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A scoff burst from Garion’s lips and he put the sword aside. “I’m surrounded by immortals about to assault a dragon’s nest. Icertainlybelieve you now.”
Charlie only shook his head. “I need you to believeinme, too,” he replied. “Help me believe in myself. And help me stay alive.”
Still glaring at the dead grass, Garion gritted his teeth. “That’s what I’m trying to do, my darling.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
It came out too harsh, too loud. Impossible to ignore.
Finally Garion raised his eyes. He looked torn between frustration and anger. The killer in him was there, small but enough to see. Amharas were trained to survive, to make it home to the citadel even in failure. They were valuable weapons, honed by long years of brutal training. Garion warred with his own instincts, Charlie knew.
Not for the realm, but for me.
“You can run, but I—” Charlie forced out, his voice faltering.
He looked to the horizon again, and the black ruins. Then to the camp, through the Elders, to Corayne lingering at their edges. She stood out like a sore thumb, a mortal girl in the middle of the end of the world.
It was easy for Charlie to draw a little strength from her own.
“If I run, I still die here,” he said, feeling his own heart twist. “Part of me. The part you love.”
Garion put a hand to his neck. “You think that now but—”
“I tasted the shame of it before.” Charlie forced off the Amhara with a swipe. His cheeks flamed. “When I ran from Gidastern. I know what it feels like to think the worst of your own self. To beconsumedby regret. And I won’t do it again. Iwon’tleave her.”
Charlie willed Garion to see the resolve he felt as much as feared.
“Stop giving me the chance to give up,” he finally murmured, looking back to the horizon.
Across the hills, the sunset faded, the blue cold swallowing up the landscape. Charlie felt the chill of it creep into his limbs, starting in his fingers and toes. Without thought, he seized Garion’s hand in his own.
After a second, Garion squeezed back.
“You won’t leave Corayne, and I won’t leave you. Not again,” he said. “So be it.”
Amhara though he was, Charlie had long learned to see through the cracks in the assassin’s mask. He watched now, looking for any hint of a lie. Instead, he saw only doubt.
His thumb brushed the back of Garion’s glove.
“Once upon a time, I was a priest of Tiber. Who would I be if I gave up the chance to see his realm?”
Garion rolled his eyes. “A smart man.”
“I suppose the Amhara never trained you to fight dragons,” Charlie said quietly.
Garion loosed a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve killed princes and peasants both. A leopard in Niron. Too many bears to count. Never a dragon.”
Shuddering, Charlie pulled his cloak tighter and pressed in against the assassin.
“What is it your guild says about fear?” he asked.
The answer came swiftly, drilled into Garion since childhood.
“Let it guide, but do not let it rule,” the Amhara answered.
“Sorasa told me that once,” a voice said.
They both turned to find Corayne standing a polite distance away, her hands clasped in front of her body. The Spindleblade peeked over one shoulder, turning her silhouette warlike. Against the deepening blue, she stood apart, the first light of the stars behind her head like jewels in a crown.
