M ax was bleeding so, so much. That was all I could see. The moment my eyes landed on all that blood, I didn’t care about the Fey king or the

Lejaras or the war or the end of the world. I only cared about him.

I fell to my knees beside him. I could barely see the gash because it was bleeding so much—it looked to span most of his abdomen. When I touched it, he let out a hiss of pain.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I need to—”

I took off my jacket and then the shirt beneath it, leaving me in just a camisole. I tried to wrap the cotton shirt around his waist, tying it tight even as he exhaled and swore.

“He took it,” Max said, hoarsely. No. Gods, no.

I pulled the fabric tight, and Max cursed again. He started moving, trying to stand, even though I stopped him.

“No. Stay still.”

He rasped a wheezing laugh. “I don’t exactly have a choice, Tisaanah.” “We can go back,” I blurted out. “We can get Sammerin, we can—”

Max could barely open his eyes. But they slid to me with a look that said, wordlessly, You know we can’t.

I shut my mouth, because he was right. I tucked myself beneath Max’s arm and let him lean on me. His steps were short and clumsy.

I didn’t realize until this moment how badly he had already been wounded, even before we arrived here. Now I cursed myself for not seeing it sooner.

“He saw my hand,” Max rasped. “I think he knows what this place is.”

Oh, gods. If there was anything worse than him taking the life magic— “But you still have the heart?” he asked.

I nodded. I touched my pocket, just in case, but I didn’t need to feel the shards of alabaster to know I had it with me. The whispers of that magic made itself known in the back of my head every second I carried it, growing increasingly unstable.

“I think they were—” A pause for a long, laborious breath. “I think they were created here, Tisaanah. The Lejaras.”

My brow knotted. “Why?”

“Ilyzath said something— something about its missing pieces—”

The word snagged on a gargled cough, and my heart lurched at the sound.

I looked down at my palm. The glowing led us down the hallway—but even without it, I would have been able to feel which way to go. It was like Ilyzath was whispering to us. This way, little butterfly. This way.

The markings on the wall moved as we did, shifting eerily to orient themselves towards us. It was so silent that the drip of Max’s blood onto the stone floor was deafening.

“Leave me,” he murmured. “I’m slowing you down.” “No.”

“You can do this.”

“No. I am not leaving you.”

We continued walking, each step labored. We made it down one hall, and then another. It was now dimmer, the bone walls bathed in dull, rust- colored light that reminded me of the sky before a twilight storm. The markings grew more chaotic, no longer uniform in size but large and small jumbled together. All of them shuddered erratically, as if trembling in fear.

Hurry, Ilyzath whispered. Hurry, hurry.

But we couldn’t hurry. Max could barely walk. I tracked the increasing labor of his breathing, the quickening pace of the drops of his blood to the floor. Soon, he slipped every few steps. I had gotten strong, but he was larger than me—the weight of him over my shoulders made my back ache.

“Do you need to stop?” I whispered, after a while.

“No.” He could barely get the word out. “No, keep going.”

One breath after another. One step after another. I seared this mantra into my heartbeat, just as I had once, a lifetime ago, dragging myself across

plains and seas to a little island across the ocean that I was certain would save me.

My name is Tisaanah Vytezic.

I am a leader of a broken country and lover of an imperfect soul. And I will not let him die here. Neither of us will die here.

“Keep talking to me,” I demanded, when Max had been silent for too long. “There must be something you can complain about.”

He laughed—a wheeze that chilled me to my bones. “Always.” The next step, I practically had to drag him.

“More,” I pressed. “You have more to say. You never have nothing to say.”

His breath was coming hard. I felt it against my cheek as his head bowed low, close to me.

“I love you, Tisaanah.”

Oh gods. No. Not that. Don’t say that.

“That isn’t a complaint,” I choked out.

“It was worth everything else,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “This time with you.”

“Stop. Shut up.”

Silence. I was now practically carrying him. I realized that his blood completely soaked my shirt.

Three more steps.

My eyes burned. We stopped walking. The floor seemed like it was tilting.

“I love you, too,” I said, at last.

I could not look at him, or I would fall apart.

I drew in a deep breath, pushed away the pain of my aching back and bleeding wounds, and took another step.

“We are just going to keep walking,” I said. “Alright?” “Alright.”

“Keep talking to me.” Once the tears began, I could not stop them. “Keep talking to me, Max.”

But the words never came.