“I think,” Ishqa said, quietly, “they were looking for something.”
Looking for something? Looking for what? What could possibly justify such bloodshed? Maybe if I wasn’t so angry, I could have admitted that it made sense. There was a reason, after all, why the humans’ attacks were so erratic — they didn’t seem to be targeting any particular group of Fey, or any particular House. Their three targets weren’t even geographically close to each other. And clearly, they did not intend to conquer. They came, they destroyed, and then they left.
Three days later, after the humans were long gone, we returned to Yithara — or what was left of it. When we arrived, I simply froze, unable to move, unable to breathe. All around me, the evacuated survivors sank to their knees or covered their mouths in horror. Some ran into the rubble, calling names. Some attempted to find whatever was left of their homes.
I helped them search for loved ones or find their possessions. They were all looking for something — and like the humans, they would not find it. We found ruined homes and destroyed lives. We found bodies — even children — smashed upon the ground from falls from far above, or worse, split open from groin to throat in a sickeningly deliberate act that had me swallowing bile.
The horror of it smothered me.
I did all of this calmly, methodically. But by the time the sun set, I wandered off beyond the outskirts of the city, tucking myself behind a pile of rubble in the brush. And there, where no one could see me, I sank to my knees and vomited over the ground, then whirled around and smashed my knuckles against the broken wood as hard as I could, over and over, so hard that tears streamed down my cheeks.
I finally stopped when I grew too exhausted to continue. My knuckles were bleeding. I had torn the stitches in my abdomen. I felt none of it. I felt nothing but rage.
I heard footsteps behind me, and I didn’t have to look to know who they belonged to. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, after having seen now for the second time what his House had suffered.
“We’re going to Niraja,” I said. My voice was hoarse, but strong. “I don’t care what it takes. We have to make sure this does not happen again.”
Silence. I finally lifted my head. Caduan looked tired, sad.
He stepped closer, wordlessly. His hand reached out and, with a tenderness so stark that it made me bite back a gasp, he touched my stomach. His skin was hotter than the blood seeping through my shirt.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.
“I don’t care.” I meant it.
“I thought your father wouldn’t allow it.”
“I don’t care,” I said again, and to my surprise, I meant it then, too. “I am the Teirness. And if I say we go, then we go.”
“Teirness,” he repeated, softly. Something flickered in his stare, something I could not identify — something that almost looked like pride.
Again, he stepped closer. The heat of his body surrounded me, goosebumps rising on my skin. When his head angled against mine, our faces were only inches apart. I could see every shade of green in those eyes, searching and curious. Mathira, the way he looked at me, like I was a question to be answered or a riddle to be solved. I’d never wanted to be known, to be seen — the possibility was too high that the answer would not be satisfactory. But there was a strange comfort in that, now. I was so tired.
“I have been thinking about it since,” he said, quietly. “I still don’t know what you did to me that night. My magic has never felt like that before.”
I swallowed, finding it difficult to speak. Everything here smelled like ash, except for him — his scent of rosewood, a scent I didn’t realize until this moment that I now knew, enveloped me. Even that was enough to set me off-balance and yet put me at ease.
What had happened that night had been that effect, compounded infinitely.
I didn’t understand it either. I had wondered, after, if Caduan had simply been that much more powerful than I knew. But…
I shook my head, barely a movement, not looking away from those eyes. A movement that gave him my answer: I don’t understand, either.
“You saved my life,” he murmured.
“I couldn’t…” I couldn’t let you die when the last thing I had said to you had been so awful. “I owe you an apology,” I rasped out, instead. “For what I said to you in the pub. None of it was… truly what I thought. It was just that the things you said were…”
Too close to the truth.
His gaze shifted in a way that said he understood. “I know how hard it is to break away from chains that have been forged for a century.”
It was such a simple, kind answer. He should have hated me for speaking to him that way. And yet…
It hit deeper than I had expected.
I thought of him, and how awkward he always was in the presence of nobility — how he always managed to say the wrong thing, at the wrong time. The way he so flatly disregarded the expectations of others. Before, these things had confused me. Now, all at once, I understood.
He was honest. He was genuine.
“I think you will be a great king,” I said, softly.
The corner of his mouth lifted in the hint of a smile. “I think you will be a great Teirness,” he murmured, and for the first time it occurred to me that just as I saw the beauty in what others would call flaws, perhaps he saw the same in me.
The thought was frightening. His eyes fell to my lips, and I wondered what it might be like to feel his against them — to watch those walls come tumbling down with every exposed expanse of skin, to know what he looked like when he truly unraveled. But then, he would see me, too. There would be too much I couldn’t hide.
I had never wanted something and recoiled from it in such equal, overwhelming measure.
And so I was disappointed and relieved when instead, he slipped his hand into mine, and our fingers intertwined instead of our limbs.
We did not speak. He leaned back against the rubble beside me, and the two of us remained, taking a strange solace in the warmth of each other’s skin.
Chapter Forty-Five
Tisaanah
The battle began in fire, and ended in ashes.
