nevertheless, she hurries over, the half-full waterskin glugging in her hand. “Here. Be careful.”
I drink, wincing with every swallow. I can feel the pressure of ban
