Yet.
There were no gryphons in the citadel, however, which led us to believe the Paladin had been taken completely unaware—without even time to call for their mounts. Father had gone to the stables, hopeful, but he’d returned even more shattered.
Every single magnificent beast had been slaughtered in their stalls.
“It must have happened right before we arrived,” Father had said, his shoulders bowed under the weight of so much loss. “Since Sachiel…” He’d broken off, unable to finish, but I understood.
She’d been horrifically wounded but alive when we’d landed—barely in time to save her, but too late for all the others.
If only we hadn’t had to stop again … if only I hadn’t caused a two-day delay. If not for me, we would have been here—we would have been able to stop the massacre.
Or become part of it.
Tears mingled with our sweat as we took turns digging. My muscles burned from the strain—the pain a welcome distraction from the overwhelming grief and rage.
The sun had begun to set when we finally finished. It was shallow, but sufficient. And none of us had any strength left to make it any deeper. Raidyn and my father could barely manage carrying the bodies down, one at a time, on the backs of their gryphons—none of us dared go through the citadel yet.
We laid them out in the shallow grave, side by side. Somehow, in the hours since those first ghastly moments when I’d been too upset to look at Halvor’r remains, I’d grown numb to the horror of what had happened to their bodies. I stood between Sharmaine and Raidyn, my parents next to him, and stared down at my friends. Some I’d known better than others, but every single one of them had been willing to come here to Vamala, to risk injury and death to help protect our world.
And they’d all paid the ultimate price.
All except Sachiel, who lay just beyond the grave, unconscious but breathing, thanks to my father.
I hadn’t had a drink of water since our last stop. I was devastated but also dehydrated. So though my eyes burned with my grief, no more tears fell as Father brokenly attempted to sing the same song Raidyn had at Grandfather’s burial.
Raidyn and Sharmaine joined with him, their voices only slightly stronger than his.
Past the hedge, the sunset streaked across the sky in fiery bursts of tangerine, honey, and even shots of crimson. It was breathtaking and terrible, as though the sky itself wept tears of blood for the lives that had been lost.
When they finished the Paladin burial ritual, we again took turns with the shovels, covering the bodies with the heavy, dank soil we’d just dug up.
Each low thud of the earth landing on the lifeless bodies made me flinch.
When it was my turn, the blisters on my hands from digging the grave burned, some of them breaking open, but I ignored the pain, falling into a rhythm of dig, heft, twist, turn, and drop. Thud. Dig, heft, twist, turn, and drop. Plop.
With each shovelful I thought, I’m sorry.
Dig, heft, twist, turn, drop. Thud.
I’m sorry.
Dig, heft, twist, turn, drop. Thud.
I’m sorry.
But no matter how sorry I was, it would do nothing to bring any of them back. It couldn’t save Halvor or spare my sister the grief his death would cause her.
If she had managed to survive whatever had happened on the other side of the tear between worlds.
* * *
The plan was to sleep outside the citadel. No one wanted to go in at night, even though no other rakasa had made themselves known yet. We were to take turns keeping watch so the others could rest, but I was pretty certain I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. When it wasn’t our turn to sit up, I lay next to Raidyn, hands clasped between our bodies. But whenever I closed my eyes, a barrage of images assaulted me—Inara bent over Barloc, drinking his blood; the moment she disappeared through that rip in the air; Halvor disappearing beneath the onslaught of Chimera fire; the Chimera lunging toward us and Raidyn shoving me away, also prepared to die for us; Halvor’s destroyed body; Sachiel swinging in the air from the edge of the shattered window, her arms shredded …
I would open them again, staring at Raidyn’s face instead, drinking in great gulps of air, desperate to calm myself and wishing I could somehow erase sections of my brain entirely.
More often than not, his eyes were also open. And so we lay there, silently seeking solace in each other’s gaze, side by side, hand in hand, exhausted but not sleeping, broken but alive, until dawn finally brushed the onyx sky navy, then ashy gray, desultory and nowhere near daylight yet, but it was enough to claim night had ended. I sat up, giving up the pretense.
