Page 224 of Mother of Death and Dawn

I did not give her the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. I gritted my teeth and opened the door—just as she let out an ugly laugh, high and manic, like her final shards of control at last collapsed.

“I know what you are. I took you into my mind, too. You’re nothing but rage and pain. When this war is over, you’ll find another thing to burn. It’s all you know how to do.”

CHAPTEREIGHTY-NINE

TISAANAH

It was strange to be back in this place, especially under such circumstances. Despite myself, I was nervous. The archives that Iya had showed us were extensive. Max, Sammerin, Brayan, and I brought boxes of records back up the Towers.

Iya had, graciously, given us his private apartment in the upper floors of the Tower of Midnight. The apartment was spacious and immaculately elegant, like most rooms in the Towers. When we arrived, two long, fabric-wrapped items were waiting for us on the table. There was a note with them.

Maxantarius and Tisaanah—

I believe these are yours. They have spent six months locked up in the Orders armory, but I thought you might like them back. Unfortunately, I suspect the time for needing them has not yet passed.

Iya.

When I unwrapped Il’Sahaj, I grinned. It really did feel like being reunited with an old friend. I suspected Max felt the same way, though perhaps a bit more reluctantly, as he held his spear once more.

“One day, I won’t have to pick this thing up again,” he muttered.

One day, hopefully. But not today.

We spent hours combing through pages upon pages of documentation in silence. Perhaps we were all grateful to have something to focus on.

We made it through only one of six boxes in three hours. After Max turned the final page, he glanced at the others and sighed heavily.

“We aren’t sleeping tonight.”

“You weren’t going to be sleeping tonight, anyway,” Sammerin pointed out.

“That is likely true.”

I flipped through the scattered folders before me and paused at one leather-bound stack of papers. A smile spread over my lips.

“I have an idea.” Max, Sammerin, and Brayan all looked to me. I held up the papers—a roster. “Maybe we can take a small detour. Just for a few minutes.”

* * *

I wasn’t usedto the cold anymore. I tugged my cloak tighter around my body and adjusted my hood. It was dark now. Max, Sammerin and I—Brayan had chosen to stay behind—stood in the shadows, watching groups of uniformed men and women leave the mess hall. Dinner had just ended. Their attitudes were more subdued than one might expect. None looked our way, which was probably for the best.

I grinned. “There he is.”

Even at a distance, I recognized him right away. He was a little taller, a little broader, but that messy halo of curls was the same.

Sammerin called out, “Moth!”

The boy lurched to a stop. The light from the mess hall silhouetted him as he turned to us, utterly still.

Sammerin lifted a hand.

For a long moment Moth did not move. Then he approached us, slowly.

“Sammerin?”

Even that one word made my eyebrows leap. Gods, his voice sounded different.

“Hello, Moth,” Sammerin said, smoothly. “Have you been practicing?”

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