Page 91 of Children of Fallen Gods

“I do. But it’s because I was—” I let out a breath through my teeth. “It’s because I was scared for you, Moth. Because it’s justnot worth it. It’s never been worth it. Hold onto this, onto what you’re feeling right now, for as long as you can. Hold onto your humanity. And if anyone tells you to be ashamed of it, if anyone tells you that it’s weakness that you know the value of a human life, then they’re fuckinglost, Moth.They are lost. And so many are.”

I thought of my father, and the way he had spoken to me when I was not much older than Moth — how he had taught me that there was an honor in a life of killing, and strength in learning how to do it without feeling.

For so long I had avoided thinking about it, avoided reconciling those two warring halves. He had been a good man, a good father. But he had been his own kind of lost in so many other ways. I just hadn’t seen it then. Even now, I didn’t want to see it. I wanted my family’s memories to be untouchable, defined only by their good intentions.

But no one ever got that gift. No matter how much I missed them. No matter how much I loved them.

“I was,” I muttered. “Ten years later and I’m still trying to find my way back,”

There was a long silence. Moth blinked and more tears slithered down his cheeks.

“I’m glad we’re going home,” he said, quietly.

Home. The word caught and settled, deep in my chest. But home wasn’t Korvius, or the Towers, or even a cottage in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by flowers. Home was a pair of mismatched eyes, an accented voice, and a heartbeat that followed the same cadence as mine. And I was so, so homesick.

“Me too,” I said.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tisaanah

Eslyn lived for three more agonizing days.

Sammerin helped treat her. Dire injuries often required both a Valtain and a Solarie healer, to treat the full breadth of the damage. But for Sammerin, it was obvious right away that something in this went deeper than his occupational duties. The first time he saw Eslyn lying there like a shriveled up corpse, clutching her eyeless face, he winced, stood there for a long moment, then sat down at her bedside and simply didn’t get up again.

Ariadnea was often there, too, clearly upset even if she never voiced it. Every time she was forced to leave on Syrizen business, she’d give Sammerin a tight, “Take care of her, Sam,” and Sammerin would nod seriously.

For days, he barely moved, barely spoke. Late on the first night, I went to Eslyn’s room and laid a plate of food and glass of water on the bedside table.

Sammerin gave me a confused look. “She can’t eat.”

“It’s for you, Sammerin.”

“Oh.” He blinked blearily at the food, as if the thought of eating hadn’t crossed his mind. “Thank you.”

He didn’t reach for it, though. Instead his eyes slipped back to Eslyn, writhing on the bed. The screams — if one could call them that — had faded to a low, constant moan in the back of my mind. That, somehow, managed to be even more unsettling.

“Willa says she could still survive,” I said.

“She won’t survive. And if she does at this point, she’ll wish she hadn’t.” A muscle feathered in his jaw as he watched her — since he came into this room, he had barely looked away. “It’s an awful disease. I hoped that when I left the military, I wouldn’t have to watch people die of it anymore.”

Sammerin probably had to do a lot of things now that he wished he didn’t.

His face went harder, every muscle in his expression drawing taut. Sammerin’s emotions sat so far beneath the surface of his expressions, his eyes always gentle, his voice always calm — even now. And yet…

“Do you want to tell me about it?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“I see it.” I gave him a knowing look and tapped a finger to the corner of my eye. “I see that there is more to this for you. But you don’t have to talk about it, or tell me what it is. Not unless you want to.”

I just wanted him to know that I saw. He spent so much of his time caring for others. He deserved to be seen, too.

He gave me a small smile that faded quickly. “Do you know how the Syrizen recruit?”

I shook my head.

“They don’t choose this. Not any of them. The Orders screens for a very specific, very rare set of magical skills, and if you have them, you become one. Yes, it’s considered an honor to be a Syrizen. They get money, power, respect. But…”

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