Dunkat’s right arm came up, knocked the blade out of Ardin’s hand with a sickening snap of shattering bone. Dark ether rippled into Ardin’s chest.
“Ardin!” Layela screamed. She took a step toward him, but Dunkat tossed him to the side as though he were nothing more than bag of feathers. Ardin rolled a few times, a trail of blood glistening in the sunlight filtering through the roof. When he came to a stop, he did not move, his left arm jutting from under his body at an unnatural angle.
Layela fought the urge to run to him, and planted her feet firmly on the ground instead. Dunkat stared at her, his advance starting again as though nothing had happened. Black mists flowed from his severed shoulder and the wounds in his torso.
She couldn’t run. She knew she had nowhere to go, and running now meant abandoning Ardin. She could heal him, as she had healed Avienne with ether.
Ether.
To soothe. To heal. To purify.
To fight.
She could use the ether. She knew she could, and she needed to. Yoma, Josmere, Ardin, Zortan, even Mirial herself had all protected and supported her. But now it was her turn to stand alone and protect them.
She felt the weight of her own destiny clothe her shoulders like a mantle, and did not try to shrug it off.
Mirial’s breath was all around her. She captured it with her mind, feeling its power penetrate her body.
Dunkat was close, his dark mists licking her exposed skin. She did not back away, but looked up again and focused on his eyes; eyes of twilight.
This time, fear did not clutch her soul or paralyze her. He took another step, reached out with his arm and grabbed her throat. His grasp constricted her airway and his fingernails extended, growing long and piercing the side of her neck.
She wanted to cough, but no breath could escape her or enter her. The reek of his flesh was trapped inside her, and she could taste her own blood at the back of her throat. She could feel tears running down her cheeks and her arms came up, but instead of trying to pull his hand free, she reached for his head.
The time has come to let go, Dunkat Groosh. Warmth invaded her body. Layela let the ether flow through her and take hold of her, and then slammed it into the dead man, purifying him. The colonel’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment.
His eyes were definitely softer as he looked past her. Layela felt the presence without turning, and she let Dunkat’s parents claim his soul to bring him back to Mirial. His body, now an empty shell, hissed and bubbled. When the arm let go of her throat, she collapsed beside it, inhaling a deep, panicked breath that smelled like the stench of death.
She could feel the warmth leaving her, but forced it to stay, forced Mirial to remain with her for a moment longer. She stumbled to her feet. Her body felt heavy, as though lead had cooled at her core and now weighed her down.
Ardin. She reached out with her ether as she walked toward him. She didn’t need to touch him to heal him, she knew, but she wanted to. She needed to.
His breath was weak, but he didn’t want to die. He clung fiercely to every heartbeat. Layela knelt by him and ran her tired hand over his cold skin. He was so pale, his features drawn with pain even in unconsciousness. His chest was seared and still bleeding; the flesh, where it was exposed by the blackened shirt, was burnt and cracked.
“Make him warm,” she asked of the ether, her mind too clouded to simply think the words.
She blinked and looked up. The world around her was full of light. Sun poured into the temple, and ether blanketed every tree, every stone, every drop of water. Mirial was alive. Mirial was life.
“Please,” she whispered, lowering her head onto Ardin’s chest. She was desperate to hear his heart. “Please, allow him to live.”
Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but she could not tear them from the light swirling around them both. His heartbeat grew stronger and stronger and she felt the taste of blood lessen from her own throat.
She closed her eyes and listened to his breath steadying, his heart pumping, his stomach even gurgling. She smiled.
Yoma. Her sister had given up her life to save her. Layela imagined Ardin’s heartbeat as her sister’s, and called to her soul. Come back to me, sister.
Like a petal floating in the winds, Layela felt the gentle reply. Her sister loved her and always would. But she couldn’t return.
A life for a life. Yoma had offered her soul to Mirial in exchange for Layela’s, and none of Layela’s newfound powers or connection with Mirial could reverse the pact.
That was it. She had reached the height of her powers, the limits of life and death Mirial would allow her to cross.
In her mind’s eye she saw her sister winking at her, felt her huddling close through so many years of childhood, her warmth the only hope in the dark, frightening nights. She saw the flowers Yoma brought her to do with as she wished, whether to sell for food or to keep and nurture.
A sob escaped with her breath as she smelled the blooms again, mixed with her sister’s sweat when she would return from her dangerous escapades. Yoma would laugh the pain and tears away as Layela tended to her wounds. Before mine were too deep for any of us to know how to heal.
The familiar ache of the Kilita’s touch did not manage to replace the warm memories of her sister’s loyalty.
Tears streaked down her face as she remembered Josmere’s laughter and smile, remembering her plea to be allowed to die so that others could live. And she remembered the feel of the earth, the smell of it, still clinging to her despite the change of clothes and Layela’s fresh blood. But still Josmere’s death could not block the sound of her laughter, ringing so clear and true it would always resonate within Layela.
She felt a hand touch her cheek, the rough skin gently removing each tear without a word; without question.
Her eyes opened slowly. Ardin’s face was misty through her tears, his eyes deep pools of concern. A smile broke free of her lips, and she let him hold her, covering the smells of her memories — the blooms of Yoma and the earth of Josmere — with his smell. Sweat, blood. Life.
She held him for a long time. Mirial’s ether bloomed all around them, her mind singing a song she had forgotten so long ago, as she remembered who and what she was.
Layela Delamores. She was all that was left.
And she was enough.
EPILOGUE
Layela walked by the great lake of Mirial, her skirts trailing after her on the lush grass. Berganda children played among the Booknots, laughing and screaming.
“You did say she would leave us an army of brats.” Ardin picked up one of the younger ones and twirled her around, to be rewarded by whoops of laughter.
“I can’t believe five years have already passed,” Layela whispered as she looked upon the sparkling waters where she had laid Josmere to rest. As soon as she could, she had decorated her grave with Booknots, and cared for the children of the Berganda as though they were her own.
Ardin laced his fingers into hers. “Avienne will be arriving later with supplies, and she won’t be here long. We should head back soon.”
Layela nodded and looked at the waters one more time. As Queen of Mirial, she had taken the liberty of renaming it Lake Feathers, after her sister.
It made her smile to think of Josmere and Yoma being together again.
“Lady, Captain Malavant has arrived and urgently requests you.”
“Probably has a prank to play,” Ardin mumbled, and Layela laughed. “Thank you, Loren,” the woman nodded and walked off on her braces; one of her legs had been lost in the final battle of Mirial.
“You judge your sister so,” Layela said, walking towards the palace as she smelled the pure air. “She was, after all, so excited to learn she would be an aunt.”
“I thought Mirialers weren’t supposed to know who the father of the heir was?” Ardin said, picking up a flower and giving it to her. She held it tenderly and smiled at him. He gave a low chuckle.
“I refuse to let the past dictate our futur
e, Ardin Malavant,” she teased him, with a kiss. The future is not written, she told herself. No matter how insistent her visions sometimes were.
She took his hand and walked back towards their home, ignoring the sound of bells tolling in the distant reaches of her mind.
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