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“You can’t move the girl,” Skiro says. “Another journey would surely kill her, and she doesn’t have the time left that it would take to get there.”
Kellyn has all but forgotten the food in front of him. “You must have sent men after your healer? Surely they’re returning with her now?”
Yes, that would make sense. I cling to Kellyn’s reasoning.
“I did send men,” Skiro says. “They were supposed to report back days ago. They’ve likely been found out and killed.”
My last shred of hope slips through my fingers, and my cries fill the new silence as I crumple all the way to the floor. Petrik leaves my side, steps over to his brother. Meanwhile, Kellyn crouches next to me, even dares to wrap his arms around me.
My despair is too great to even care.
I don’t lean into him, don’t return the embrace. I just feel and hurt and—this must be what dying feels like.
All at once I stand. If Temra only has moments left to live, I’m going to spend them with her. She can’t be alone.
“Wait, Ziva.”
I turn, can barely see Petrik through my tears. I clear the moisture from my face, attempt to focus.
“Skiro,” Petrik says, a harsh plea at the end of whatever conversation they’d just been having.
“It’s far too dangerous,” Skiro says. “If my trained men didn’t make it back through, your friends can hardly be expected to return with Serutha. Besides, I’m not going to risk the doors like that.”
“For me, brother.”
“They’re going to die.”
“No, Temra is going to die!”
“You know I love you, but the answer is still no.”
Petrik growls, rounds on me. “Ziva, I ask permission to tell my brother who you are and why we’re perfectly equipped to undertake this rescue mission.”
“No,” Kellyn answers for me.
Rescue mission? We’ve already established that we couldn’t get the healer back to the capital in time and Temra wouldn’t survive another journey.
Anyone powerful knowing my identity has not gone over well in the past; why would Petrik ask me to reveal myself now?
At my hesitation, Petrik adds, “It could mean saving Temra’s life.”
I don’t understand, but I nod, because what else can I do? And Kellyn is not permitted to speak for me. Ever.
“This is Ziva Tellion. Magically gifted bladesmith. We all carry weapons she’s forged. We took on what must have been forty men back in Amanor. The three of us brought down the warlord together. We can get Serutha back. And isn’t retrieving your healer worth the potential cost of the doors?”
Skiro’s eyes land on me. I look to the ground, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but my thoughts are still on my sister.
“Really?” the prince asks. “How does your ability work? What weapons have you made? How do you—”
“Skiro!” Petrik interrupts.
“Sorry.” He thinks a moment. “I still don’t like it. Those doors are the only advantage I have, Petrik.”
“What would it take to convince you?” he asks desperately.
“How about a solid plan?”
At that, Kellyn perks up. The prince is speaking his language, but I’m still thoroughly confused by the whole conversation.
