“You should go, shouldn’t you?” she asks, maybe because she feels the same as I do: that this moment is too fragile to try stretching it further.
I meet Brynn in the hallway, and together we move silently through the palace. I carry my shoulders high and try not to think of the mob of people waiting for me. Instead, I study each room we pass, trying to see what has changed in the months I’ve been gone.
Not much is the answer.
It all looks the same.
Although it does feel like it has gotten smaller, the rooms more crowded together and the corridors much shorter than they should be. So short that in no time at all, we’ve already arrived at the exit that leads to the pavilion. It’s a huge space, enclosed in a twisting wrought-iron fence and normally reserved as a place for open council meetings, or for Fane to address his subjects. A place for politics that I’ve never had much to do with, in other words.
But soon I will be standing on the raised marble platform above it, and somehow convincing these people that I’m not a traitorous coward, that the hero they once all loved and worshipped is actually the villain, and that they should follow me into a battle unlike anything most of us have seen in our lifetimes.
Yes.
Oh yes, this is surely going to work.
More deep breaths. My pace slows to a crawl. I can hear the crowd already, impatient murmurings and frightened and angry snatches of whispers. At least I’ll be physically separated from them; I have to climb two flights of stairs to get to the platform above.
So if they decide to maul me, they are going to have to put forth an effort.
I reach the stairs. Brynn links an arm around mine and leans into me for a moment; not quite a hug, but enough to make me take the first step somewhat confidently. Then she wishes me good luck, and for her sake, I nod and smile as if I don’t need it, and I climb quickly to the room above. As soon as I reach the top step, even before I cross completely through the doorway and into the room that opens to outside, somebody spots me. A hush falls over the crowd. There is no going back.
Only forward, now—not beside you, and definitely not behind you. You look back, and you will never find your way out of this.
I step out, blinking in the misty light. My stomach is a full-fledged acrobat at this point, performing impossible flips and leaps and twisting into painful shapes. I move rigidly to the edge of the platform and grip the stone railing. Someone points. Someone snickers. Someone shouts something that sounds vaguely like an insult, but I ignore it. Whispers start building again.
I clear my throat.
“My name is Aven Elise Fairchild, Pure Daughter of Sirona, Keeper of Her Southern Skies.” I’m surprised at the loudness, at the clarity of my own voice and that title that I’ve never claimed aloud before. Everyone is staring at me now, waiting for me to go on—even the ones still murmuring things to their neighbors. “And I am not my brother. I’m not my father, either, or any of the others who came before me. But you need to listen to me, because we don’t have much time.”
The rest of my ill-rehearsed speech passes in a blur. I know I’m talking, and many of the people below still look like they’re listening, but I’m not entirely sure of what I’m saying.
All I am aware of is that at some point, I run out of words.
It all still feels unfinished, though, and the crowd below seems unconvinced, so I struggle to find more to say. There has to be more that I can say. I can’t leave this spot until I find the right words, until I convince them, until I’ve gotten this right—
But I feel as if I’ve swallowed a handful of gravel, each of the tiny rocks scratching a dry, painful tract down my throat. My entire body is trembling. This dress—so light and airy when I put it on—suddenly feels like chainmail, heavy and hot and pressing into my skin.
The crowd grows restless. Just small, irate movements and whispers to start, but then on the right side, a fight erupts—a shouting match that turns to scuffling as someone attempts to shove their way to the front of the mob. Their movements are so furiously quick, so aggressive, that I instinctively stumble back and reach for my knives.
Which I don’t have, of course.
I should have known I would need them.
I force myself to be calm. They can’t reach me up here, whoever they are and however much they may disagree with what I’m saying and what I’ve done. And turning and running away now isn’t going to help my cause. I’m through with running. So I steady myself, and I stand up a little straighter. I take a few steps forward, so that I can look directly down on the crowd’s disruptor—just as he pulls the hood of his cloak away to reveal a familiar pair of grey eyes.
Chapter 31
My legs try to crumple beneath me, but I manage a few more steps forward, where the railing is thankfully there to catch me and keep me from falling and making a complete fool of myself. Any words that I might have been close to finding are long gone now.
I don’t need them.
Because West speaks first.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he calls, and his voice is loud enough that the rest of the crowd is startled into a more hushed tone. His next words rise even clearer above them: “What did I miss?”
I manage to swallow, to clear some of that gravel in my throat away. In the sea of people below me, his face is astonishingly easy to focus on, and it makes it even easier to pretend that he’s the only one I have to talk to now.
But there are no words for this.
He keeps his eyes locked with mine, as if I am the only thing in the world that matters just now. And somehow it feels like the only answer, the only response I need right now. I have nothing left to say. I mumble some sort of closure, some sort of thank-you, and a last plea for help from the rest of the crowd.
Then I turn and I run back inside, leaping and stumbling down the steps, ignoring the guards and my sister, who’s asking me what’s wrong, and just running, sprinting past them and toward the door to the pavilion. There are three guards blocking the entrance, trying to keep West from coming inside. I could simply command them to step aside, but that doesn’t occur to me until after I’ve already fought my way through and left them looking thoroughly confused and annoyed.
