Lena had replied, I will not leave, Marten. Do you think the bond of our friendship is so easily broken? I will stand by you in this fight, both against Ruslan and enemies closer to home. More than that…you need not shoulder your grief alone. I didn’t love Talmaddis as you did, but I miss him too.
That was the truth of her decision. She loved her country, yes; but she would not abandon her friend in his time of need. No more than Dev had abandoned Kiran.
A loyalty that still humbled Kiran, even as it lightened a little of the black chasm in his heart. He could only hope that one day he might repay it.
Kiran focused, readied himself. He couldn’t cast to take Lena’s pain, not without alerting Ruslan. I’m sorry, he told Lena. This will hurt.
I know. Acceptance radiated from her mind, stronger than her fear.
He took a piece of his own ikilhia and stoked it until it was a searingly bright coal. He touched the coal to Lena’s memories.
A piece of her mind seared away; she screamed in agony, arching backward. Quickly, he siphoned power from her ikilhia, enough so she slumped unconscious in his arms.
“Is it done?” Dev’s voice was tight.
“Yes.” Kiran laid her gently on moonlit pine needles. “Forgive me,” he whispered to her. He didn’t know if he’d ever see her again. Perhaps…perhaps in some distant future they might meet in the peace she’d wished upon him.
Dev crouched at Lena’s other side. He traced her cheek, drew his hand back. “She’ll be all right?”
Kiran nodded, though it felt like a lie. If he didn’t stop Ruslan, no Alathian would be all right. Nor would Dev, Cara, and Melly.
Dev stood and said shortly, “We should get moving.”
Kiran followed, clinging to determination. Lena had wanted him to live. He would make certain she didn’t regret her choice.
* * *
(Dev)
I waded through knee-deep wildflowers, a quartet of empty waterskins dangling from my hands. The sun was rising, golden light spreading down the pale cliffs rearing high over the meadow. The wildflowers’ riot of color ended in a lake whose water was so still as to be a perfect mirror for the fanged, snow-streaked peaks circling it. The sky above was a deep, pure blue, the air chill but holding the promise of warmth to come.
Kiran stood on a slanting mica-flecked boulder at lake’s edge, looking out over the water. He was huddled into his overjacket, his arms crossed tight over his chest. I knelt beside his boulder and started filling the waterskins. Hushed voices broke the meadow’s silence. Back at our campsite beneath a gaggle of stunted little pines, Cara was helping Melly and Janek pack up their sleeping blankets.
We hadn’t yet hashed out this business of Ruslan and demons, what with Kiran needing all his breath and energy just to keep up. The drug might’ve saved his life, but he was still weak, slower even than the kids. We’d pressed hard for two days, snatching only brief moments of rest as we climbed ever higher into the mountains. By the time we reached timberline, Kiran was stumbling and glassy-eyed with exhaustion. Cara and I had judged it best to catch up on sleep before pushing on into terrain where a stumble from tiredness could mean a fall that would kill.
“You feel any more spellwork seeking us?” I asked Kiran.
“None strong enough to pierce the amulet’s warding.” His voice sounded husky, and when he turned to me, his eyes were wet. He twitched a hand at the lake and its backdrop of soaring mountains. “I wish Alisa could have seen this.”
It was as much an admission as an expression of regret. If he’d accepted that Alisa was real…“You believe us, then? You won’t go running off to Ruslan the moment my back’s turned?” Cara and I had been worried enough about it that we’d slept in shifts to keep a constant eye on him.
“No.” Kiran hugged himself all the tighter. “You, Lena, Cara—all of you have such faith in me. But…Ruslan is so strong. I know I must stop him, but I keep fearing…what if I can’t?”
“You can,” I said. “Know why? Because you won’t be taking him on alone. Ruslan’s scary as shit, I’ll give you that. But I’m telling you: together, we’ll find a way to send him to Shaikar’s hells, no matter how strong his magic.” Standing in the heart of the Whitefires’ wild beauty, I believed anything was possible. Hell, look at Melly…these last months I’d despaired about a thousand times over that I’d never save her, and yet here she was, alive and whole.
Kiran slanted me a glance, and a little of the tension eased from his body. “I hope you’re right,” he said softly. “Regardless…I thank you. It does help, to know I’m not alone.”
I’d learned that lesson thanks to Cara. Thinking of our coming parting, my throat tightened. I took a deep breath of crisp mountain air and put aside sadness. Cara was here now, and so was Melly; I’d make the most of the time we had left. I stood with Kiran, watching sunlight spill down stone, and let the new day fill my heart with hope.
* * *
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the long-suffering members of my critique group: Carol Berg, Curt Craddock, Catherine Montrose, Susan Smith, and Brian Tobias. They waded through massive chunks of horrifically rough draft without a single word of complaint over the work involved, all while providing their usual stellar critique. I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have critique partners with such keen eyes for flaws and such patience for dispensing advice to an excitable newbie author. Susan in particular deserves more thanks than I could possibly express for providing critiques of re-written chapters on super-short notice and listening so readily to all my worries and woes.
Similarly, thanks once again to Teresa Frohock, who sprang to my aid whenever I needed it and has been a font of friendship and support. Thanks also to Jeanne Atwell, not only for her steadfast friendship but her excellent reading recommendations. And thanks to fellow moms Maria Mitchell and Karen Hodgekinson-Price for their generous offers to watch my son when I lacked other childcare; without them, I might never have finished this book.
Enormous thanks to my hardworking agent, Becca Stumpf, who helped me weather many a crisis with her usual mix of patience, creativity, and enthusiasm. And it takes a lot of work to turn a manuscript into a book: thanks to Jeremy Lassen, Ross Lockhart, Liz Upson, Tomra Palmer, Amy Popovich, and the rest of the Night Shade gang for all their efforts behind the scenes. Special thanks to Dave Palumbo, for his stunning art and his patience and responsiveness to requests.
Thanks to everyone out there who read and enjoyed The Whitefire Crossing, especially those who sent emails to tell me how much you loved the book. It’s truly amazing how an email like that can brighten even the darkest of days.
My undying gratitude and love to my husband Robert, who continues to hang in there no matter how crazy our lives get. Life is truly sweeter when shared with a partner, and there’s none better than you.
About the Author
Courtney Schafer was born in Georgia, raised in Virginia, and spent her childhood dreaming of adventures in the jagged mountains and sweeping deserts of her favorite fantasy novels. She escaped the East Coast by attending Caltech for college, where she obtained a B.S. in electrical engineering, and also learned how to rock climb, backpack, ski, scuba dive, and stack her massive book collection so it wouldn’t crush anyone in an earthquake. After college she moved to the climber’s paradise of Boulder, Colorado, and somehow managed to get a masters degree in electrical engineering from the University of Colorado in between racking up ski days and peak climbs.
She now works in the aerospace industry and is married to an Australian scientist who shares her love for speculative fiction and mountain climbing. She’s had to slow down a little on the adrenaline sports since the birth of her son, but only until he’s old enough to join in. She writes every spare moment she’s not working or adventuring with her family.
Visit her online at www.courtneyschafer.com.
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