Page 118 of Mother of Death and Dawn

“He is the king,” I bit out. “He should not be out there.”

“He would never ask his warriors to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself. You couldn’t have talked him out of that. Everyone has tried at one point or another.” Meajqa opened his book. “I thought we might read. This one is new to me. The plot sounds a touch cloying, but—”

“Why aren’t you out there, then?”

Tension swept across Meajqa’s face, then he smiled at me. “I have never been a particularly strong warrior, much to my father’s disappointment. Even worse now, considering my, we’ll say, handicaps.” He twitched the stump of his wing. “Besides, as Caduan’s second, I need to remain here to keep Ela’Dar running smoothly. That, and, ofcourse, even more importantly, keep you from going insane.” He lifted the book and arched his eyebrows. “Though you do not appear to have much interest in my stories.”

I could not believe that Caduan was on a battlefield with humans, of all things, and Meajqa was trying to talk to me about stories.

“What use are those in times like this?” I snarled—even though a distant version of myself remembered a time when I used to so love stories, loved them enough to cover my skin with them. That fondness was the only part of me that remained when I became nothing.

“Stories are always useful. Life is more than a series of acts of violence. And while I respect our king and his commitment to teaching you practical skills, he is not always the most emotionally intelligent person.” Meajqa flashed another smile. “Perhaps because he doesn’t read enough romances.”

I hissed my disapproval, but Meajqa simply flipped open the book, cleared his throat, and began to read.

* * *

Days passed.With each one, the tension in my chest grew tighter. Caduan did not return.

Meajqa was my company, returning each day to read to me for an hour. Instead of listening, I practiced my magic, though without Caduan’s presence I felt like I could only accomplish a fraction of what I was capable of. It was impossible to concentrate, anyway, with Meajqa droning on in the background about two insufferable people and their seemingly endless longing. At least he was an enthusiastic reader, his smooth voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the words and spinning distinct, if at times ridiculous, voices for each character.

Still, I reluctantly began to admit to myself that I looked forward to Meajqa’s visits. Few people in Ela’Dar treated me like a real person, and Meajqa not only treated me like a person, but like he actually enjoyed my company. On the surface, he and I were nothing alike. But beneath, perhaps we both recognized something of ourselves in each other. I had gotten better at presenting a more palatable version of myself to the world, and as a result, the servants no longer scurried around me like mice evading a cat. But with Meajqa, I didn’t need to.

One day, more than a week after Caduan had departed, Meajqa was much later than usual. When he did arrive, he sat down without his typical smile.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?” he said, foregoing a greeting.

I must have gotten better at reading the thoughts of others by their faces, because I knew immediately that something was not right.

“You are different,” I said, regarding Meajqa warily.

He flicked his eyes to me. “What?”

“You are different. Something is wrong.”

His mouth thinned. He did not deny it.

I stood.

“Tell me,” I demanded.

He was quiet.

“Where is he?”

Meajqa let out a sigh through his teeth, rubbing his brow. “I don’t know.”

“He is the king. How can younot know?”

“We have lost contact with him. No word from him or from the other generals on that front.”

No hesitation. “Take me there.”

He scoffed. “Of course not.”

“You are going, are you not?” I looked pointedly to his clothing—not the casual robes he had worn before, but a heavier, more formal coat, as if he was preparing for travel.

“Yes,” he said.

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