Page 18 of Children of Fallen Gods

Moth?!

I followed Max’s gaze, and there he was, standing with a cluster of young men in deep green jackets. At the sound of Max’s voice, Moth whirled around so fast that his blond curls went flying, his face lighting up. He gleefully abandoned his conversation and half-ran to meet us, grinning.

“You’re back! They said you’d come here, but I didn’t think it would be so soon. So did you do it? Did you kill the slavers?”

“Moth,” Sammerin said, calmly, but in a tight voice that betrayed something deeper. “Why are you—”

“What are you doing here?” Max barked. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Max was not listening to Moth. He wasn’t even looking at his face. He was looking down — down at Moth’s jacket. At the sun emblem at the lapel, and the embroidered name, and those familiar brass buttons.

My confusion soured to dread. That was a military uniform.

Moth’s glee faded. “Well…you were all gone, and Helene wasn’t a very good teacher, and two weeks ago they offered us alotof money to…”

“You enlisted,” Sammerin murmured.

“What. Thehell.Were you thinking?” Max’s voice began quiet, then slowly rose. “Sammerin leaves you alone fortwo weeks and you run off and join the military?”

Moth was the only person I’d met in Ara who had such little control over his emotions that I still felt every ripple, and now, I tasted excitement turn to hurt. “I— I just thought— you and Sammerin were both members, so— I thought—”

“Youweren’t thinking. This was a stupid decision, Moth.Reckless.”

“I— I just—”

“You justwhat?”

“Max,” I murmured, putting my hand on his arm, and he let out a breath through his teeth.

Moth’s eyes darted between us, landing on Sammerin.

“I thought you’d be glad,” he said in a small voice, and Sammerin looked as if someone had actually struck him. I felt it, too.

“Why would you think that?” Sammerin said, and Max scoffed.

“Glad. No, Moth. We just thought better of you than to—”

“Max.” My hand closed around his wrist, and his gaze snapped to me. “Enough.”

For a brief moment, he just looked at me, and I could see all of the invisible words neither of us could tackle hanging there in that split second of connection. Then he pulled from my grasp, turned away, and began striding down the path.

Moth looked as if he were actively holding back tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, as if it were the only thing he could think to say — even though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

But I did. I understood exactly.

“It’s not about you, Moth,” I said. I glanced back at the boy, took in the sight of him — round-faced, barely a teenager, still years away from so much as peach stubble. Then my gaze met Sammerin’s, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.

I felt vaguely ill, nausea warring with anger. Not at Moth, but at everything that led him here.

He was just a child.

And now what? What was this world going to do to him?

What is it going to do to all of us?a smaller voice whispered, in the back of my mind.

“It’s not about you,” I said, again, and went after Max.

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