I turn and look over the dug earth.
I don’t leave a gravestone. However, I do place the brooch, Kalan’s brooch, into the bark of the nearest tree. A mark for him.
“Let’s go.” I grab Ten’s hand and start walking.
On the return, I detour to the training residence. There’s one thing there that I need. I take the opportunity to change out of the clothes Ten lent me this morning.
The room is still as it was. Books—stolen books—from the library on the desk.
I took them with only the slightest encouragement from Micah. He might have been shown the way, but I jumped in with both feet. Just like the Usher had done, stripping all the history of the Fifths for his benefit.
A cold chill drapes my shoulders, and I push it away. It’s the quartz stone I came for, not a reminder of where this started.
My mother’s ring is still on my finger. I thought about taking my father’s necklace from Fenix—reuniting the pair—but it wasn’t mine to take. Not really. The only thing that has ever been mine is this pink pebble. I stare at the dead flowers in the cup that the Maker apparently gifted me, but all I want to do is pick that up and throw it across the room.
“Ever?” Ten checks from the doorway.
“It’s nothing. I’ll change, and we can head back.” I pull some of the training clothes from the wardrobe along with a thick woollen jumper, and change.
Ten’s keeping his distance. He has all morning. We should be happy. We should be relieved, but as soon as I stepped out of the bath and saw everyone in his sitting room, it was like the ease and comfort we first felt had slipped away, draining through my fingers the harder I fought to hold on.
Walking back from the training residence, the scars of the fighting are all too clear to see.
The splendour hasn’t returned to the land. It’s dull and grey, the sunlight timid, as if not wanting to shine a light on the evidence before us. Scorch marks and chasms run through the ground, tearing up the land between here and the furthest line of Warrior tents.
Smoke clings in the air, and copper stings my tongue.
“That’s her.”
“The Fifth.”
Whispers gather strength, blowing towards me on an unkind breeze.
Ten’s body stiffens as he hears them too, looking around and trying to find the individuals who’ve spoken, but there’s nobody looking at us.
The trail of words doesn’t stop.
It’s what I knew would happen, the same as when I returned from my Transference, the joy and majesty of The Court has shifted to suspicion and doubt—fear. And it’s happening again.
Now, I must face it again. The scrutiny billows to life in front of me, bringing with it a new kind of fear, one I’m not ready to wrestle with. So, I keep marching and ignore everything I see, everything I hear, even if it threatens to unravel the avalanche of pain I’ve kept inside.
Tomorrow will be easier, and I squeeze Ten’s hand.
My emotions are raw. I’m grieving. That’s all.
I tell myself all these lies, but I know it won’t be easier.
forty-nine
. . .
Ever
Before we reach the Tower, Kyra bolts out to greet us, two startled Warriors pretending not to follow after her.
“Come on, we need to get ready.” She gestures for us to rush. “You too, Ten.”
“Slow down. What’s happening?” I look around, checking the Warriors for weapons, but they aren’t drawn, and they don’t show any haste themselves.
