Why? The asshole is really asking that?
“Because he’s family, and he’s dying. He’s like a brother to me.”
Saying the words brings a familiar ache to my chest.
Fuck. “How is he, François?"
I’ve been afraid to ask all week, terrified of showing a soft spot he could exploit. But I need to know.
“You’ll have to be more specific,ma petite. Which ‘he’ do you refer to?”
“Cosmo. Is he safe?”
François stills, a flicker of something dark—perhaps jealousy—in his eyes. “Your brother is being feted,chérie. He and his little band are hailed as heroes. When I left, they were being invited to the WMO board.”
The World Magic Organization? Cosmo seems like someone who would love power; figures he’d be climbing the ladder while I amrotting in a pit. It feels as if he’s forgotten I even exist. Tally is the only person truly in my corner.
“Thank you for letting me know, I’m going to see Imran now.”
I’d expected an extended battle, but he just waved me away.
So now I’m sitting on the floor by a narrow cot, watching the way the dim fluorescent light catches the translucent skin of the boy’s eyelids.
Sky is perched on the edge of the mattress, her hand trembling as she coaxes a spoonful of gray, lukewarm broth toward his lips. “Just a sip, Immy,” she cajoles, her voice breaking. “Lay made sure there was extra salt. She said it’s good for your electrolytes.”
Imran’s eyes flicker open. He looks like a ghost that hasn’t realized it’s dead yet. He shakes his head, a weary, infinitesimal movement that seems to cost him everything. “Thanks, Sky.”
He tries to swallow, but the broth runs down his chin in a pale, pathetic stream. I see it then—the unmistakable tint of blood in his saliva.
Wump—ppp.
I reach out and take his hand; it’s cold, the bones beneath the skin feel brittle and fragile.
“My dad… he used to make this deer stew,” Imran whispers, his eyes closing again. “Used to complain that Tally only caught the skinny ones full of bone, but then he’d simmer it all day until the whole house smelled like a holiday.”
Layla is leaning against the door frame. “Your mom would always yell at him for letting grease splatter everywhere,” she adds with a sad, small smile.
“Yeah.” A ghost of a grin touches his lips. “Avi would stand on a stool, stirring the pot. He’s probably tall enough to reach the counter now…” He shifts, a rattling cough shaking his thin frame. Sky moves to one side so I can lift up his shoulders, steady him. Once he can breathe steadily again, I help him settle.
“Do you think Avi has magic now, Lay?” he asks, his eyes suddenly bright with a feverish intensity.
I look at my friend. “Sure,” she croaks, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t,” she mouths, turning and leaving the room.
“I bet he can fly,” Sky says. “I bet he has so much fun flying around with the birds.”
It occurs to me that before the Great Awakening one didn’t gain their magic spark until they were through puberty. Is it still the same? Who knows.
“I wish I could fly with him.” Imran’s words come out as a sigh. “Just once. Me and Avi soaring through a blue sky.” He looks at me, and the sheer, raw longing in his gaze makes me want to scream.
“You can do that when you get out of here,” Sky soothes, though her eyes are brimming with tears. She shoves the spoon toward him again. “So eat the damn broth, Imran. You need to be strong for when it’s your release date.”
Imran looks at her, blinking his eyes. “It’s okay, Sky. I know. I can feel I’m going soon. Can I see Tally sometime? I want to… to say goodbye.”
I pull back, my throat tight.
I feel like a hollow shell. I’m Aurora Drakeward, daughter of one of the most powerful men in the Conclave, and I’m sitting in the dark with a boy who is slipping away, unable to do anything but watch.
He closes his eyes, his breathing evening out into a shallow, ragged rhythm. “Fly in the sunshine,” he breathes. “I’d like that.”
