T he sea spattered my face as we landed at Ilyzath’s entrance. The air was no longer hot and thick with smoke, but salty and cold. The night sky
was unnaturally red, cracks running across like chasms through stone. In the distance, Ara’s skyline burned. Those three streaks of magic cut all the way up into the clouds, more striking than ever from miles away.
It’s bleeding, Vardir had said. Now, it seemed impossible to see those marks as anything other than wounds.
It looked like the end of the world.
Fear balled in my stomach. Max and I were two of Ara’s greatest weapons. Had it been stupid to leave them?
“Well.” A tired smile tugged at the corner of Max’s mouth. “Look who’s here.”
I followed Max’s stare in the opposite direction, and let out a tiny, involuntary sound.
Ships dotted the horizon—dozens of them, or perhaps even hundred. They had the same spine-like sails of the Threllians’ ships, but instead of white or red, these had been splashed with bright paint of clashing colors.
I recognized those makeshift banners immediately—the colors of the Alliance.
“They came.”
“Of course they came. You’ve fought for them. Did you think they wouldn’t fight for you?”
Gods, I loved them. Our nation was tiny, broken, confused. But it was ours.
Even across this distance—even if it was my imagination—I could have sworn I saw a familiar figure, with gold hair and watery blue eyes, leading them on.
I reached deep into the dregs of my magic and summoned a red butterfly between my palms, then sent it shooting across the sea.
Go.
That little streak of red light closed the space between Ilyzath and Ara’s coast like a shooting star—and then it flew up into the air, growing larger and larger until its wings eclipsed the moon, where it smoldered in the sky before dissipating into dust.
A beacon, and a thank you, to my people. “Show off,” Max muttered, affectionately. I smirked at him.
But both of our smiles faded quickly when we turned to Ilyzath’s entrance. The doors loomed over us like a gaping maw.
I knew them well by now. I half expected to see the bone-white stone still marked with my blood. How many times had I thrown myself against them when Max was imprisoned here?
I clutched Max’s hand.
“Are you ready?” I asked. “Not even remotely. Are you?”
I thought about the fact that I was wounded, exhausted, nearly depleted of both strength and magic. That I didn’t even know what we were looking for or what we would do with it.
I shook my head.
“Great,” Max said. “About the best we can expect, isn’t it?”
The doors ground open at a mere brush of Max’s fingers. Perhaps I imagined the wind whisper, Welcome home.
The stone was white, but pure darkness enveloped the hallway before us. Max conjured flame, and together, we walked.
Two steps beyond the threshold, the floor fell out from beneath us.
