Page 48 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Pain ripped through my hand, worse than the fresh burns. I hissed a curse and leapt away from the wall. When I looked down, a black-and-blue mark adorned my left palm. The overlapping symbols resembled the ones marked into Ilyzath’s walls, arranged in a diamond shape, and it seemed to shimmer slightly, as if shards of silver were buried within the ink.

“What is—?”

I looked up, and a doorway now stood before me.

You may leave,Ilyzath said.No one will stop you.

* * *

I thoughtit was a trick even after I reached the doors. But Ilyzath spoke the truth. There wasn’t another soul in the white halls. Not prisoners, not guards, and not even a whisper from Ilyzath itself. I didn’t think I even knew how to leave my room. I tracked the turns every time I was taken from my cell, but I knew they changed every time. Yet, minutes later I found myself at a large set of silver double doors. They opened as I approached, revealing the sea, dim beneath the waning light of dusk.

I can’t fucking believe this is happening,I thought, as I stepped beyond them to freedom. A wall of cold, moist air enveloped me.

I drew in a sharp breath.

In the distance, I could see the shape of the Aran skyline, silhouetted by the sunset. Plumes of smoke pumped into the air, thick enough to see even from this distance. The Fey must have launched another attack—a bad one, by the looks of it.

It was so shocking that it took a moment for the truth to set in: that I was here, outside of Ilyzath’s walls, without a shred of iron on me.Free.

No—not yet. Not quite. I needed to get off this island. I reached for my magic, only to be barred by the tangled mess of Stratagrams. I couldn’t use a Stratagram of my own to leave, not with my magic locked away.

I needed a boat.

I needed —

“Max? How did you… Why…”

I turned and froze.

I was so accustomed to Ilyzath’s visions that it took me a moment to determine whether the person who stood before me was real.

Brayan stared me down, sword clutched in his hands. His hair whipped violently in the wind, as did the cloak over his shoulders, red and black streaking against the broken sky. He now wore an Aran military uniform.

Figures that he would have joined them. Just as Nura said.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was real, either.

I had no weapons. No magic. Even with it, I had barely ever been able to win a fight against my brother. Without it, I didn’t even have a chance.

“I won’t go back,” I said.

He approached me, and I tensed.

“Brayan, I swear to the Ascended if—”

“Shut up.” He raised a finger, pointing. There, where Ilyzath’s entrance dropped off into the churning sea, was a little boat. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The very thought of the Brayan I had known betraying the uniform he wore was incomprehensible.

He took another step forward, annoyed. “What the hell are you waiting for? Move, before the Syrizen find you.”

I had no interest in arguing, even if nothing in the world made sense anymore. I was in a haze as I followed Brayan to the boat. We pushed away from Ilyzath. I watched it grow smaller, from a wall of white to a pillar to a shape barely visible through red-drenched mist.

“They’ll come for us,” I said softly, to myself, as we pushed away.

But they didn’t.

No one did.

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