“Then why the fuck did you not say something?” We all turn in shock to see that Taran was the one who yelled. I don’t think I’veeverheard him curse before, not in Selaran at least. He recomposes himself, turning to Seth with his eyes cast down. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”
The air is tense as Seth decides how to respond. Seth opens his mouth to say something but then shuts it again. He nods once, then turns away from Taran, his cheeks red.
“We should make camp for the night,” says Larus. He and Typhon are sorting through the supplies we all brought, rationing out the food. We have enough to last about a week. It should be enough to get us to Pyka, if we hurry and make good use of the griffins.
Assuming Bitey doesn’t fly off the first chance he gets.
We pitch the canvases up into a large, makeshift shelter behind a group of boulders, Seth moaning all the while about the terrible conditions and wishing he’d brought anything from his own luxurious tent before he burnt it to the ground. There’s an argument over whether we can risk a fire, but we have another issue: the torch.
“It’s cooperating more now,” I tell Ronan as we lay out our blankets into a bed we can share, “but what if someone sees it in the night while I’m asleep?”
“Hmm,” he says, picking it up from where I’ve left it on the ground. It flares in his hand, responding strongly to him. “I have an idea.”
Ronan closes his eyes, and I feel his feelings leading him into a dark place. It’s the despair of losing the city, the loss of his people, his servants, his advisors, and friends. It isn’t tempered with rage or a desire for revenge. It’s just the same grey hopelessness I felt from him before.
A tendril of shadow creeps from his chest, drawing on my magic.
“Ronan,” I gasp. “How?”
He shakes his head. “I could feel it was possible earlier. At least I can still do us some good.” The torch goes out in his hands, and this time, it doesn’t fight us to reignite.
“Oh, my love,” I say, holding him close. I guide him into the blankets and look at him in the darkness, his eyes meeting mine with perfect sight. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
He brushes my freckles with his fingertips. “You’re already doing it,” he says, kissing me softly. “Just stay with me. Please.”
“I’m here, Ronan. I’ll never let you go.”
“Having you with me gives me something to keep fighting for.”
I feel the fight in him beneath his despair, and something else, a glimmer of hope within his chest. Hope that there’s still a way back from this, still a way to save Faros. I latch onto it, tugging gently on his magic, pulling it into my fingertips.
I brush them on his cheeks and lips, finding the healing light once more.
He sighs. “That feels incredible.”
“That’s you,” I whisper. “Youare incredible.”
He doesn’t respond. I know he doesn’t believe it right now, but I still do.
And that’s all we need. I will be his hope, just as he was mine when I felt like all was lost.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Our journey through the barren, rocky land north is slow going, not because of the weather or the terrain but because we’re frequently forced to leave the road.
We take turns on Kira while Quinn rides Bitey, scouting ahead and warning each other when to find a place to hide. We hide in caves and beneath rock ledges, behind boulders, and once in nearly plain sight, relying on Octavia’s and my shadow magic and being forced to hope the group of armed Selaran refugees has no shadow-born who can see through it.
We avoid as many people as we can that way, not knowing who could betray us to a Nithyrian patrol and not wanting to silence everyone we encounter to keep ourselves safe. It takes us the better part of five days to make it out of the rocky wasteland between the western and eastern cliffs and onto higher ground, even when we use the griffins to ferry ourselves along faster.
Having two griffins is a lifesaver in the end. They catch us food: fish, mostly, from scattered lakes and the sea, but occasionally rabbits, ducks, and once, a strange deer-like creature that had fur that changed colors based on its surroundings.
Or it did until it was dead. It was truly delicious cooked over the fire. Typhon had hesitations about eating something so rare we didn’t have a name for it, but the need to stretch our remaining supplies over the Machair Wastes was motivation enough to give it a try.
As we climb up onto the plateau that once surrounded Avaris, a sense of dread washes over me. I’ve only been through the Wastes once before, several months ago when we were on our way to Faros. We took the southern route through a dried riverbed and had encountered little trouble apart from the bandit attack, but we’d been in a carriage then.
This time, we’ll have no road to follow. The few who make the trip overland typically do so on horseback, from what Taran has told us, but most travel the Green Sea to avoid this stretch of road entirely.
And yet the mountains leave us no choice. It’s too late in the year to travel the eastern pass. A quick flight confirms that the route is already impassable from snow, and the mountains are too high here for the griffins to fly the entire way once, let alone several times to carry us all over.
