“Good, because I really didn’t want to have to do this by force.” “Like you could.”
“You know, you and I should actually spar sometime.” He
released her hand. “See who really is stronger.”
“I doubt I’ll put up much of a fight without my magic.” The words stung and the weight of their truth pulled them down.
Ducot frowned slightly. “If anyone is going to be able to help you heal…whatever happened to your magic, it will be Adela.”
He might have a point. Whatever Eira had done was impacting the channel from which she drew her power. Adela’s crew could heal her physical wounds with their Lightspinning, but Meru’s magic couldn’t touch magical afflictions. If there was any hope of fixing it, she needed a skilled and powerful Waterrunner…just like Adela.
“If she’s willing to help me,” Eira said.
“Prove your worth to her. She rewards strength and loyalty.”
“All the more reason to keep moving.” Eira reached for his hand again. “It might be easier if we make a run through the docks. Hopefully we’ll look like just two more people fleeing.”
“In champion’s clothes?”
She stared down at herself. Exhaustion must be hitting her. How else could she overlook something so obvious?
“Take off your shirt.”
“Now is not the time for such scandalous acts.” He curled in on himself, popping a knee and touching his collarbone like a dainty courtier flustered
by a suggestive remark.
“Oh Mother above, can you be serious for a second?” “Only for one second, then I get bored of it.”
“So I’ve learned.”
“Then why do you expect anything else of me?”
Eira pulled at the sleeves of her tunic, yanking at the tears and seams. With a grunt, she ripped off one sleeve and then the next. Then she pulled at the side seams from the bottom hem, taking them halfway up to her waist. Twisting, she teared the fabric horizontally to make a rough, sleeveless shirt that just reached her naval. “Our most identifiable clothing are our tunics. Without them, and moving quickly, we should be able to avoid recognition.”
Ducot finally relented, pulling off his tunic. Scars crossed his body, down his neck and over his shoulder. Ulvarth’s brutality was written on his skin and Eira wondered just how he had the strength to continue fighting against that madman when he’d already endured so much at his hands. More likely, his resolve was cemented because of the brutality he’d endured.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Ducot rubbed his shoulder.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Eira knelt and ran her hands through the ash piling on the edge of the street, teasing it through her hair, dulling the gold.
“Do you think…Noelle would mind them?” A soft dusting of rose crossed his cheeks. Eira had never seen the usually self-assured, overtly suggestive at times Ducot seem anything less than his confident persona. But they all had their insecurities, their doubts.
“I don’t think Noelle would be bothered in the slightest.” Eira patted his arm because he couldn’t see her smile. She hoped he’d hear it in her voice. “If anything, I’m sure she’d find them rugged and tough looking. Probably would be more attracted to you because of them.”
He chuckled but it didn’t sound as sincere as it usually was. “You’re probably right.”
Eira had little doubt he was just agreeing with her for the sake of putting on a brave face and his usual confidence. But it was good he could. Sometimes, these things were a matter of telling yourself one thing until it became reality.
“But you’re never going to have the chance to find out if we don’t keep moving.”
“I know.” He shifted, taking her hand once more. “Lead the way.”
Eira held onto him tightly, taking them into the thick of the smoke and chaos of the docks.
There were still people trying to flee onto the few remaining vessels. Others, who did not look like Pillars, had decided to capitalize on the chaos. They threw rocks through the windows of storefronts and fought with shopkeepers on the streets. Eira tripped over herself at the overwhelming compulsion to help up a bloodied and beaten man thrown down by a group of looters.
She had always imagined Meru to be…better than this. The gorgeously illuminated manuscripts she’d pored over had painted pictures of an idyllic world where magic was plentiful and powerful. Where the people had all they wanted and lived joyously underneath their sage, beloved queen. That this land was exempt from the blood and conquest and infighting that plagued every page of Solaris’s comparatively short history.
Except, it wasn’t. They weren’t.
Meru was a land of people just as Solaris was. From top to bottom. They fought and squabbled as much as Solaris had, if not more. There was awfulness every step of the way, outlining the gilded images Eira had constructed in her mind.
Fortunately, they didn’t run into any Pillars at the docks. The ones that had chased them not long ago had left. But their absence almost made Eira more alarmed. Where were they? She knew they had to be on the move. Was there more business here in Warich? Or had they already begun heading back toward Risen?
Before she knew it, she and Ducot were back in the alleyway with the entrance to the secret tunnel Alyss had made. Eira released Ducot’s hand and went for the familiar swirl. She paused, running her fingers over the design. It seemed like they had only just been here—the four of them.
