My stomach clenched. Everywhere I turned and everywhere I went, my blood led only to further doom and destruction.
“I should have unhooked myself from the Moth somewhere over the city,” I said.
“Don’t say that,” Hal said firmly.
“You don’t get to tell me what to say,” I replied.
“No, I don’t. But maybe there is a safer way to use your true power. I can take care of you if it comes down to having a headache, like I get with mine—”
“No.” I interrupted him. Power always had a cost. I knew what the price of my gift was. It wasn’t so much aging or pain that frightened me, but the unexpected collateral damage that always seemed to result. A flood that killed thousands. A village destroyed by bandits just so one girl could find her manifest. What would happen next?
“There’s one other thing. Nismae plans to try to use the other demigods to help her. She wanted to start with me. She asked if she could have some of my blood, too, to see if there is a way to bestow my powers on a mortal.” He looked out over the horizon. “I said no.”
I studied his features in the moonlight—the gentle curve of his nose, the shadows beneath his cheekbones, the bold and curling eyelashes that gave his face a constant air of innocence. I couldn’t tell what he might be feeling. My heart tugged me in directions at odds with my mind. It would be so easy to scoot closer to him, to rest my head on his shoulder, to lull myself into believing he’d be there when I needed him. He’d rescued me, hadn’t he? But how could his loyalties lie with anyone other than his sister? How could he have led me to her in the first place? I didn’t know what to believe.
“Is that why you betrayed Nismae to rescue me tonight? Because she wanted to use you?” I asked.
“No. It was that thing I Heard at the top of the cliff in the Tamers’ forest.” He shuddered.
“His name was Leozoar,” I said. As terrible as the old man had been, I understood him. He deserved to have his name remembered by someone.
“He didn’t speak to me like my siblings might have, though I suppose he once was one. More like he was muttering to himself, lost in his own mind. It was mostly nonsense, but there was so much suffering and agony in the words. If Nismae finds a way to pull the magic out of us and use it, or if we let our abilities be used by others for evil, who’s to say we won’t end up just like that—some twisted thing, barely more than a wraith?” Fear shone in his eyes.
“So it’s selfishness, then? Self-preservation?” It was too much to hope that he’d come for me because he cared, but still, I did. I longed to mean something to him. I wanted to matter to someone—something I was less and less sure I ever had.
“No. Not just that. I don’t think what she and Ina are planning is right. I don’t believe in hurting innocent people like you, even if they think it’s for the greater good.” He spoke softly.
I swallowed hard against a surge of guilt. I wasn’t as innocent as he thought.
“Do you think killing the boar king is for the greater good?” I asked.
“No. But coming for you was.” He looked at me, finally, sadness in his eyes.
It took everything I had not to embrace him, to thank him for caring enough to come for me. But if there was one thing I knew, it was that I couldn’t trust anyone but myself ever again. And with only myself to rely on, there was only one thing left I could do, now that I was free.
“I have to go to Corovja,” I said. “I have to go to the Grand Temple and try to talk to the shadow god myself.”
“That’s daft,” Hal said. “You can’t. Nobody can enter the Grand Temple without permission from the king, even demigods. And even if you could get in, how could you get the gods to speak to you?”
“I have to at least try,” I said. “I’ll tell the clerics I just want to enter the temple to see if my parent will answer me. Besides, if I go to Corovja, I can warn the king so he can stop Ina and Nismae. He’s the only magic user with enough power to do it. Maybe if I get on his good side, he’d speak to the shadow god on my behalf—if I can’t gain entry myself.”
In spite of my resolutions, guilt still ate at me. In stopping Ina and Nismae, the king would no doubt kill them both—two people who had more history with me and Hal than anyone. We both stared vacantly at the fog swirling in the valley below, the silence strangely comfortable between us. Everything had a sense of finality, until Hal spoke.
“Can I come with you?” he asked.
I looked at him, startled.
“I thought you said you never wanted to go back to Corovja.” I’d half expected him to try and talk me out of what I was about to do, but not to ask to go with me.
“If the clerics won’t let you into the Grand Temple, how are you going to get to the king?” he asked, his voice flat.
“I thought anyone could petition the crown for an audience,” I said. Honestly, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to. If I could get the Fatestone right away, I wouldn’t need to speak to him at all. He’d never know his story had been written over.
“They can . . . but it takes time. Some people wait moons to be granted one.” He sighed and looked down. “But I could get you in much faster.”
“How?”
“The royal alchemist. He owes Nismae a favor that I might be able to collect on.” The expression on his face told me that it might be best not to inquire how that had come about. I’d never thought about the people Hal had known and left behind in Corovja—about the whole life he’d lived before we met. The thought of him being forced to beg and steal to survive there made my heart ache. I just hoped the friends he’d made along the way weren’t dangerous ones, the royal alchemist included.
“But Ina isn’t your problem, and Nismae is your sister. Are you sure you want to help me?” It had to be impossible for him to take sides in this and feel good about it. Still, I wanted to take what he’d offered me. I could go to the Grand Temple and the king on my own, but it would be better with Hal by my side.
