Page 263 of Mother of Death and Dawn

I let my eyelids slide closed—my magic was growing dangerously exhausted—and I didn’t like how human Nura looked this way. She looked so broken. All I could see was the girl I had dragged out of Sarlazai, begging her to live.

“You tried to kill me,” she spat.

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

“You always have a choice.” Something between a smile and a sneer spread over her bloody face. “Didn’t you tell me that?”

Nura thought I would never see her for who she really was. But that had changed. Now, I knew where she kept her knives. I waited for her to lunge, gave her just enough opening to leap to her feet with her blade sliding from her sleeve.

Her strike sent her directly into my grasp.

I countered, twisting her arm, reversing our positions so she was locked in front of me, one arm gripping her shoulders and the other clasping her wrist behind her back. Her magic flailed out desperately, trying to drown me in fear, but that did nothing to me. I had spent six months locked up with nothing but my own past. How cruelly ironic that Nura’s punishment made me immune to her.

“Look.” I forced her gaze to the decimated landscape. Even I hadn’t been able to see it well from the thick of the battle, but here, the view was heartbreaking—nothing but miles and miles of death. “Look at the country you claim you love so much. Look at what you’ve done to it.”

An eerie orange glow harshened the lines of Nura’s expression. Her body tensed. Something was clutched in her white-knuckled hand. The angle hid it from me, but I knew it was the Lejara.

“It’s not what I wanted,” she choked out.

And despite everything, I felt a pang of anguish to hear her voice like that—sounding so much like the child I know once, a long time ago.

“I know, Nura,” I said, quietly. “I know you didn’t.”

“I can’t think. I can’t—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s so hard to think.”

I pitied Nura. I pitied her because she had been created. She had been honed like a weapon and thrust into the hands of a military that simultaneously told her that she would never be enough and that the only part of her worth anything was the part that knew how to kill. Her entire life, she had been taught that maybe one day, if she worked hard enough, if she grew cold enough, if she gained enough power, she would have nothing left to be afraid of.

But the version of Nura before me now, tears painting silver streaks down bloody cheeks, was more afraid than I had ever seen her.

She was afraid of herself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar figure emerge from the crowds surrounding the ruins. I didn’t allow myself the sigh of relief. I didn’t even allow my gaze to move from Nura’s at all.

“You have a choice,” I said. “Give us the Lejara. It doesn’t need to end like this.”

Two more silent tears. “They probably hate me. When I see them in the next life. They will hate me.”

They. The people Nura had always loved more than anything.

I swallowed thickly.

“You were like their sister. They loved you.”

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.” Pain cut across her face, her features momentarily crumbling.

“We can fix this, Nura. Please.” My hand crept a little closer to the stone in her grip.

At first, she looked so unsure—looked like she was considering it. The change in her expression was minute, but I saw it because I knew her. Because for decades she had been the most important person in my life. Even now, even at her worst, I couldn’t choke back the leap of hope that maybe the parts of her that I knew still lived inside of her, somewhere, might win.

She tilted her head a little more, allowing me to see more of her face. We were so close I could count the threads of silver in her eyes.

She looked so, so young. Just like the grumpy child that hid from parties with me. My only friend. My best friend.

“Let me help you, Nura,” I begged. “Please.”

I let myself hope.

Then, her expression hardened, a sheet of ice falling over her vulnerabilities. The anger returned.

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