Page 226 of Mother of Death and Dawn

He grinned and cupped his hands. Yellow-white light bloomed between them, illuminating his grin, zipping through the air in sparking rivulets. His hair rustled with the force of it. The sparks flew to the sky and made it past the tops of the trees before fading like embers.

“I haven’t broken anything in a month and a half!” he added, somewhat proudly, and Sammerin laughed as he gave us a wave and hurried away.

* * *

After several more hours ofpreparations, we returned to the bedroom Iya had loaned us. Brayan retired to the other one in the apartment, and Sammerin, understandably, had chosen to stay in the city for the night rather than sharing a bed with Brayan—an image that made me snort laughter despite myself.

Though it was very late, Max and I hadn’t even tried to sleep. Now Max leaned against the wall beside the balcony doors. The windows overlooked the boundary between the shore and the land—a ragged edge, as if the city was clawing its way back inch-by-inch from the ocean.

“I still cannot fucking believe that I’m doing this,” he muttered.

“You said that last time, too,” I said.

“And look at how that turned out.”

I winced. He had a point there.

I watched him, silhouetted against the moonlight. He was shirtless, the broken tattoos and patchwork of scars over his back in full view, one hand tucked into his pocket and the other braced against the glass.

“What if we aren’t any better at doing this than she is?” he said, quietly.

“You will be.”

Certainties were rare and precious in times like these, but one I held in firm regard was the fact that Max would be a wonderful leader.

I rose to join him, and together we looked out at the empty, star-dusted sky.

“Where is Ishqa?” Max muttered. “He was supposed to be here by now.”

“He will come.”

“He’d better.”

We were both having the same thought.

I glanced at Max.

“I have a question,” I said.

“Hm?”

“Let us imagine that everything goes well.”

“Let’s.”

“Let’s imagine that you take the title of Arch Commandant tomorrow, and Nura never returns, and we are able to make peace with the Fey, and the war ends, and the seven Alliance nations remain peaceful, and everyone is happy.”

Max let out a wry chuckle. “I’m imagining, but your storytelling is getting increasingly lax on believability.”

“Then what?”

A pause. “Then what?”

“Will you keep the title?”

“No,” he said, like the thought was ridiculous.

“Arch Commandant, or king?”

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