It probably only confuses them more when I throw my arms around West and bury my face against him, breathing in the familiar scent of forest and campfire smoke that clings to his cloak.
That scent.
Here.
Alive.
It all seems so impossibly real, and I don’t want to let go of it, even though I know people have to be staring now. Countless people, I’m sure, but it feels like there are only two people in this room. And our hearts are both pounding, the beat of his all mixed up in mine. It’s the only thing I hear, until his voice interrupts, “You’re a difficult person to catch up with, you know that?”
I take the smallest of steps back. Just enough that I can see him, that I can make sure I’m not hearing his voice in my head as I have so often over the past few weeks. But even staring directly into his eyes, even knowing I’m all he sees, it still doesn’t seem like any of this is possible.
“How?” I breathe. “Where have you—what—”
“I honestly don’t remember most of it,” he says. “I woke up on the banks of a river someplace far upstream from that fortress. Coralind is the only reason I didn’t drown. We were both beat up pretty bad, though—someone didn’t want us to leave that river.” He takes his eyes off me for a fraction of a second and peers over my shoulder. “She’s here too, somewhere. We both went back for you as soon as we could, but by that point, no one was there.” His gaze shifts quickly back to mine. “It kind of ruined all of the daring, death-defying rescue plans I’d been coming up with,” he says. “So thank you for that.”
“I had to leave,” I say quietly. “And I thought you were dead. I…” I swallow hard. “I just assumed I was alone again.”
He shakes his head, and his hands travel up and down my arms, ruffli
ng the sleeves of my dress. “Stupid,” he says.
I draw further back. “I am not. Even if you were alive, that night in your room, you said—”
“Not you. Me.” His hands stop roaming, and I am perfectly still as he breathes in deep and then tightens his grip on me a little more, as if steadying himself. “What I said was stupid, and it seemed even stupider when I thought it might have been the last thing I ever had a chance to say to you. I was a fool for ever thinking I could go anywhere without you. That it would be so easy to just leave. Because it hasn’t been easy. These last few weeks without you, I…” His gaze drops as he trails off, as if he thinks he might find the words he needs scattered somewhere at our feet.
“He’s been completely unbearable,” Coralind finishes for him, stepping into the room with a pair of escorts on either side of her. “Those are the words he’s looking for, I believe. An unbearable, whiny, pathetic mess, and then when we get here, he insists on barging straight into the palace to find you while I followed the more dignified palace visitors’ protocol.” She shoves her way in between West and me as she talks, wrapping me in an embrace so tight I can hardly breathe. “So, yes, he reached you first, but I’ve missed you more, and don’t let him tell you otherwise.” After several rib-crushing moments, she finally leans back. Studying my face, she adds, “You clean up nicely, by the way, and that is a lovely dress.”
I don’t know why this silly compliment is the last thing I can handle, but as soon as she says it, tears well in my eyes, and I’m suddenly swelling with emotion, relief and happiness and shock all crashing together and rising into an overwhelmingly large bubble in my chest. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. It all seems so foreign, so wrong to be happy at a time like this.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next, what I’m supposed to say. A part of me never wants this moment to end, but I’m also thankful when it is interrupted as Brynn joins us, still dragging Atlas around in her arms. The second the dragon sees Coralind, he squeezes free and rushes over to her, and their reunion gives me a chance to slip into a more breathable space.
But West is still there, and there are still things left unsaid between us. I’m not sure I am ready to say them, so I turn away quickly, trying to keep him from seeing the tears shimmering in my eyes.
I’m not fast enough.
“Hey.” His hand is on my arm again.
“Hey what?”
“Hey, why are you crying?”
“I don’t know.” I twist back around to face him, since there doesn’t seem to be any point in hiding what he’s already seen.
“You missed me, didn’t you?”
I sigh. “More than I ever planned to or wanted to.”
His eyes fall on the stone resting against the hollow of my throat, on the etched symbol facing him. “So much for an eternity, huh?”
“I thought you were dead, you idiot,” I whisper. What I don’t tell him is how that’s made these past weeks feel like an eternity.
He looks up and meets my gaze, and suddenly I don’t care enough about the tears in my eyes to wipe them away. He does it for me. But for some ridiculous reason, this only makes me want to cry even harder. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, determined not to let that happen, determined not to fall apart in front of him. After everything else we’ve been through, the softness of his touch seems an incredibly foolish thing to lose it over.
But now I’m thinking of all those things we’ve gone through, and everything that makes this moment feel so impossible, and then I just…stare. It’s all I can do. I can’t take my eyes off him. I am afraid, I think, that he may disappear again if I so much as blink.
“You remember the first night we met?” he says after a moment. “When I told you staring was rude? Because you’re—”
“Be quiet,” I interrupt, shaking my head. “Will you please just be quiet? Because do you want me to tell you something? You’re rude. Also infuriating, and confusing, and all these other things that I want nothing do with, and I can’t stand you most of the time. But I’m also fairly certain I’m falling in love with you, and so I am going to stare at you if I want to. I will stare at you all. Day. Long.”
