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Like Ascal, Sorasa thought, remembering the strange sky over Erida’s city. Her stomach turned. As Erida’s empire spread, so did Taristan’s evil. Like wildfire. Like fever.
Dom glared at the red sun, eyes slitted.
“Do you think Sigil will convince her emperor to fight?” he murmured, so low Sorasa almost missed it. “Do you think Meliz will reach them in time?”
She joined him at the cliff-edge, the ragged blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her own face tipped westward, not to the sunset, or the raging coastline. But the lands beyond, farther than either of them could see. She traced the way back to Ascal, and then deeper into the continent. Through field and forest, foothills, winding rivers, swamps and cities. Across the sentinel Mountains of the Ward, a wall cutting the continent in two.
Her thoughts raced over the peaks and into the golden steppe, through endless lengths of grass and sky. To the Temurijon. To Sigil’s home.
“I am only glad Sigil is safe from all this,” Sorasa said. Truly, she did not know what the Emperor would do, or if the Countless would ever march. “As much as she can be.”
Dom gave a gruff nod. “We will see her afterward.”
Afterward.Again, her stomach turned. Again, she cursed the weight of hope and all its heartbreaks.
“Fine,” she clipped.
He eyed her sidelong, trying to read her expression.
“Do you mean that in the good way or the bad way?”
Sorasa drew a cold breath through her teeth.
“I’m not sure,” she answered.
It was the truth, whether she liked it or not.
“Afterward. I would like to go home,” she blurted out, the words coming too quickly to stop. Despite the cold, heat crept into her face.
Dom turned to her fully, blinking in confusion. He looked almost angry. “To the Amhara?”
She almost laughed aloud at his idiocy.
“No,” she said sharply. It was frustrating to spell out, both to Dom and herself. Her voice flagged, going small. Her eyes swept over the ocean. “To whatever home really is for me.”
He only continued to stare, reading her still.
“What about you?” she challenged. “What is your afterward?”
His usually crinkled brow went smooth, his stern expression melting away. Like Sorasa, he searched the ocean, eyes flicking back and forth as he weighed an answer.
“I suppose I must look for a home too,” he finally said, a look of surprise taking hold.
As much as she wanted to, Sorasa knew better than to push. Dom had a home, an entire enclave, with family and friends of many centuries. She could not understand such a thing, but she understood betrayal. The pain of it dogged him every day, in clear view. While Dom stood to fight, they hung back. It was as good as exile to him.
She knew what that felt like too.
“And I will go to Kasa,” he added.
Sorasa bit her lip. “To Andry’s mother.”
The Elder bowed his head. The setting sun cast him in silhouette, his shadow streaking out beside them, his golden hair edged in glowing red. Sorasa had never seen a god, but she ventured Domacridhan came close enough.
“She deserves to know her son was a hero,” he said. “And better than any knight.”
Sorasa cared little for noble deeds or chivalry. But even she could not argue. If there was a single man alive who deserved to be a knight, it was Andry Trelland.
Would that he were alive still to know it.
