Nee was meant for me all along. She wasmine. A message from my daughter who needed me. And I sent her back, heavy with a cold, dismissive reply she must’ve received while in this cell.
This.
Fucking.
Cell.
I groan, turning. See it all through different eyes.
I could’ve prevented this. Could’ve pinched the return fold when Nee first came to me five phases ago. Let her lead me to Kyzari. Except I didn’t. Immediately rejected the notion that anyone could possiblyneed me.
I could’ve prevented this …
Another shudder rocks the world.
Despite the rumbling gusto that threatens to knock me over, I hardly register the tunnel collapsing at my back. Until a brisk blow of wind strikes me like an open-palm slap to the face. As if Clode whooshed all the way down here from the cold outside just to beat me up.
I open to her song, about to scream at her to do her fucking worst, but before I get the chance, her shrill, panicked tune slits my eardrums with the force of a razor blade.
“Geil shoole! Marlúe!”
Come quickly! Please!
I frown over my shoulder, seeing the way I came is nowcaved in. Theother direction, barely a shard of stone out of place. Like Bulder and Clode are working toward the same initiative.
“Sheith liu tail uin KYZARI,”I respond, about to grind out the same words in Bulder’s language. Make them both aware that there’s only one place I’m interested in going, so they’re either taking me there or they can find someone else to fix their shit.
“Yeil!”Clode shrieks, her next words a lightning charge to my heart.“Savei luin uil. Marlúe!”
Yes.
She needs you.
Please.
I’m on my feet and out the door before I pull another breath, pocketing my beautiful, broken Nee as I chase Clode’s haunting hail.
With each thrash of Rygun’s much bigger wings, he draws closer to the retreating Elding Bird.
Deeper into the frigid cold.
All around us, moons continue to pitch—fast and flaming. Their living brethren carve through the chaos while they roar and screech for their falling ancestors. Fiery blooms shoot up with every collision the ground endures, the Ergor Plains now masked by angry smog. But all the fire in the world couldn’t warm the side of the world that’s never been touched by the sun.
My bare hands are stiff and seizing around Rygun’s frosted spikes, my sweat and wet, bloody binds crystallized by the time we draw close enough that I’m able to make out the black smudge of Arkyn’s frayed cloak whipping in the wind. Victory feels close enough to touch … until a wobbly surge of Rygun’s wings makes my insides pinch.
Panic flares.
I lean hard left while he works to right himself, my chest in knots as I come to the daunting realization that he’s worse off than he’s letting on.
“Nei. Huk atáh TUÍL.”
He tosses his head androars, a stubborn battle cry coupled with a series of ferocious flaps, spurring us forward with savage intent.
“HUK ATÁH TUÍL. DAHN NAH.”
Rygun doesn’t respond, like I’m not even here, cutting over the Moving Mists that dimple as they swallow moon after moon, belching tumors of flame and shattered stone.
Ahead, the Elding Bird takes a jagged path through the chaos—showcases a concerning amount of tact and agility—dodging a few violent ricochets.
