I didn’t like that Tisaanah and Sammerin had not returned.
All my nerves felt very close to the surface of my skin today, frantic
energy clenching my hands and leading my feet to pace back, forth, back, forth around the camp. Brayan and I hadn’t said a word to each other on our walk back from the woods, and we didn’t say a word to each other at camp, either.
And then, when Sammerin and Tisaanah did not return, I thought, What a day for the worst kind of scenarios. It was easy for me to invent terrible things today.
Eventually, I turned to Brayan and announced, “I’m going to look for them.”
“You’ll just make it harder for them to find you when they come back.” “I don’t care. Something—”
Something isn’t right, I was about to say, when a blood-soaked Sammerin appeared at the camp.
He landed on his feet for a moment and immediately fell to his knees. He was covered in blood. One hand clutched a wet piece of parchment, his Stratagram so messily scrawled on it that I had no idea how it had managed to get him here.
My heart stopped beating.
I leapt to his side. He doubled over, his hand hovering over his head, face contorted in pain. The flesh of his scalp moved very slowly, not enough to close the wound, but enough to lessen the bleeding. It was nearly impossible for a healer to heal themselves. The fact that Sammerin was even able to do this much spoke to his extensive skill.
“Bandages,” I barked to Brayan. “Right now.”
He obeyed, and I pressed handfuls of rags to Sammerin’s wound. His dark eyes flicked to me, and the look was enough to confirm all my worst fears.
“Where?” I bit out. “Where is she?”
Sammerin shoved a shaking hand into his jacket and produced a wad of fabric. I took it from him and uncrumpled it. A bloody sigil of a wolf snarled back at me.
“That’s a Threllian Lord’s sigil,” Brayan said.
“Slavers,” Sammerin wheezed, with great effort. He had now moved to his throat, where he painstakingly attempted to close the gaping cut, stitch by stitch.
“Which one?” I thrust the armband in Brayan’s face. “Who does this belong to?”
“I knew so many back then.” His brow furrowed. “It’s been a long time.”
“You have to remember.”
All I could think, over and over again, was, I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her ever, but not today of all days.
I didn’t go with her because I had been too busy drowning in the past.
How was that for poetic justice?
I racked my brain. Tisaanah had so many enemies, especially among the Threllians. But who would have special use for her?
“The Zorokovs,” I said. “Is it theirs?”
Brayan’s eyebrows lurched in realization. “The wolves. Yes. That’s them.”
Sammerin, still unable to speak, nodded.
Blood rushed in my ears, fear and anger rising until it overtook me. There were practically sparks at my fingertips already. I was ready to burn those fucking people to the ground.
Sammerin grabbed my wrist. A silent conversation passed between us.
My jaw tightened until it ached. My knuckles trembled around the armband, the fabric at its edges scorching as my magic responded to my anger.
“I know.” I took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “I know.”
I couldn’t go after her alone. Not this time, not like I had when she had been locked up in Aviness’s dungeons.
I loved Tisaanah enough to want to tear anyone who threatened her into pieces. But I understood her enough to see what she couldn’t tell me herself.
Tisaanah had her magic back. She was a strong fighter and a stronger Wielder. I knew it because I had taught her, and I had watched her get just as good, if not better, than me. She’d told me of all the time she spent hiding in plain sight in Threllian Lords’ homes. She knew how to do this.
And she was sending us a message. Yes, I could chase after her caravan right now, murder everyone in sight, and bring her home before the cart even reached the gates of the Zorokov estate.
If I did that, she would be furious with me—because that would be a rescue for her. It wouldn’t be a victory for everyone.
This arm band didn’t say, Here I am. Come rescue me.
It said, Here I am. Bring me an army.
“If we go now,” Brayan said, voice gruff, “We can stop the caravan before she even reaches the Zorokovs’ district.”
He was already reaching for his sword. In any other context, I would have paused to be more surprised that he was so eager to leap into battle to save Tisaanah.
I said, “No. We have to go to Orasiev.”
Brayan looked at me like I was insane. “Tisaanah is in chains right now, and you don’t want to go after her?”
Oh, I wanted to. I wanted to so much it physically hurt.
“We are going after her.” My fist closed around the fabric, and I looked down at Sammerin. “But she doesn’t want a rescue. She wants to fucking end them. So that’s what we’ll do. We get to Orasiev as fast as we humanly can. We gather the rebels, and then we destroy those bastards. That’s what she wants.”
I felt the pulse of magic from the artifact I carried, strange and powerful enough to rearrange realities.
Brayan looked unconvinced. “I don’t understand how—”
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” I snapped. Sammerin slowly pushed to his feet, removing his hand from his throat. The wound still looked horrible, but he’d managed to stop the bleeding. I looked him up and down. “You’re alright?”
His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Good enough to topple an empire.” I choked out an almost-laugh. “Glad to hear it, my friend.”
