I couldn’t say no. It scared me, exactly how much I couldn’t say no.
The truth was that until Max asked me to go to Ara with him, it never
even occurred to me that I wouldn’t. I had fought so hard to have him back at my side. There was no way I was about to let him walk away from it—no way I would ever allow him to walk back into Ara, his traitorous home, alone.
It wasn’t until later that night, when I began to get arrangements together for my departure, that the knot grew in my stomach. I was leaving my people when they were especially vulnerable, our new society on wobbly legs like a baby fawn. We needed to leave as quickly as possible— Max, Sammerin, Brayan and I would be departing Threll first thing in the morning, giving me only twelve hours to make sure that my newborn nation would not collapse in my absence.
I visited Serel, wild-eyed and clutching armfuls of disorganized papers, and told him everything. As I listened to all of it come out of my mouth, shame bubbled up in my chest.
The moment I finished, I paused, and then said, “I should stay. I need to stay.”
Serel frowned. “Why?”
“The Alliance needs me.”
“We do. But we can survive for a few weeks without you. Besides, it’s smart for you to go to Ara. It shows the Arans that Max has foreign support.”
“I agreed to go so quickly. I didn’t even think about it.” I said this the way one would make a terrible confession. “I should have—”
“Stop.” Serel stood and came closer to me, and as the lantern light fell across his face, I found myself examining him. He looked a little better, but darkness still shadowed his eyes. He’d resumed his leadership duties almost immediately, and smiled frequently, but those smiles were fleeting. I often saw the lights on in his house long after sunset and before dawn. It pained me to see the sadness in him, even though I knew better than to expect anything else. Grief was not a virus to be cured and expelled. It was a chronic condition that would shadow him forever.
Another reason why you shouldn’t be leaving, a cruel voice whispered in the back of my mind.
The words slipped from my lips without my permission. “I’m sorry.” “Why are you apologizing?” Serel laid a hand over mine and gave me a
soft smile. “Don’t apologize for that. You haven’t done anything.” “I shouldn’t be prioritizing—”
“Prioritizing what? Him? You love him, Tisaanah.”
I did. Gods, I did. But it wasn’t the love itself that scared me. It was the sheer power of it. It made me selfish. It made me want so many things that hurt to even think about.
“I’m saying this to you not as a colleague, but as your friend.” He elbowed my arm. “Your brother. As… someone who loved someone I lost. Do you know what kept me alive when I was inches from death in Malakahn? I thought about Filias and imagined the future we would have when I got out.” The grief that rocked across his expression broke my heart. “What are we even doing any of this for, if not for a future with the people we love?”
I squeezed Serel’s hand. “I didn’t have room to love anything more than I love this country. And look at how far it’s gotten us.”
“Our people love you, too, but they love you as a figurehead. It’s different to be loved as a person. More valuable than anything. I love you that way, Tisaanah. Not as a leader or a savior, but as a person. The friend who laughed at stupid jokes with me at midnight and held me through heartbreaks…” Here, he flinched. “Even this one. I know you, and I know that nothing scares you more than the thought that you might fail the people who rely on you because you’re too selfish.”
He gave me a weak smile. “As a friend, I want you to have that future with someone who loves you. And as a member of the Alliance, I know that you will not fail us, especially not because you’re too happy.”
My chest was so tight that I barely trusted myself to open my mouth. “It feels… gluttonous,” I choked out. “To love someone so much.” Serel laughed. “Yes. It does. But it’s not a weakness. It’s a strength.”
I looked at my friend, at the silver lining his eyes and the grief over his face, and I felt gluttonous for all the love I had for him in this moment, too.
“You’ll be okay?” I asked, quietly.
Serel kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll be okay.”
 |
I SPENT the rest of the evening going over plans with Serel, and then, when I finally left him, I went to Riasha and ran her through them as well. I gave her all the documents she needed. I told her to write to me anytime, about anything at all, and that I would return as soon as I could. She nodded through all of it.
And then I got to the final item on my list, one that made me pause.
“There is one more thing,” I said. “We hope to be able to take the Aran throne without bloodshed, especially with the backing of the Roseteeth.”
Riasha’s expression soured at the mention of the name, which I wholly agreed with.
“But I may need you,” I said. “Would you come, if we needed you to fight?”
Riasha let out a long breath. “I would need to bring it to the others.” “Of course. But your informal thoughts.”
She gave me a wry smile. “Child, I think these people would follow you anywhere. As would I.”
I swallowed thickly. I understood how Max had felt—the weight of that kind of trust was suffocating, and yet I treasured it beyond words.
“And Serel,” I added. “You’ll watch over him for me?”
Her face softened. “I love that boy as much as I loved Filias. Always.” The weight on my shoulders lifted, ever slightly. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Then she patted my hand, took the papers I had brought her, and stood. “Good luck, Tisaanah. Go make this world a little less broken.”
 |
I DIDN’T EXPECT it to hurt so much to leave. But when I stood at the rail of the ship, looking out into the distance at rolling golden fields, my throat was tight.
It would be the third time I had made this journey.
The first time as a refugee, a half-dead slave searching for someone to save her.
The second time as a weapon, a slave to a new master ready to go fight someone else’s war.
And now, at last, as a liberator.
Max stood beside me, his hand over mine, fingers fitting so easily between my own.
We watched the Threllian shoreline drift away, and as the distant outline of Orasiev’s silhouette drew smaller, I had to push back the beginnings of tears.
Max kissed my temple.
“Thank you,” he murmured, in Thereni. “It means very much to have you with me.”
I closed my eyes, falling into the sound of Max’s voice rendering Thereni words. Always so comforting in ways I couldn’t express.
“We will come back,” he said. “I know.”
