W e were deep into the woods by the time we were able to stop. The impending sun stained the dim sky. My sides screamed in exhaustion.
When Ishqa landed and told us that we’d successfully lost our pursuers, I collapsed to my knees in the mud. Max, Brayan, and Sammerin all let out grunts of relief and sank down to the ground. Max flopped over onto his back, sprawled out like a corpse.
Several minutes passed in silence as we caught our breath. My hand slipped into my pocket, finding the letter that Ishqa brought me from Serel. It was still damp with my friend’s blood when I received it. Now it was damp with my sweat, too.
I pulled it out and read it again, even though I had practically memorized it by now. Every time I opened it, I hoped I would see something different in it this time.
I did not.
Tisaanah, the letter opened. I’m praying to any and every god that this is not how I say goodbye to you.
Serel’s handwriting was neat and delicate, nearly a work of art, but here all of those sweeping loops and even lines morphed into frantic parodies of themselves. He wrote to me from a bunker at the center of Malakahn, hiding from an onslaught of fire from the Threllian Lords and the Fey. He described Fey magic Wielders breaking down stronghold walls and doors, tearing apart houses.
They’re killing everyone they see, he wrote. Even the Threllian citizens of Malakahn. The goal is clearly to destroy, not recapture.
Then, after a long stretch of paper:
They will succeed.
Serel was a practical person. He spent most of the page describing in detail the formations of magic users and the types of power they Wielded. He listed the Threllian houses that he could identify, so I would know who had exhausted their resources. He told me that they burned all tactical plans in the west building, but the east had been infiltrated before they had time to burn them. He warned me that any information we recorded there had likely been taken by the Threllians.
As he wrote, the writing grew sloppier. Drops of red now blotted out entire words. And it was this second part of the letter that clenched in my chest, the words I couldn’t shake from my head:
Don’t worry about me. We are going to try to get to Orasiev. We’ll get this letter out before we go. Hopefully it will reach you. I should say that I want it to reach you because the information above is important. That’s true, but the real reason you need to get this letter is because I want to make sure you know that I love you.
I’m so sorry about Max.
The lines here grew shorter, choppier, the writing outright scrawls.
I should have helped you find him. I know how much how much you loved him. I should have known
thats a thing you don’t let go of, ever tell filias I love him if you
see him
If you dont then I suppose i will wherever I go thank you for the wild ride.
serel.
I stared at that scratched signature. The letter would have been written somewhere between days and weeks ago. Ishqa had not been able to retrieve letters from the rendezvous point, and even if he had, who knew how long this one had taken to make it out of a war zone. It was a miracle we had gotten it at all.
Was Serel still alive, somewhere? Had he made it to Orasiev? Or was he still in Malakahn, dying slowly in the ruins of our greatest success?
My head spun. The alcohol I had consumed earlier that night churned in my stomach.
I stood, leaned over, and vomited into the sand.
Sammerin held my hair back as gags wracked my body in waves.
Between bouts, I moaned, “I feel awful.” “I don’t doubt it.”
“Can you—?”
“I’m afraid not. A Valtain healer would be able to help, but my gifts are relatively useless against nausea.”
Terrific, I thought, and vomited some more.
Finally, when I had exhausted myself, I slumped back against a fallen log. I felt like all the blood had left my limbs. Alcohol was poison. I was never drinking it ever again.
Max handed me a canteen of water. “Drink. As much as you can keep down.”
I did, but my mouth was still sour and ashy.
His fingers brushed my shoulder—the touch was so small, and yet so affectionate. “Are you alright?” he said quietly. The way he was looking at me now was so similar to the way he used to look at me then. He knew I was not alright, and his voice said as much. Still, I nodded.
His lips thinned. He turned to Brayan. “What the fuck was that?”
Brayan scowled. “Don’t talk to me like someone else jumping us was my fault.”
“It was absolutely your fault.”
“There’s a price on your head—and hers—that could make these people rich for life. The minute we were recognized, our time in that city was limited.” Brayan’s lip twitched. “That prick came after me first, still angry about that contract he lost. He’d followed me from our inn. I let him think he killed me. He and his friends dumped me in the river.”
“Well, clearly they know you’re not dead now.”
“Unfortunately,” Sammerin muttered. “We need to keep moving.”
My stomach churned. I must have looked horrible, because Ishqa seemed genuinely sympathetic as he said, “You keep traveling north. I will fly over Malakahn and get more information.”
I was desperate to find out what happened to Serel. And yet, a part of me didn’t want to learn the truth, because I so feared it would crush me.
I only nodded and thanked him.
“I’ll return quickly,” he said, and launched into the sky.
