Page 225 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Moth drew close enough that we, finally, could see his face. In six months, he had gone from a child to a teenager. A scar nicked his lip, running down nearly to his chin. And yet, he still had that innocent roundness to his face.

Max gave him a wave and a bemused smirk. “Good to see you again.”

Moth just stood there, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

I couldn’t help myself—I ran to him and drew him into an embrace. He was almost as tall as I was, and broad enough that running into him felt like colliding with a wall of bricks. But when he said, “Hi, Tisaanah,” with his words slightly wavering, he seemed just like the child I used to practice magic in the garden with every week.

I released him, and his eyes, shining and bright, darted between the three of us.

Max looked amused. “Happy to see us?”

After a long pause, Moth spoke. “I thought you were all dead,” he said, and broke down into tears.

* * *

We could steal onlya few minutes with Moth—he was due back at the barracks, and we didn’t want to be seen by everyone else yet. But that was more than enough for him to tell us what these last few months had been like, especially because the most meaningful information came not from what he did say but what he didn’t. Moth’s emotions were loud and his face expressive, and though the military had dampened some of that in him—which, honestly, made me a little sad—it was still obvious how difficult it had been.

“Why are you here?” he asked, eventually. “Are you— are you staying?” He cleared his throat and added, “It would be best for Ara if you did.”

My heart warmed at that, because I knew that the reason Moth was asking had nothing to do with the noble greater good of Ara.

“I hope so,” said Sammerin.

“You hope so?” Moth repeated. “What does that mean?”

A bell rang in the distance, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder. “I should go.”

But he didn’t move—like he was half afraid that if he let us out of his sight, he’d never see us again.

“Everyone still talks about you, you know,” he said, haltingly. “They all remember you. That didn’t go away.”

Moth addressed all of us, but he looked only at Max.

Max tried to be stoic, but I knew him well enough to see how deeply this hit him.

“Are you… really back?” Moth asked. “Back for good?”

“That’s a complicated question.”

Gods forbid that Max ever said anything that could be interpreted as a promise he might not be able to fulfill.

“How about this,” Sammerin said. “We came back here to do whatever we can to make this better. Can we promise we will succeed? No, because no one can make those kinds of promises. But we aren’t leaving until we try. If this doesn’t work, we will try something else.”

He spoke the same steady tone he would use to comfort a patient through uncertain odds. Somehow, it made even the unknowns seem manageable.

Moth seemed slightly more satisfied by this answer. The bell rang again, and he jumped. “Fuck, I’m late.”

Sammerin’s eyebrows leapt. “Such language, Moth.”

Max looked a bit proud.

Moth let out a tiny laugh, bid us an awkward goodbye, and started to run back to the barracks.

“Moth,” Max called.

Moth stopped and turned.

“Show us your magic.”

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