Raidyn sat up as well. In that faltering first light of a new day, his burning blue eyes met mine and his arm came round my shoulders. He murmured, “What’s wrong?” Because somehow, he knew—he felt—the extra layer of sadness upon all the other sadness. Like the worst kind of cake—something I’d seen in the fairy-tale book I’d read Inara so many times.
It had been a slice on a plate with delicate layers of pink and white. I’d asked Sami about it once—if she’d ever eaten cake. She’d tried to describe it to me, the way it melted on your tongue, the sweetness of sugar and cream and flour—almost too good to be real. She’d told us it was usually for celebrations: weddings or birthdays or anniversaries.
I’d never had true cake, but we’d tried to make something similar for Inara’s birthday one year, layering bread—a delicacy for us—with fruit from her orchard and a drizzle of honey that Sami had hoarded from one of her visits to Gateskeep to procure more food during winter. But Inara hadn’t emerged from the roar to even recognize it was her birthday, and so we’d had to eat it, and instead of being sweet, it had tasted like heartache and frustration, and I’d never asked Sami to make it again.
As I sat there in Raidyn’s arms, marveling that he’d noticed a different sadness, I couldn’t help but think of cake. Layer after layer of sorrow. And the bitter frosting on top—the extra layer he’d sensed.
“It’s midsummer,” I whispered, soft and defeated. “It’s Inara’s birthday. She would have been sixteen today.”
“She is sixteen today,” he whispered back with a squeeze of his arm around my shoulders.
I was the one who had told him to hold on to hope, but after a long, sleepless night, wondering if we’d managed to survive again only to die today … after the waking nightmare of what we’d already endured … I’d lost that kernel of belief. We didn’t know where they’d gone; we couldn’t fathom how she and Loukas could have had any chance against Barloc. I’d failed her, I’d lost her, and I couldn’t bring myself to cling to any more hope only to have it turn to ash in my mouth as all the others had.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I turned into Raidyn’s embrace. The little bit of fruit and vegetables we’d managed to force down last night had apparently been enough to enable me to cry again, but not much. Not enough for my sister, who deserved far more than one measly tear.
I wondered if my parents would even realize what day it was—if I should tell them if they didn’t.
“Maybe we should go find some breakfast for—”
Raidyn’s suggestion cut off at the exact moment I stiffened, both of our heads going to the shattered window in the Hall of Miracles.
“Did you feel—” Sharmaine, who was sitting up on watch, turned to us.
“The gateway,” I cried out, terror slicking over my skin like ice despite the flash of heat we’d all felt—the rush of power emanating from that cursed, death-filled room.
FORTY
INARA
When Sukhi touched down in the field next to the gryphons’ stables beside Maddok, the last thing I expected was for Louk to come to my side and help me down, or make any show of what had happened between us.
But I also hadn’t expected him to practically throw himself off his gryphon and storm back to the stable, ignoring me entirely.
Sukhi bent so I could dismount, whic
h I did, slowly, my legs shaky and stiff, my heart only slightly less so. Something had happened between us in that clearing—something far deeper than a kiss. I knew it … and I knew he knew it. But what would he do now? Now that we were back to the reality of what lay ahead, so many unknowns, so much potential devastation and struggle—the chance to return to Sharmaine …
Sukhi stood and bumped her beak against my stomach, a soft tap, as if letting me know she understood my turmoil and was there for me. I reached up to rub her feathers, the downy softness of her neck striking me as fascinating—that a creature so giant, so powerful, so deadly, could also be so soft, so gentle, so thoughtful.
Much like Loukas, except reversed. He was all deadly, powerful, angry intent, but underneath that hardened shell, he was softer and kinder than he was ever willing to admit.
Perhaps that was why he had fled, rushing away from me as fast as he was able. The neck of my shirt was still damp from his tears, and my arms ached from holding him. I was a witness to his suffering now, a potential threat of exposure—or a potential threat of further harm.
