I swallow and roll to lay beside them, arms sliding around their waist to pull them against my chest. In the wake of casting, the tightness in my chest has come loose. I’mprofoundlytired, but it’s a calmer sort of exhaustion than it was before. A resignation, almost.
But that’s too soft of a word. I’m not the same person I was when I came to the Crux. Not the same scared boy running away from home.
I draw in a steadying breath, because Cancassi’s right. I mean every word when I say, “It would take an act of God to keep me from coming back to you.”
Cancassi lets out a short laugh as they snuggle close, burying their face against my chest. Their shoulders tremble, and I can tell they’re crying even as they try to hide it. I hold them close, stroking their soft skin even as tears prick at my own eyes.
I’ll be back, but God, I’m going to miss them fiercely in the meantime.
“Nowthatwas a proper apology,” they say thickly, and I let out an amused huff.
“Are you alright?”
They lift their head, wiping their tears away. “I’mexhausted.” They tilt their face towards me as they settle their cheek back against my chest. “Are you?”
I let out a long breath as I press a kiss to their head. “I’ll be alright.”
Somehow, impossibly, I sleep. Cancassi stays with me through the night before they wake me early the next morning. Before first bell, they help me get ready.
I don the magiline citran Varice made for me. It’s cut in the style worn by men in Cairish, but I wear the sash like the women do, tying it low around my hips. I leave my freshly washed hair down, though Cancassi brushes it to a shine before tying a few small braids into it, each one a different weave.
“For luck,” they say as they clamp the last one shut with a silver bead, “for safe travels, and an easy trip home.”
I look at their crown of braids with new appreciation. “What do all of yours mean?”
Cancassi smiles at me, a pleased flush coloring their face. “I’ll tell you once you’re back home.”
I line my eyes with kohl before allowing Cancassi to dust a bit of silver powder onto the lids. I feel beautiful and powerful, wearing the clothes and makeup like a shield.
First bell rings out, and my stomach plummets. Cancassi presses their lips to my hair before muttering, “Hold your head high,a’lynn. You can do this.”
I sigh as I straighten up, casting one glance at my reflection in the mirror. “I’m ready.”
ANY TIME THE KING LEAVESthe palace, it seems like people will do anything to catch a glimpse. The gate to the courtyard is closed, but through the metal bars, I can see that a crowd of people has followed the royal procession all the way here. Not that I can really blame them. The gathered delegation in the Crux’s courtyard is a sight to behold, and even my eyes are drawn to the dashing figure of King Thermilious.
Among his advisers and guards, he’s the youngest of the group, but he strikes a regal figure. Dressed in all of his royal finery, he’ll behotter than two hells once we make the jump to Marikadar. Captain Thora stands just beside him, her arms crossed over her breastplate, eyes steely as she surveys the courtyard, ever alert.
Yet among the King’s attendants is the last person I want to see. Ambassador Feisal’s eyes lock with mine across the courtyard. He’s dressed in a tan citran and gray fahrits of fine quality, his ear-length wavy hair carefully coiffed. He looks handsome, but the slow smirk that spreads across his face ruins any redeeming qualities. I want to slap that smug look right off of him, but as satisfying as it would be, it won’t do me any good.
He’s won. He’s getting me home. And it only took him and my father hanging the balance of peace across the continent on me to do it.
“Hey.”
I’m pulled out of my thoughts and turn to see Galiva. Her footsteps are quiet as she approaches me.
“Hey,” I say through a sigh.
She comes to stand beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. We’re quiet for a moment. I’m not ready to head out into the courtyard, and fortunately, it doesn’t seem like she’s here to rush me.
“I’m really proud of you, you know.”
I blink as I look down at her. Of all the things I expected her to say, that was not it. “What? Why?”
“Remember when we first started dabbling with abjuration?” she asks.
I can’t help a small laugh. “You wereawfulat it.”
“I wasn’t awful!Youwere just a fucking escape artist.” She smiles as she leans against my shoulder, her arm twining around mine. “I was convinced that nothing could keep you contained if you didn’t want to be. I still think that.” She glances up at me as she says, “You could have run. We both know the walls of the Crux aren’t enough to hold a force like you. But you didn’t.”