I, by now, had earned my infamy. But Max…Max was new, and the world was not prepared for him. Even the greatest of my illusions were nothing compared to the way Max looked at the height of his power. He was every bit as beautiful, as breathtaking, as I remembered him looking in the Mikov estate — a being that was constructed of light and fire itself.
The fighting paused, men stopping with half-raised weapons, to stare in wide-eyed terror at the creature before them. A strange, suspended numbness fell over the battlefield. Max took me with him and together we slipped through the air to Zeryth’s army — Max’s army. There, Max closed his second eyelids, slipping back into his human form to show his soldiers who he was.
They just stared at him. They did not say a word. And Max didn’t, either, surveying them with a tight jaw and sharp stare that I knew masked secret shame.
In that long, stunned silence, I understood that I was watching something change forever. These men already had respected Max deeply. And now, in a matter of a single moment, I watched that respect turn to reverence.
Not that we had time to revel in it. The battle was over the minute Max and I entered the fray. We knew it, our soldiers knew it, and so did Aviness’s — we could see it in their faces. But Aviness himself, holed up somewhere within his safehouse, was not ready to surrender. So they fought, and so did we.
Individually, Max and I were both powerful. Alone, I had learned how to craft performances to inspire awe and fear. But together? Together, we were spectacular.
We were dancing, each of our performances feeding that of the other, him Wielding light and fire and I surrounding myself with shadow and bleeding butterflies. I was using a sword I’d pulled off of one of the soldiers, and it was a poor substitute for Il’Sahaj, but my magic was roaring so close to the surface I barely needed to rely on
a little piece of steel, anyway. Reshaye’s fingers wrapped tight around me, guiding my power — and I ceded to it, maintaining only the barest thread of control. I had no choice. Otherwise, I would topple. My body was injured, exhausted. I had to dig deeper, past my injuries, deeper than the dregs of my magic.
Time blurred.
I was not sure how long we had been fighting by the time the bells rang out. I had to yank on Reshaye to stop it from continuing on, forcing my consciousness back to myself, turning to the Palace. There, from the grand glass windows, white sheets swayed in the breeze.
And between them, on the balcony, stood Atrick Aviness, raising a hand that clutched a streak of white.
The world went silent, all eyes turning to him.
His lips parted, and he looked as if he might say something. His eyes fell to me, and what I saw in them made a knot form in my stomach.
“Stop—” I choked out, lurching forward.
But in one smooth movement, Atrick Aviness threw himself over the balcony’s edge.
Max’s second eyelids slid closed. I let my magic fall away. We looked at each other. He looked exhausted, and hurt, and was swaying on his feet.
Reshaye clutched at the exhausted shards of my magic. Even it seemed utterly depleted.
{We are not done. We cannot be done.}
I looked to the battlefield. To the bodies across the ground. To the buildings damaged and the injured soldiers around us. A numb sadness settled over me. I swayed on my feet.
Distantly, I heard Max’s voice murmur, “It’s over,” as if to himself.
How does a war end?
One might think it would end with some valiant triumph, a great tableau of noble victory.
Instead, it ended with a dull thump, a pile of bloody limbs on the ground, and the overwhelming smell of ash.
The world went quiet.
But I could still feel it burning, burning, burning inside of me — my magic, my rage, and Reshaye’s fury. One war had ended. But there was still something I needed to do. I started to move, but Max caught my arm.
“Where are you going?”
“I am not done.”
My voice barely sounded like my own. And though I could see the raw exhaustion written over Max’s face, when he turned to me, his gaze shifted — whatever he saw in me was enough to make him listen.
I had already half-drawn my Stratagram on my palm, but Max said, without hesitation, “I’m coming with you.”
And without hesitation, I let him.
I barely remembered completing my Stratagram. A split second, and I was looking not out at the remnants of a battlefield but at a series of brick, run-down buildings.
The refugees’ attention rolled over me like a wave. They stopped mid-movement, their eyes wide. I must have looked horrific, covered in blood, magic flaring around me like fire.
My gaze fell to the very same door I had entered just the day before, where a familiar old woman and her granddaughter lingered, eyes wide in terror.
I drank that terror down, reveling in it.
When I looked at them, anger flooded me. Hurt flooded me. So intense that it made Reshaye shiver, and I felt its every minute movement. I’d needed to give it so much, to keep myself going — now it sat just beneath the surface of my skin.
{They betrayed you, even after you tore out your heart to lay it at their feet.}
They had.
I had given them everything. I would have died for them.
I still would.
“I understand what it is like,” I said. My voice tore from my throat, thorny and raw. “I understand what it is to wish for the impossible. For so long, we have needed only to survive. It was hopeless to wish for anything more.”
More and more refugees were coming out of their apartment buildings, collecting along the sidewalks. Everyone was utterly silent. I stepped forward. My blood dripped onto the cobblestones. Blue fire clung to the blade of my sword, to my fingertips, to the tips of my hair.