He took my uninjured hand and squeezed it just once. “Ina is clearly dangerous. And well . . . Nismae taught me that we protect people we care about. So I’m not going to let her hurt you.”
This time I couldn’t talk myself out of the feelings of warmth that pooled inside me.
“You’re sometimes awfully moral for a thief,” I said, and returned the squeeze. He grinned at my jab, then stood up and helped me to my feet.
I scanned the sky until I found the constellation of the huntress, following her lines to the tip of her arrow, bright in the northernmost part of the sky.
After a long pause, I said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
I thought about all the things I was grateful to him for—helping me out of Nismae’s grasp, trying to protect me, and most of all, not standing in my way when I needed to stand up for myself. He hadn’t been perfect, but he had always done his best, and done it honestly. I could forgive him for standing down when Nismae had attacked me. What other choice had he had? Forgiveness was the only thing that would keep me from leaning into the darkness and letting it become part of me. I didn’t want to be like Ina, consumed by grief expressed as rage. I didn’t even want her in my life anymore, not the way she was now. I wanted to continue to be a healer, not a fighter.
“For doing the right thing,” I finally said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. She’ll come after us, you know.” His voice was gentle, but sure.
“I know.” If Nismae and Ina considered my blood part of what they needed for overthrowing the king, they would not stop hunting me until they got it.
Perhaps the shadow god truly was the only one who could help me now. I shook off a shiver and started walking toward the huntress’s star.
CHAPTER 22
WE TRAVELED NORTHWEST, CUTTING OUR OWN PATH across the wild land, with spring keeping us company. Rainstorms brought forth more flowers until orange, pink, and blue blossoms dusted the rolling hills. Though Hal Farheard no signs of Nismae, w
ith her at our backs the road wasn’t an option until we were well clear of Orzai. I got used to being cold and to sleeping curled up against Hal for warmth while he kept watch. Some part of me was never able to stop looking for Ina, for flashes of light peeking out from the shadows. During the days we mostly walked in silence, Hal with an ear tipped behind us, and me always scanning the horizon for white wings.
A few nights after our escape, I sat stirring the meager coals of our fire, not quite ready to go to sleep.
“It’s quiet out there,” Hal said, almost as if he could hear my thoughts.
“I know.” But the truth was that silence didn’t offer me any comfort either. What if the quiet came from Ina stalking us through the woods, frightening away the wildlife? The pit of dread in my stomach deepened the longer I thought of it. If we saw her, we’d have to run. And while I was afraid of her returning me to Nismae, I was also angry—and that frightened me more. She had the right to be upset with me for what I’d done, but she hadn’t needed to hurt me at every turn after that. Part of me wanted to strike back, too.
“It makes me feel like Ina could be nearby when it’s quiet like this,” I said.
“Has she always been . . . so ruthless?” Hal asked, adding a few more small sticks to the fire.
I pondered his question. Ina’s desire to be elder of Amalska had started long before she met me. She’d always wanted more for her village and herself but never had the means—until she took the dragon as her manifest.
“I suppose she’s always been ambitious,” I said. I touched the bandage on my wrist where her courting bracelet had once pressed comfortingly on my skin. Thanks to her revealing my gift to Nismae, my hand would never work the same way again.
“Is her ambition why you love her so much?” he asked, his voice soft, the low flicker of firelight reflected in his eyes.
I might have thought the question rude if not for the innocent way he asked it, like the notion of love itself was an utter mystery to him. Ina’s ambition was part of her, but certainly not what accounted for the way she used to make me feel. Every moment with her had been charged with desire. Close had never been close enough. She made me feel light and alive. Colors were brighter, food tasted better, and the world was full of possibility with her beside me.
Now, the memories were bittersweet, tainted by the darkness of all that had come after.
I had been a fool.
“I don’t love her anymore,” I told him. And while I hadn’t known it until I spoke the words, they were as true and firm as the earth beneath our feet. I could never go back to that kind of innocent devotion.
Hal scratched at the dirt with a stick, taking a few moments before asking his next question. “Do you think you’ll ever feel that way about anyone again?”
“I don’t know.” I wanted to love again, but never wanted to be so in thrall to someone that I couldn’t see them clearly. I never wanted to be so close to a person that I couldn’t hold on to my convictions when they were near. That was what Ina had done—obliterated any ability I had to think, to feel in anything other than extremes, robbing me of the wisdom to use my magic only for the greater good and fear the consequences of doing otherwise. So here we were.
“I hope I might,” he said so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him properly.
Our eyes met and locked for a moment, heavy with all we’d suffered together. Part of me wanted to believe the spark that had jumped between us when we first touched had meant something. More of me wanted to be careful not to feel too much.
I looked away first.
“I’ll take first watch.” He stood up and left the fireside instead of settling into his usual place beside me.
I sighed and lay down, pulling my cloak more tightly around me. The nights had grown shorter, and I needed what sleep I could get before Hal woke me to take the second watch. I tried not to think about what he’d said earlier about wanting to fall in love. He didn’t know how terrible it could be. Still, unwanted thoughts kept rising—the crisp, fresh smell of him after we’d found a good place to bathe; how contagious his laugh was; what it might feel like if he touched me as tenderly as Ina used to.
