“What makes you think Kaelis would still trust me?”
Vaduin’s lips quirk upward. “After today, it’s safe to say we’re all confident.”
“If she does it,” Gregor suddenly interjects, “will you induct the rest of us, too?”
I turn to him, shocked. “You’d want to join them?”
Gregor meets my gaze steadily. “This is what Bristara was clearly training us for, Clara. This is the true Starcrossed Club.”
I’m not sure if I agree. But now isn’t the time or place to argue over the intentions of a dead woman.
Vaduin considers Gregor’s question. “The induction takes place in the ancient stronghold of our forefathers on one of the apexes of the seasons, when magic is at its most potent. If you give us reason enough to trust you as well, we will give you the rites alongside Clara.”
Gregor stands a bit taller.
I want to collapse into dust. I’ve spent my whole life surviving, struggling, proving myself time and again. I’m done with tests and trials. Done with false promises and hollow ideals. But if everything Vaduin said is true—and I’ve no reason to believe otherwise—I’ll need this vessel for the World, too, if I ever hope to summon it.
No one, not even me, is getting their wish without it.
He’s right…I do need them.
“So, do we have a deal?” Vaduin turns his attention back to me and extends his hand.
“Take me to my sister first,” I say firmly, “and I’ll think on it.”
Vaduin withdraws his hand. “As you wish.”
Chapter 15
With a nod and a gesture, Vaduin signals to the older Worldkeeper who led us here. Just as I suspected, he guides Gregor and me toward one of the exits I noted earlier—a narrow hallway awaits us. I take one last look at Vaduin over my shoulder. He’s already engaged in deep conversation with another Worldkeeper, too hushed for me to catch a word of it.
The walls of the passageway close in around us. What was once the hall of a building crumbles into another tunnel. The air is thick with moisture and the peaty scent of dense earth. At the end of the hall is a faint glow, a turn, and then another room.
Twino and Ren sit off to the side, talking in low tones around a lantern. They both are on their feet the moment we enter. Gregor goes to them, but I only give them the barest of nods, my focus entirely on a tattered blanket hung like a curtain in the back corner of the room.
She’s there. She must be.
The Worldkeeper gestures toward the curtained-off corner andleaves. None of them stops me or says anything else. I cross, gently tugging the blanket aside.
Arina lies on a makeshift cot that looks more like a pile of blankets than a mattress. She looks just as bad as she did in Halazar, her bones cutting through scar-covered skin. Her eyes are shut, but her lips move with barely audible whispers, no fully formed words, as though she’s speaking to someone in her dreams.
My little sister…I always saw her as not just younger but small—smaller than was ever fair, if I’m being honest. But she’s truly tiny now, whittled away by cruelty. It’s nearly impossible to believe that this is the same young woman who would charge into any danger headfirst. The clever, tenacious girl who was ready to tear down Oricalis before she was ten.
I slowly drop to my knees beside her, afraid I might startle her, even though I know she’s a world away. The rise and fall of her chest is steady. Her eyelids flutter. Her mumbled speech pauses, only to continue after a breath.
“Arina…” My voice barely works. “It’s me…”
Another pause; for a second, I think she might open her eyes, and it damn near kills me waiting for it. But she doesn’t.
Reaching out with trembling fingers, I lightly touch her hand. No response. The hands that once moved over cards with the grace of a dancer are motionless.
I gently caress her cheek with my knuckles. She lets out a wheeze. Her brow furrows, and I retract my hand so fast it’s as though I were burned. Even just the faintest of touches and she flinches.
What did Ravin do to you?I already know it is more horrible than my worst imagining. The question alone sours my stomach, and I look away, unable to bear the images of torture that the sight of her brings to the forefront of my imagination. Then guilt instantly brings my gaze back. She deserves for me to bear witness—not to what he did to her, but to her strength and perseverance.
“You made it,” I whisper. “You survived.” And that is a rebellion far greater than any I could ever lead. “Now you can come back to me. Iswear, from now on, Iwillkeep you safe. I will never let anything like this happen again. I’ll burn down the world, if that’s what it takes.”
Expectedly, there is no reaction. I force myself to step away. A part of me wants to stay by her side for every hour between now and when she wakes, however long it takes. But another part of me knows I can help her more by keeping myself moving and continuing the fight.