“I made a promise to you,” I said. “I promised you that I would strike down the Threllian Lords. I promised you that I would stop at nothing. Nothing.”
{And you traded so much away to fulfill that promise,} Reshaye whispered.
Reshaye wanted revenge. Craved it. Hurt, after all, was made of glass, fragile and vulnerable. There was a certain satisfaction in smashing it upon the rocks and turning it into knives.
But with all my remaining strength, I held Reshaye back.
These people are not our enemy.
No. Our enemies were the ones who made us this way, who ripped us apart. Who still, from a thousand miles away, angled their blades at our throats.
I was so angry I could barely speak, barely think. I poured all of that rage into my magic, let Reshaye consume it. It burned at my skin in licks of white flames and red butterflies rising to the sky.
The pain was immeasurable. My magic was nearly depleted, my arms dripping with blood. The Threllians saw only the strength of my performance, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Max step forward, a hand outstretched. He knew how close I was to the edge.
I shot him a warning glance: Don’t. Not yet.
I needed them to see. I needed them to see a version of me that was powerful enough to earn their respect. I needed them to see a version of me powerful enough to believe in.
Look at me, I commanded, and they all obeyed.
“I have won Zeryth Aldris’s war,” I said. “And now I will win ours. We are the children of fallen gods and lost empires. We are the memories of bones in the plains. And we are more than they ever thought we would be.”
My eyes met the old woman’s. Reshaye threw itself at my mental walls, and I had to put everything I had into catching it, channeling its magic into my performance.
I stumbled, righting myself immediately, so quickly no one would notice. No one except for Max, who I could feel watching me, ready.
But I was not done. Not yet.
“Remember that, when you doubt me,” I snarled. “I made you a promise. I intend to keep it.”
I couldn’t hold on anymore.
I dropped my sword and turned to Max. One look, and he knew what I needed. I kept my back straight and steps measured as I walked away. Max withdrew paper and drew his Stratagram, bringing us back to the front steps of the Towers.
I looked up at them, and they seemed to bend over me.
I made sure no one was there, no one watching, when I let him catch me.
Chapter Forty-Six
Tisaanah
I sensed… curiosity.
The thing that stood before me wasn’t a person. No, just a shadow of a shadow. It circled me, examining.
I know you, it whispered.
I knew it too, in a way I didn’t understand. Like the scent left behind in a familiar body’s wake, or the fog hanging in winter air after a warm breath.
I have been looking for you, the voice murmured, for so long.
Reshaye shuddered, pulling away.
A flicker of hurt.
You do not remember me?
{What does it mean to remember? A memory is the imprint of a past story, and all of mine have been ripped away.}
The shadow pushed closer. It was difficult, I could tell, like it had to fight a rising tide.
What are you? I asked. Where are you?
My curiosity drew me closer — and then I recoiled with a gasp.
The vision only lasted for a split second, consisting of fragmented images.
I saw Ara burning, cities and palaces reduced to mere husks. A field full of corpses, piled upon each other, their flesh ribbons of rot. The oceans rising, teeming with creatures of teeth and shadow and destruction.
I saw the Threllian plains aflame, the sky black with smoke.
I saw an endless sea of bones.
And then, just as quickly, it was all gone — so fast that perhaps I had imagined it all.
The answer came in a distant whisper, as the presence faded away:
>
I am victory. I am vengeance.
And now, I am nowhere.
But soon, I will be with you.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Aefe
“If there is even a chance that Niraja holds the answers we need,” I said, “then we cannot afford to ignore that. Caduan is right. If we refuse to meet with them simply because of our own stubborn traditions, the cost will be unthinkable.”
Ishqa, Siobhan, and Ashraia stared back at me. I met Caduan’s gaze for a split second, just long enough to see the faintest of smiles twitch at the corners of his mouth.
“What you propose is treason.” Ashraia spat the words out like rancid food. “And we have already dismissed it. Rightfully.” He turned to Ishqa, as if already anticipating his equally-strong rejection. A rejection that I was expecting, too.
But one that did not come.
Instead, Ishqa crossed his arms over his chest, looking at me with a piercing gaze that I could not decipher. There was something different in this particular stare, something that made me want to shrink away. As if he were looking at me for the hundredth time and only just realizing that he missed some fundamental detail that changed everything.
He had not been the same since we left Yithara. But then again, none of us were.
“If you will not go,” I said, “I will go by myself.”
“And I will go with her,” Caduan added, quietly.
Ishqa’s eyebrow twitched. “What does your father have to say about that decision?”
“He supports it.”
Untrue. But I was the Teirness. Caduan was right. I had all the power I needed to make the decision on my own. And he wouldn’t even need to know that we made the detour.
Ishqa’s lips thinned. “Do not lie to me.”
I met his stare with equal intensity. Ceding nothing, and apologizing for nothing.
“I am ready to go alone if I must,” I repeated.
“Queen Shadya would not approve of this decision.”
Children of Fallen Gods (The War of Lost Hearts Book 2) Page 31
