I don’t miss the look of worry which Calix shoots to Kyra, and Kyra’s returned frown. He stiffens his posture and crosses his arms over his chest, as if building a defence against whatever news Ten is about to deliver.
It doesn’t feel right to let Ten face this alone. He came to stand with me—to rescue me—and it cost him his friend. The gravity of that decision is on me. It is my fault. It should be my responsibility.
But I have another apology to make. Another story to explain. To Kyra. I rub the ring on my finger, spinning it around as if it might be a source of strength. My eyes stray to watch Ten approach Calix, but my heart cracks as the set of Calix’s jawhardens, and he shifts on his feet, the slightest movement of his head, the start of the denial I know will come next.
He shoots his gaze at me, and it sets off the tears, the familiar sting to my eyes as they water and obscure my vision again, just in time to shield me from watching his realisation.
He’s standing. He’s alright. He’s alive.
I keep those words running over and over in my mind, grasping hold of the gratitude that it wasn’t both of them. That he is mended and strong.
“Ever?” Kyra’s voice snaps me from Calix. She’s standing to the side of me, a concerned look on her face.
Just like with Lyle, I don’t think as I move to engulf her in my arms. Her body is unyielding to start with, but I pull her tighter, not giving her the opportunity to fight it.
“Ever, you’re?—”
“It’s okay. I don’t have my power anymore,” I muffle into her hair, anticipating her protest. She offers me a tight squeeze before pulling back.
“That’s not possible, Ever. You don’t lose your magic unless you gift it through the Transference, or you reach an age where Aslendrix draws it back.” Her kind eyes search mine for answers.
She’s probably right. Power in Kirrasia isn’t just lost. But then, nothing has been normal with my magic. That’s been clear since the first time it showed up and knocked my world off kilter.
“Can we go inside?” My voice is small, choked with emotion, and I certainly don’t want to have this conversation standing outside.
She turns around, but not before her gaze lingers on Calix and Ten. I don’t look at them. I can’t, or I’ll break before I’ve even started to speak the words I owe to Kyra.
We go inside, through the main room and into the small sitting room and take a seat in front of the fire. I let the warmthseep into me, thawing the splinter of chill that hasn’t thawed since falling into the water.
Kyra’s lost some of the lightness to her step, but there’s a patience to her, as if she’s waiting for me. I look for the calm she taught me, the control that saw me through so much.
I reach out for her hand, but she pulls her hands back, the movement scalding. She worries her hands together in her lap, as if she’s unsure if she’s made the right decision, but her spine straightens, her resolve now clear.
“I’m sorry, Kyra. I’m so sorry about Micah.”
“Do you know why?” she asks.
“I’m not sure I know why anything’s happened since I left here.” My lip ticks at the edges as I try to ease us into this conversation. “I asked him. Fenix. I couldn’t understand why he’d kill him after everything Micah had done for him.”
“Ever—”
“No, please, Kyra.” I shift and turn so I’m facing her fully now. “I wish I had answers for you. All I know is that Fenix saw him as a risk. He knew Micah was my friend, and I choose to believe that that’s what got him killed.”
The horrid, painful words and betrayals that Micah spat at me in that cell haunt my memory as I brush them to the back of my mind. Picking them over with Kyra won’t help. She lost her brother. That is what’s between us now.
“That’s not the full story, and you know it.”
“Kyra, I’m?—”
“He was my brother, although not by blood. I don’t know when he found out or how, but I hate that he was so easily led.” She stands, agitated now that the words are out in the open between us. I’m content not to drag Micah’s memory through our questions, certainly not now.
“I wish I had more answers for you,” I offer.
“Your brother—” she starts.
“Fenix,” I correct, still not comfortable with the moniker of brother.
“You didn’t know about him?” she asks, but her voice is weak. I can hear the hesitancy at where this might head.
