Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

afternoon, David stopped an hour before the sun had set, terrified that she would walk until she dropped.
    The next morning, she did.
    He heard the soft whump! as she fell. Heart thundering, he plowed back through the snow. She wasn’t getting up this time, wasn’t moving. Voice hoarse, he shouted her name, rolled her onto her back. Her eyes opened. Confusion clouded the brown depths before they cleared.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, and sat up, put her hand to her head. “I think I tripped.”
    No. She’d fainted. His chest aching, he helped her to her feet, and looked for a place to build a snow dome. They hadn’t planned to stop so early, but she couldn’t continue like this.
    They couldn’t continue like this.
    He stared down the valley, across the miles they still had to go. They couldn’t stop now. She wouldn’t be any stronger later. Resolve firmed his jaw. Without a word, he shrugged out of the pack and untied the blankets, and began strapping them to her back.
    “David?”
    “I’ll carry you behind me.”
    “You can’t.”
    “I damn well can.” And would. He picked up the pole, crouched in front of her. “On.”
    Her voice trembled. “I can stop here while you go ahead—”
    “On!” Fear and determination made it harsh.
    But she climbed on. Didn’t argue, didn’t insist she could walk.
    She wasn’t heavy, but combined with the pack and the deepsnow, the additional bulk shifted his balance. The pole offered a necessary counterbalance and support. Her arms circled his shoulders, careful not to cut off his breathing. It took a few steps to find his new stride through the snow—slower, but steady.
    Twice, she fell asleep, and he held her up with his steel arm angled around behind him. He didn’t stop until orange streaked the western sky, until exhaustion forced him to a halt. He wrapped her in the blankets before building the dome, and knew a moment of utter desolation and panic when he finished and couldn’t wake her. He shook her shoulders, shouting her name, and relief stung his eye with hot tears when her lashes finally fluttered open. He dragged her into the snow house through the tunnel entrance, covered her in their coats. She clung to him, shivering violently, her face against his throat.
    “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
    “Don’t.” So rough, it was all that he could manage.
    He must have slept. He woke to the sweet pleasure of her hands cradling his face. With clear eyes, she studied him by the dim light of the lamp, a sad smile curving her lips.
    “I love you, David Kentewess.”
    Those very words had once filled his heart with utter joy. Spoken now, they stopped it with terror.
    He jerked up to sitting, holding her against him when she swayed. “No, Annika.”
    “I’ve had so many dreams of you these past few days,” she continued softly. “I’ve lived a lifetime in them.”
    “We will have a lifetime.” There was no other option. David couldn’t bear any other option. He gripped her arms, gave a little shake. He had to wake her up, make her see. “It will be better than your dreams.”
    Her eyelashes fell on a long, slow blink, as if even that was an effort. “Hildegard and my mother will come to Vik. I need you to give her my beads.”
    To bury them? Not this. God, please not this. He couldn’t endure it.
    “No.”
    “David—”
    “Don’t you tell me this. Don’t. God, Annika, you can’t ask me to—” The pain splintering in his chest broke his voice. Every breath shuddered, hot and hurting. “I swore that if you left me, I would let you go. But not like this, Annika. Not if you go like this.”
    Her breath hitched. With gentle fingers, she wiped the tears from his cheek. “You have to.”
    “I can’t!”
    His denial thundered in the small dome. She flinched, her shoulders rounding, her body curling in around her stomach as if to hold herself together. Her serene smile crumpled into a desperate, keening sob. “David, please . I’m trying to be brave.”
    He gave his head a violent shake. “Not for this.”
    “I have to be. I have to. I don’t want to end this way, weak and frightened. But I’m so scared. And I don’t want to leave you.”
    “Then don’t,” he whispered hoarsely. Then no more words would come, only the helpless anguish as he held her, sobbing in his arms. But she didn’t even have the strength for that. All too soon, she quieted.
    She stared up at him, her eyes red, her voice soft. “Everyone has their time,