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“Oh, I can teach you,” Adrina says, clapping her hands together, her eyes bright. “Or at least get you started before you go. Once you know the letters and the sounds they make, the rest is just practice and being stubborn enough not to give up when it gets hard.”
I nod, though I know we won’t have time for even that much. Still, it’s a good excuse to say, “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. So much.”
Her gaze warms. “Of course. It’s my pleasure, Clara. Truly. I love to help. It makes me feel…hopeful. You know? That the world can be better. And that I can help make it so. Right?”
“Right,” I murmur.
As I climb the hill to search for Declan and Timon, her words echo in my thoughts.
I hope I can do something to make things better, too, something other than die tomorrow night if we’re unable to get back to Amaria in time.
It’s gusty at the summit, and the wind whips my hair into a frenzy as I search the ruins and the boulder-speckled hillside. I push my hands through the tangled strands, holding them away from my face as I spin in a slower circle, eyes probing into every nook and cranny and shadowed place in the grass.
But there’s no sign of Declan or Timon.
I call their names, that same tight feeling from at the shore gripping my ribs.
I call again.
A third time. A fourth.
By the fifth time, my voice trembles so hard it dissolves into a sob of relief as Timon appears from a crevice between two rocks.
But my relief is short lived. The moment I see his pale cheeks and wide, terrified eyes, I know something has gone horribly wrong.
Chapter Eighteen
Clara
“It’s Declan. He fell in the dark and his eyes won’t open.” Timon warbles, his voice vibrating like Wig’s when he’s in starling form and worked up after a rough night twisting deep in a fretful dreamer’s ear. “I wanted to show him the tomb. I thought he’d be fine because he’s strong and his balance is good, but the bats came out of nowhere. Swooping and screeching. Tripping him on the path.” He gulps, his hands fisting together in front of him as I cross the grass on shaky legs to meet him. “I swear, Clara, I’ve never seen bats there before. I wouldn’t have taken Declan if I thought there was danger. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I say, hoping hard that the words are true. “Take me to him. We’ll get him out and fix him up.”
Timon’s glassy eyes shine brighter. “I’m scared. What if the bats get you, too? I’ll never forgive myself for hurting my friends.”
“The bats won’t get me.” I give his slim shoulder a squeeze. “And if they try, I’ll fight them off. I’m not afraid of bats.”
Timon sniffs and his trembling abates a bit. “I don’t think Declan was, either. He was just surprised. I tell you, it was like they jumped out of the shadows. One minute, there is nothing there in the rocks but the dark and a bit of wet from the spring. Then, boom, they exploded their wings. One big bat and one little bat. Only two of them, but so fierce you would think we had stolen their babies.”
An ugly suspicion begins to form in my gut.
But I ignore it to focus on Declan. I have to help him, then I can worry about these bats and where they came from.
“But we know about them now,” I assure him. “We’ll be on guard. But we should try not to get bitten by one.”
Timon gulps again, and his golden skin grows even paler. “I know. The bite can cause the foaming sickness. One of my uncles died of this, from a dog bite, before I was born. But my father was still never afraid of dogs. Or bats. He was never afraid of anything until…” He sucks in a breath and lets it out with a shudder, sending the tears in his eyes spilling down his cheeks. “I want my Papa, Clara. I want him here to help us. Like he was before.”
“I’m so sorry, Timon.” My throat is so tight I can barely force the words out. “About your papa.”
And I am. He’ll never know why or just how much, but at least I can offer him this, my deepest and most sincere apology.
“You didn’t deserve this and neither did he,” I add, my voice thick. “I wish I could return him to you. If giving my life for his would heal him, I would do it in a heartbeat.”
Timon’s eyes widen. “No, Clara. I love you. You can’t say this. I want all the people to be good. Not just my papa. You, too.”
My ribs squeeze, trapping my lungs in a vise. This sweet boy who gives his love so freely to near-strangers… He doesn’t need a nightmare girl to unravel his mind or patch up his soul. He’s perfect just as he is.