His hand drops back to his side, surprise slowly registering in his eyes.
I almost certainly could have handled this moment better.
I’m shocked, though, at how little I want to take any of my words back.
Even if I did, the moment is over before I have the chance. A messenger interrupts before either of us can say anything else, informing me that Fane is waiting to speak with me. He only elaborates as far as telling me it’s urgent news.
But the grim look on his face tells me as much as I need to know right now.
It’s a cruel pull back into reality after the bliss of these last few minutes. I’m almost hoping that West will find his voice—that he’ll say something, anything—to stretch this moment out a little longer, for better or worse. There isn’t much he could say now, no response to my outburst he could give, that would be worse than what we will all be facing soon.
He doesn’t say anything.
And while he seems lost in thought, I glance toward the pavilion. I wonder again how many people were even listening when I spoke. How we could possibly prepare for the storm that’s coming, even if they did believe me about it all.
It doesn’t matter, I know.
Wondering does no good.
That storm is coming, and there is no stopping it now.
Chapter 32
As the hours following my speech pass, the city remains drastically low on morale, without even the shadow of an army rising, and I begin to lose hope.
So I do what I do best: I keep moving. Door to door, searching for the ones who will fight with me.
And I have seventeen doors slammed in my face.
I count them.
I’m not able to keep track of all the people who simply turn and walk away from my pleas, away from the truth I am still so desperately trying to tell them. So many people. Maybe because they honestly hate me for what I’ve done to my family’s name, to the heroes they once so blindly worshipped. Or for what they believe was me simply running away. Or maybe because they are afraid of the things I am telling them. Whatever the real reason, most of them have quick excuses to give me.
The kingdom is too far gone to save, so why bother?
This is fate, taking its course.
Perhaps the ones causing the destruction are right?
If it wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t be happening. The Creators wouldn’t let it happen.
Hours later, I am still frustrated from just thinking about it.
“You’ve done what you can,” West says, not for the first time. Also not for the first time, I turn and walk away from him. Out onto the balcony, thinking of breathing in the fresh air. Except it isn’t fresh, of course. It’s only damp and rotting and full of impossibility. And heavy. The whole city feels heavy—as if it could sink at any moment, swallowed up into the mud, never to be seen again. It might not be much longer before this becomes more reality than feeling, either; my meeting with the emperor earlier was to discuss the reports that have already started to make their way into the palace: Varick and his army are apparently already approaching the Gardian border.
The sky is falling, and the whole world seems to be marching toward us.
I am trying not to think about the ones I asked to stand in the way of that march, and who have likely been cut down because of it. Because I don’t want to face the inevitable fear that comes with it: that fear that their deaths might have been in vain. That we still won’t be prepared enough to win this war once it reaches us.
We’ve sent the members of the emperor’s standing army that we could spare, to pick off as many of them as we could, but it isn’t going to be enough. We are already outnumbered. Too much of our kingdom, once the most powerful and populous, is still reeling from the destruction that’s already occurred
, from the disruption of what was once our paradise. And it has been so long since we have had to fight for anything here, I think, that too few know how. Or even want to know how.
I am in West’s room now—or in the room that has been granted to him for as long as he wants to stay, rather. The one that I was only going to show him to on the way back to my own, but that I’ve somehow been in for almost an hour now. It feels safer here, in this hardly used space tucked in the corner of a quiet hall.
“Are you going to stay up all night?” he asks, following me out onto the balcony.
There is a group of people gathered near the palace’s entrance, tossing some sort of disc back and forth, jumping over the little streams of water trickling through the golden gates. I don’t take my eyes off them as I answer West. “This may be the last night this city sees,” I say. “So I want to watch it pass, I guess.”
“You should sleep.”
“Why, so I can have nightmares?” I hug my arms to my chest, thinking of some of the more disturbing images that have returned to my dreams during these past few weeks. “I can go somewhere else if you don’t want me to keep you up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That isn’t what I meant.” He leans against the railing next to me without another word, his eyes sliding over the scene at the gate, to the city in the distance, to the sky and then back to me.
Now I am starting to regret what I said to him earlier; not because it wasn’t true, but because he hasn’t said anything else about it. I have no idea what he’s thinking about us. About me. And as hard as I’ve tried not to let them, these questions are still eating at the corner of my thoughts, demanding more attention than I have time to give right now.
I force my mind to pan out, to go back to the bigger picture.
“You know, I could have killed Varick before I escaped from the hold,” I say quietly, because I can’t stand another moment of being the only one, besides the emperor, who is carrying thoughts of that night around. I want to tell someone. I want someone to make sense of me, since I can’t seem to. “I had him there, trapped. I told myself that it would have been too much of a risk, that I couldn’t have let down my guard enough to kill him without risking being killed myself too. But I don’t think that’s really why I ran away and let him live. Do you know why I think I did it?”
Skykeeper (The Drowning Empire Book 1) Page 25