Spindly trees reached for the sky, providing little shelter around us. I’d already sung my vespers at sundown, and now a creek murmured nearby, its susurration a delicate counterpoint to the sounds of nighttime insects and calls of other animals. Even though I was grateful to be outdoors again instead of trapped in Nismae’s miserable tower, trying to fall asleep never seemed to go well for me.
At least I no longer dreamed of Ina or woke with her dream kisses tingling on my skin.
We were safe. We had escaped. We were headed for Corovja with the hope of locating the Fatestone. The chances of Nismae or Ina finding us with someone as canny as Hal keeping watch were very, very small. I could sense him nearby and was comforted by his presence.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to dredge up memories of safety and warmth. Standing with Miriel over a potion, watching the practiced way her fingers drew the symbols of the gods to enchant it. Lying alone in a meadow on my mountain as the afternoon shadows grew long, listening to birdsongs and the sounds of animals readying for sleep. Singing vespers that no one else was there to hear, my heart taking flight on the notes.
Just as I found the quiet place between wakefulness and dreams, an owl hooted.
I huffed and turned over, annoyed that it had broken my brief moment of peace. I didn’t know anything was wrong until echoes of the owl’s hoot sounded in the distance, followed by a chorus of two-note poorwill calls, then the fluttering of what sounded like a hundred sets of wings as they fled the area. Familiar footsteps hurried through the underbrush toward me.
Hal.
I scrambled to my feet, suddenly wide awake.
“It’s the dragon,” he said, his knife drawn.
Fear crackled through me like lightning. Once she saw us, she wouldn’t have trouble catching us. “We have to leave. Now.”
It appeared that when it came to Ina and me, one of us would always be chasing the other.
Now it was her turn.
Hal and I hastily scattered the coals of the fire, then hurried deeper into the forest.
The heavy beat of wings sounded over the trees.
“Run,” I choked out, trying to pitch my voice low. The words had barely left my mouth when fire lit in the treetops, illuminating Ina in dragon form.
“Go!” I shouted, and took off.
Hal dashed alongside me, leaping over obstacles in his path as nimbly as a deer. Overhead, Ina’s wings blotted out the moon, and then cinders showered from the treetops and the smoke thickened. Green spring growth was not meant to burn.
“We have to find shelter,” I said, coughing. “Somewhere she can’t follow.”
It seemed completely futile. The forest was thin and scrubby, the ground rocky between the trees. Even the smoke of the burning saplings provided little cover to obscure her view of us. I followed the creek, stumbling over fallen branches and rocks in the dark, hoping that the water might have carved out some small place we could disappear. Hope rose in my chest like a soaring bird, and then fell away as I burst through a final line of trees and onto the rocky shore of a lake.
I cast a glance back. Behind us, owls gathered on the bottom branches. They dropped to the ground, shaking off their manifests and drawing blades from their belts as soon as they were in human form.
We were trapped. There was nowhere left to run.
Ina swooped in front of us, hovering over the water. Her beating wings sent ripples of moonlight dancing across the glassy surface. Another plume of fire bloomed from her jaws, close enough that it warmed my cheeks and left scorch marks on the rocks just a few paces away.
“Fine! Kill me!” I screamed. “Take your revenge!” I didn’t want to die, but I was tired of this game—and death would be preferable to being returned to Nismae.
She roared in response, a vicious sound that split
the night.
“She’s not going to kill you. You’re only of use to them alive,” Hal said from behind me.
He was right. She didn’t advance, but the group of Nightswifts slowly tightened the circle around us.
“Don’t come any closer,” Hal warned them, drawing his hunting knives.
“You shouldn’t have betrayed us,” the leader of the group said.
I didn’t recognize him—Nismae had been wise enough to send people who would have no sympathy for us. These weren’t the Nightswifts with whom I’d broken bread and shared stories; they were people who had been on missions during the brief time when I’d visited their headquarters.
Hal kept his chin up. “It’s not betrayal to protect the life of someone who did the same for you.”
“Then we’ll take you both down,” another one snarled.
Ina landed on the shore of the lake, her neck arched and ready to strike.
“Give me a knife,” I said to Hal. I wasn’t going to let the Nightswifts hurt Hal because of me. Together we’d fight back.
Hal handed me one of his blades without question. The gesture of trust galvanized me, and I raised the weapon to stand my ground.
Hal lifted his arm and a gust of wind burst out of nowhere, kicking gravel and dirt into the eyes of the Nightswifts. They shouted and staggered back, but one of them recovered quickly enough to pull a throwing knife from the strap across her chest and take calculating aim. Hal shifted the direction of the wind and threw her off balance, but the others were already regrouping and drawing new weapons. He wouldn’t be able to hold them back for long.
A few of the Nightswifts broke away from the group, aiming blows at me meant to disable and threaten, not to kill. I staggered backward, splashing clumsily into the edge of the lake, realizing too late that they’d managed to separate me from Hal. More and more of the Nightswifts gathered, pushing me back until I stood knee-deep in the water. They’d cornered me, leaving Hal to face off with Ina. As powerful as he was, he was no match for her. His magic was enough to hold off the Nightswifts, but not a dragon.
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