It was worth it for this.
Forher.
“The runes on my temples are to keep me from sleeping,” I murmur, unwrapping another blood-matted layer. “Intended to break me down, shatter my defenses until the Mindweft’s able to excavate the rest of my secrets. Once he does, he’ll discover I have this. Arkyn will take it.”
I peel the last of the bind away and tip the diary into my hand, studying the cover. Feeling the weight of the secrets held within.
“I could never live with myself if I didn’t first give you the chance to read these words.”
I thread it between the bars.
Kyzari frowns, settles the lark in her lap, and takes the weight of the book. She turns it over in her hands before running her delicate fingers over the painting on the front. “This looks like Uncle’s málmr.”
“Yes.”
I choke on the word.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, tracing the shape of the Moonplume’s wing before glancing up at me. “Does it belong to him?”
“No. It was—” I pause to pull a steadying breath before pushing a smile into my cheeks. “It’s your mah’s diary.”
Kyzari stills. Like she just swept into the sky, bundled up, and solidified.
“I, ah, I ventured into Arithia to hunt it down.” I look at my hands, crushing the bloody bind into a ball. “I’ve only read the last few entries, but I think—” Words catch in my throat. I clear it, looking into her glistening blue eyes—somuch like her mah’s. “I think you should start from the beginning.”
“Will it hurt?”
Her voice is cracked through. Raw.
“Yes.”
More than you could ever imagine.
Her features bunch, head tipping to the side as a sheen of tears fill her eyes, making them look like icy pools. “I don’t know if I can hurt any more …”
“I know, sweetheart.” I reach between the bars, cupping her cheek. “But once you come to the end, I have something to tell you.” I glance at all that uneaten food on the ground, squeeze my lids shut. Open them as I tighten my grip. “Something for you tolivefor.”
A line forms between her brows.
She swallows, gaze dropping to the diary. A long moment slips by before finally, gently, she lifts the cover and begins to read.
I sit beside her, holding her hand when she reaches parts that make her shake. Hug her close when she reads about the poisoning that took so many of her family members before she ever had a chance to meet them, my guiltgnashing.
I wipe tears from her cheeks when she gets to where Slátra chased Elluin across the plains; wipe more as she reads of the blossoming love between Kaan and her mah.
Squeeze her tight when she reads about the pregnancy born oflove.
Ofhappiness.
And when she reaches the end, falling against the bars as her tears become too swift and heavy for me to wipe away, I smooth her hair, hold her close, and tell her that shemustsurvive.
Shemust.
Because by some unknown magic, her mahlives. And though her mah has no memory of her past, she’s fierce, bold, and mighty to behold …just like her daughter.
Ismash through the frozen crust of my lake, chased by a heavy presencewhompingthrough the water—herding me toward the surface.
Or maybe she’s not herding me at all, but simplyfollowing. Perhaps hoping that if she gets close enough that I’ll be forced to stop, turn around, and communicate.