“Come on, girl,” I murmured, leading Sukhi to the stable, unsure if I should try to find Loukas or make sure to give him enough time to flee. I was awash with indecision, embarrassment even. In the clearing I had felt so strong, so right. Being with Loukas had felt right.
But now, with him gone, doubt swooped in where there had been certainty.
Doubt … and guilt.
I’d never kissed Halvor like that, as I’d admitted to Loukas. I’d never felt like that with Halvor. He had always been sweet to me, caring and gentle and kind, and there for me. He’d never fled, had never abandoned me. And what had I done? I’d hurt him by falling for the boy who couldn’t even look at me after we kissed, after I’d held him while he cried.
That was the bigger problem, I knew. Not the kissing—not even the fact that if we made it back and they’d all survived, that I could tell Sharmaine that we’d kissed, when perhaps he wished to keep it a secret.
It was the fact that he’d broken down with me, that he’d shown me his heart.
Somehow, I knew he’d never allowed anyone else to see him so vulnerable before. And that, more than anything, was why he’d bolted.
When the storm raging within him had finally finished, leaving him shaking and drained in my arms, we hadn’t said a word. We hadn’t even kissed again. He’d merely pulled back and I’d let him go.
We’d mounted our gryphons in silence and flown back without speaking. Not even once.
It had been a mistake.
I knew that now, but I’d been nervous … and afraid. Afraid of what he’d say to me—what he thought of me. Afraid that, despite what I’d said, he probably viewed me—and what had happened—as a mistake.
I’d used up all my bravery in that moment when I’d refused to let him shut me out, leaving me gutless when I’d needed it most.
“Inara!”
We’d almost reached the stable door when the shout took me by surprise. A woman’s voice, slowly becoming familiar—though not the panic it held.
I turned to my grandmother, who wasn’t quite running across the field, but walking as fast as legs could move without running.
“Where have you been? Where is Loukas?”
“He took me flying—on Sukhi.”
“For the entire day?” She reached me and my gryphon, anger spitting from her eyes.
I flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know we’d be gone for so long.” There was no plausible way to explain how long we’d been absent without admitting what had happened, so I fell silent and waited.
“You have no idea where you are, so I didn’t expect you to be able to make sure you were back sooner than this. But Loukas…” She shook her head, her mouth downturned in displeasure. “There’s nothing for it now. And there’s been more news.”
My embarrassment drained into dread at the way she said “news”—the way someone might say “death” or “tragedy,” both of which were probably part of what she had come to tell us about.
“What’s happened now?”
Louk’s deep baritone from behind us made me jump. I spun around to see him leaning against the open door of the stable, hands shoved into his pockets, any lingering traces of his breakdown erased, his imperturbable mask back in place. Our eyes met and held; a tremor from the hook still wound around my heart shivered down my spine to the bottom of my belly. I refused to be the first to look away. With a slight lift of one eyebrow, he turned to Grandmother. For some reason that tiny triumph of willpower—you will not ignore me, you will not push me away—felt like victory enmeshed with failure. As if his willingness to give up so easily was his way of saying I don’t care.
Grandmother exhaled, a push of air out her pursed lips redolent with weariness and worry. “Another patrol arrived over an hour ago. There have been more murders … and every single one of them had their throats ripped out,” she said, and all thoughts of Loukas and kisses and tiny triumphs fled. “There’s no possible way Barloc is acting alone—not with this many dead. We must assume he’s found members of the Infinitium sect and is having them steal power as well. For what purpose, we can only imagine. And with his ability to rip tears between worlds, they could leave at any moment. We no longer can hope to keep them from your world by only guarding the gateway.” Her eyes lifted to mine, an apology in their depths.
My breath came fast and hard, my blood a spinning rush in my veins. “What can we do?”
Grandmother’s eyes dropped to the earth, her hands clasped in front of her. “I know what Alkimos would have had me do.”
