Page 60 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Max told me that, once. Now it seemed ironic. He had thought there was absolutely nothing that mattered to me more than my people, my goals, my duty.

He had been wrong. There was one thing more important.

“You’re right,” I said to Ishqa. “We cannot let Caduan or Nura find these powers. So I suppose we must do it ourselves.”

Ishqa looked pleased with this reaction. If only he knew.

“The Fey will keep trying to hunt you,” he said. “You understand that. It would be unwise to return to your people.”

No. I wouldn’t put them at risk. I thought of Serel and fought an overwhelming wave of sadness. The last time we talked, I had been so, so angry at him. The thought that it could be the last thing I ever said to him…

“You’ll fly over them, though?” I said, my voice rougher than intended. “You’ll find out if they are alright?”

“Yes,” Ishqa said, solemnly. “I will.”

I nodded and turned to Sammerin. “And are you sure you want to stay?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it was a ridiculous question. Despite what we had just been told, he was remarkably calm. Right now, I found his stability the most comforting thing in the world, and I resisted the urge to embrace him.

I looked down at my hand and the rivulets of gold over it. Was it different than before? Had it spread? It was so hard to tell.

“I don’t feel anything,” I said. “If this is a… a compass of some kind, then I don’t know how to use it.”

“Nor do I,” Ishqa said. “But I may know someone who does. We go north.”

“North?”

“Closer to the Fey lands,” Sammerin said. “Is that a good idea?”

“We don’t have a choice,” Ishqa replied. Then he turned, lifting his chin to the sky and raising a single finger. “North.”

Nothing lay before us but a blanket of underbrush and forest. But nothing lay behind us, either. So I started walking. Sometimes there was nothing to do but put one foot in front of another.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

AEFE

Imoved without thinking. Time and distance fell away, inconsequential compared to my wounded anger. When I found myself standing before a wall of black stone, I did not remember coming here.

The black stretched up to the misty sky. Carvings adorned its surface, flashing bright silver where the light struck them the right way. Windows and balconies interrupted the sheets of darkness. I knew somehow that once, long ago, they would have been lit with lanterns, bright and warm with the activity of the people who lived here.

No longer. The cliffs had partially shattered, sections of it ripped apart so its silhouette resembled a jagged mountain peak. Massive cracks stretched across its surface like lightning.

My head was now pounding. I remembered this place.

Once you felt belonging here. Thousands of other souls and you, connected to the same earth.

I had lived here. I was a ruler. A— a Teirness.

No. No you were not. You were tainted.

I remembered my father’s hands around my throat. Remembered those stares of disapproval.

A part of me wanted to leave the past behind me, pull my hand away from the biting flame. Maybe it was easier not to remember what I had lost.

And yet, I found myself walking through the doors.

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