“It’s okay,” I whisper, scanning her cell. My gaze snags on the shit bucket in the corner, moves to the heaps of uneaten food lumped by the bars—rotting.Discolored bits of meat coated in a layer of pale grubs gorging on the offering.
“I’m here, sweetheart.”
My attention shifts to the blanket she was hiding beneath, spotting two halves of a torn parchment lark tucked amongst the folds. I smooth her matted hair, gaze lifting to the many moons smudged on the ceiling, then to the sooty letters drawn across the walls. Certainly not Kyzari’s. Her script is more delicate, the letters effortlessly joined together.
Except—
My stare narrows on a dainty sentence scratched so deep into the gray-stone wall, as if it’s been gone over a thousand times. Definitely Kyzari’s handwriting.
Oh, darling.
I gather her filthy hair, easing it to the side so I can rub her back, rereading those three little words …
“Who—” I clear my throat, still raw and tender. “Who did you think I was, Kyzari?”
She pulls back a little, any softness gone from her posture and the lines of her face as she wipes her cheeks and lifts her chin. “How did you get here?”
The question hangs.
Still for a moment, I push a tendril of hair from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. “Long story, but I’m okay … You?”
“Oh, I— Ahh … I was hunting for moonshards,” she says, rolling her eyes as she swats a rogue tear from her cheek.
That’s not exactly what I was asking, Kyzari …
“A miskunn passed me a very scrambled message suggesting that I needed to find the remaining bits of Mah’s fallen dragon to—” She sighs and shakes her head, picking up the torn lark from amongst the folds ofher blanket. “Never mind,” she whispers, laying both halves atop her palm before placing her other hand upon them. “I’m here. I fell into that lunatic’s trap.”
I study the curl of her shoulders and downcast gaze. The chewed tips of her fingernails. The way her hands cradle that little lark like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever held.
“Who did you think I was, Kyzari? When you first woke?”
Something flickers in her eyes.
“You know,” she whispers, studying her cupped hands, “Pah taught me not to make a sound. Not to argue or even open my mouth unless I was specifically called upon. ‘Be small and quiet,’ he’d say. ‘Small, quiet females are what the world needs.Not loud ones who don’t know how to keep their thoughts to themselves and shut the fuck up.’”
The last words are spat with such vehemence they bounce off the walls, echoing.
I frown.
I’ve never heard Kyzari curse. Nor have I heard her speak with such a slice to her tone.
“So that’s what I was for phases. Small. Quiet.”She lifts her hand, gently pinching the lark’s beak between her fingers, trying to press the crimps free. “The first time Itrulyscreamed with every bit of my being was”—she glances at me, then quickly drops her gaze again—“twenty-three phases ago.”
She presents the words like a confession. Like they’ve been sitting on her chest for too long.
“I screamed for him.” She gestures to the stone upon her brow. “Well, mainly.”
My frown deepens. “You screamed for the God of Aether?”
“Caelis,” she corrects with a regal sternness. “That’s his name.Caelis.”
I nod. Repeat the name back to her. Wonder if this place might’ve splintered her mind. Did Arkyn also have hers torn through? It can send some folk irreparably mad if not done delicately. Perhaps she fought harder than I did? Or didn’t sit still enough?
“And did he come, Kyzari? Did Caelis come?”
“For a little while, yes …”
It feels like I’m being handed some sort of riddle that’s hard to make heads or tails of, my bruised brain thumping so hard I’m not sure it’s safe to try.