My grandfather. Her husband, who had died in Vamala.
When she looked back up, her eyes flared with determination. “We will take an army and go to the gateway. We’ll find Barloc and stop him and whoever else he has brought with him. No more innocent lives will be lost—not on my watch.”
I couldn’t help but stare. After everything I’d heard about her, the magnitude of such a declaration wasn’t lost on me. “When?”
“As soon as possible. We’ll fly through the night if we must.” She turned on her heel and marched back the way she’d come. “Loukas,” she called over her shoulder, “gather whatever members of my son’s battalion are here and willing to go. You will lead them until we reach Adelric.”
There was a shocked moment of silence, and then he said, “Yes, madam,” but I wasn’t sure if she even heard him—or the gratitude he couldn’t quite conceal from his voice—as she was already halfway across the field.
“We’re going back,” I said, a relieved smile lifting my lips.
“You can’t ride on Maddok with me if I’m to lead the battalion.” Loukas glared at me, as if I’d asked him and he was refusing me.
My smile turned into a scowl. “I don’t need to. I have my own gryphon now,” I reminded him.
“You think you’re qualified to ride in a battalion because you managed to endure one easy flight?” he scoffed.
I stalked forward, until I was close enough to shove a finger into his chest. “That is enough. First, you know that was not an ‘easy flight’—and I kept up with every twist and nosedive and climb you threw at me. And second, I don’t know why you’re acting like this. You can try to pretend like nothing has changed between us, but you know it has and so do I.”
The fire in Louk’s eyes flared brighter, a muscle in his jaw jumped. “I told you then and I’ll tell you now—it was a mistake. You think you know me, you think you understand me, but you’re wrong. You are too young … and naïve … and you have Halvor. I’ll agree not to tell him what happened by that river, but only if you agree to keep it to yourself as well.”
I stared at him, my lungs caving in, the hook in my heart ripping right through it. After that kiss—after the way he’d cried in my arms—the way he’d held me as if he were drowning in his own pain and I was his only chance at ever reaching the surface … this was it came down to? He wouldn’t tell Ha
lvor if I didn’t tell anyone either?
Sukhi cawed, a sharp warning at my side. Loukas backed up a step.
“If you’re determined to ride her to the gateway, I can’t stop you. But hopefully you can survive the pass through those cliffs. I won’t be there to catch you if you fall.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving me standing beside Sukhi in stunned silence. Alone—and somehow furious and devastated all at once.
* * *
Grandmother was true to her word. By the time I finished finding Sukhi water and a meal—I had to ask another Paladin where they kept the stash of rodents—and went in search of food for myself, she had already gathered two dozen Paladin willing to go through the gateway, with twice that many more saying they would also come. All of them, plus the members of the council who were needed to open it, made for a much larger force than I’d even dared hope for.
I hadn’t seen Loukas again, but part of me didn’t want to. I just wanted to go home—to my sister, to Sami … even my mother and father. And Halvor. If he survived whatever lay ahead and still cared for me, I couldn’t lie to him. I would have to admit what had happened with Loukas and how it had changed me.
Could I build a life with Halvor—if that was even what he wanted—now that I’d had my world and heart turned upside down and torn apart by Louk?
Focus on seeing Zuhra again. Focus on finding and stopping Barloc. None of this matters unless we all survive. You have a gryphon and your power back—you can help. That’s the most important thing to remember.
Though I’d yet to figure out if my power was the same—if I was still a healer or not—somehow I knew it was even stronger than it had been before Barloc had ripped it from me. I knew I could help … one way or another.
After rushing through a small meal of fruit, some sort of roasted fowl, and fresh juice—one of the best meals I’d ever been given, but that I hardly even tasted—I hurried back out to the stables, to Sukhi. I wanted to be sure I wasn’t left behind … and I wasn’t certain I could trust Loukas to wait for me if everyone gathered and was ready to leave before I got there.
Warriors of Wing and Flame Page 30