Olivin… Her chest tightened and she looked over her shoulder despite herself. As if he would round the corner at any moment. But he didn’t.
Had he found his brother, Yonlin? She hoped so. With any luck, they were already out of Warich and halfway back to Risen. No…with any luck, they were headed far from Warich, or Risen, or Ofok. They would go out into the plains and forests of Meru and make a good and peaceful life for
themselves in some cute little cottage with breathtaking vistas. Just like she should have done when she’d had the chance.
“Is everything all right?” Ducot knelt beside her. “Alyss didn’t seal it up, did she?”
“No. It’s fine.” Eira hoisted the opening off to the side. “You first.”
Ducot went ahead and she scrambled down the ladder after him. With a grunt, Eira pulled the cover back into place.
The tunnel was pitch black. With the cover replaced, she could hardly see her hand in front of her face. Luckily, there was only one path and Alyss’s construction was perfect, so there was nothing to trip over.
Ducot paused at the bottom of the short staircase that led up into the Solaris household. He didn’t have to say why. He was no doubt doing the same as Eira—waiting, listening, seeing if there were any Pillars above them that would strike the moment they came through.
But everything remained silent.
“Do you think it’s safe?” she finally whispered.
“As close to ‘safe’ as we might get.” Ducot took a step up, holding out his hand until it met the ceiling. Then he took another step, hunching over. “Let me up. I’ll see if I can sense anything.”
Without further explanation, he shifted into his mole form. Eira could see the rippling of reality changing around him. The wiggles that he slipped between as a human and emerged from as a mole. But she couldn’t feel it. Her magical senses had been well and truly silenced.
The void that had opened in her when she’d learned the truth of her parentage was nothing like the yawning chasm that now was left behind in the absence of her powers. There was nothing where she knew something should be. The sensations she should be feeling weighed on her mind, accenting the lack of them.
Perhaps…Ducot was right. The best chance she had at reclaiming her magic was to work with Adela. To prove herself, despite having no magic at present. Surely, fixing her channel would be easy for a sorceress of Adela’s caliber.
Or she could find her uncle. Eira’s heart hammered at the thought of her parents and uncle, making it hard to keep her hand steady when she scooped up Ducot. The entire time she was opening the trapdoor above them—just a crack so Ducot could slip through—her mind was back in the arena.
The remnants of the arena were so close. Just a short passage through from the village. She could make a quick detour and see what was left. Venture through the tunnels to get back to the docks again using the same passages she found the first time. Assuming the Pillars weren’t still there…
There was nothing left for her at the arena. Eira knew it without needing to go. She’d seen—survived the explosion. The chaos that followed consumed every spectator and royal alike. No one would still be in that place. No one alive, anyway. But perhaps, if her family had perished, she could find their bodies and offer them a proper Rite of Sunset. Her eyes stung. She owed them that, didn’t she?
The trapdoor opened above her without warning, casting hazy light on her dark thoughts. Ducot was there, holding it open.
“It seems clear,” he whispered. “At least in here. I still hear noises outside.”
“Let’s move quickly, then.” Eira scrambled up.
Ducot eased the trapdoor closed behind her. “Here I was thinking we should take as much time as we possibly could to potentially attract their attention, just to make this a bit more interesting.”
“I’m rolling my eyes at you.” She wasn’t, in fact. “You do that a lot.”
“You’re right. You should constantly assume I am and save me the breath.” Knowing there weren’t any Pillars in the house, Eira moved quickly up the stairs, not worrying about any creaking floorboards. Though, Alyss’s construction had none.
She paused in the doorway of her room, staring at her familiar things, the bed—still unmade from waking earlier that day. The trunk left open. Clothes strewn about… All Eira wanted to do was curl under the silken bedding they’d been gifted from the draconi and pretend to not exist for a while. To sleep for a month and hopefully wake and discover this was nothing more than a nightmare.
“Are the journals not here?” Ducot asked, hovering uncertainly.
“No, they are.” Eira moved to her chest. “Everything is just as I left it.
It’s a bit surreal to see.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t ransacked Champion Village yet.” He leaned against the doorframe, looking neither at her nor down the hall. She was certain his magic was pulsing across the house, keeping watch for any Pillars who might approach, even if she couldn’t feel it.
“It’s not like we have much here. None of us could bring too many things with us.”
“Yes, but your things are still here. And, for whatever reason, you are one of Ulvarth’s least favorite people.”
“Don’t remind me,” Eira murmured. An idea had struck her halfway through unloading her suitcase. She stood, squeezing past Ducot and heading for Alyss’s room.
“What’re you—”
“This will only take me an extra minute.”
Alyss had a trunk and a large bag that she kept everything in. Eira dumped out the contents of the latter, quickly picking through for Alyss’s essentials. Just as she was about to leave the room, she ran back and rummaged through the chest, grabbing the journal Alyss had procured in the market—the one she’d begun scribbling a story of her own into. Her friend would prefer that over a fresh pair of trousers any day.
Noelle was next. Eira grabbed a few changes of clothes, stuffing them in the bag, but focused on returning sparkling pieces of jewelry to a velvet satchel. Noelle had mentioned on the first day of the tournament that she had been wearing her family’s jewels. Either they were sentimental objects, and Noelle would be grateful for them, or they could be used to barter with the pirates. Noelle was as pragmatic as she was focused on honoring her heritage.
Back in her room, Eira added only one change of clothes. She quickly stripped down, changing into her other, most practical outfit.
“Are you…undressing?” Ducot asked uncomfortably.
“First off, I didn’t take you to be one to concern yourself with modesty.” Eira slipped on a fresh tunic.
“I… You’re right,” he admitted with a slight grin.
“Secondly, it’s not like you can see me, nor are you touching me to find out what’s there.” Exhaustion might be in her bones right now. But the Lightspinning had healed the worst of her injuries. The dip in the river had washed away most of the blood and the walk shook off most of the muck from the river. With a fresh change of clothes, she felt almost like a new person. Enough so to make it back to Adela’s boat, at least.
“The idea of touching you in that manner is possibly the most unappealing thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You wound me. Though, the feeling is mutual.” Eira paused after stuffing the last of the journals into the bag. The dagger that Ulvarth had given her at the start of the tournament was still at the bottom of her trunk
—the one that looked identical to the weapon she’d plunged through Ferro’s chest at the ball.
Without a second thought, Eira grabbed it and slipped it through one of her belt loops. She might not have her magic, but now she had something she could defend herself with. And Eira had trained with ice daggers enough to understand the fundamentals…even if she’d have to adjust to not having other magic to supplement her attacks.
“Do you have the journals?”
“Yes.” Eira adjusted the strap of the bag to go across her body. It was growing heavy, but there was a little room left. “One more stop.”
“What?”
“I want to grab a few things for Cullen.” Eira made haste down the stairs, turning into the hall and entering Cullen’s room without hesitation. Ducot followed, closing the door behind them for good measure.
“We really shouldn’t linger.”
“I know.” Eira went right for his trunk. “But a few supplies aren’t going to hurt and we’re already here.”
Cullen’s clothes and effects were as orderly as she would expect them to be. Everything was neatly folded with not one article out of place. He kept his trunk like the rest of his life, and that brought a somewhat sad smile to her face. She didn’t see shirts or trousers; she saw all the different little pieces of him in their neat and tidy spots. There was nowhere anything extra could be added. Not a shirt into his trunk. Not her into his life.
The idea was a serene sorrow. One she had begun to accept and yet, some part of her still held out hope the world might have had a different design for them. As if she still wasn’t ready to let him go. Perhaps it was because she knew part of him had never let go. Her fingers tingled with the phantom sensations of air currents tangling with them. She could still feel the warmth of his forehead as he pressed it against hers, trying with all his might not to kiss her. See life leaving his eyes as he told her he loved her with what might be his last breaths.
Shaking the memories, she continued packing. Eira knew, without hesitation, what he would want for clothes. Without consciously doing so,
she’d paid attention to all his favorite outfits. Or perhaps she was selecting the things she thought he looked best in, and might need.
Eira’s hand brushed against something cool and round. There, as if placed on a satin pillow made from a shirt, was the metal ball they’d practiced with for hours on end. She could see the outline of them sitting together—him against the wall and her against the foot of his bed.
Those days had been the first time she had thought they could make peace. The first time her heart hadn’t felt like it was going to beat so hard it would rip in half around him. That was when she still held the notion that, perhaps, they could find a friendship in the aftermath of all the rushed and messy emotions their love had blossomed from.
As if friendship would ever be possible now. Not after he had taken a sword for her following the explosion. I love you; I’ve always loved you, his words as he lay in her arms, bleeding, echoed through her mind. He had been willing to die for her.
“We need to move,” Ducot said. It sounded as if he spoke from a distant place.
Eira inspected the iron ball as though it were an egg, holding all her fragile hopes and dreams. Was Cullen still alive? Had Adela’s Lightspinners healed him like they had her or were the pirates just letting him bleed out? She had to get back to him.
“Eira—” Whatever Ducot was about to frantically say was lost as the door to the house slammed open.
“Search the place,” an all-too-familiar female voice commanded, as cold as steel.
