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I hadn’t known that and should have. I’d been so consumed by my own court’s decline that I’d rarely looked beyond our borders. Razak’s arrival four years ago had changed that, but it also meant I’d hidden from view, losing four years of my life and time I could have used to better familiarize myself with our courtly neighbors.
“Must be difficult to balance four pans on a scale.”
“I think that’s the point. Life is not meant to be easy.” He caught my glance and explained, “Razak has an extensive library. Sometimes, after too long in his care, I… grew quiet. He’d take me to the library. It’s where I learned about the outside world. Although, he soon put a stop to the visits after my first escape.”
His mood began to darken at the memories, so I hastened the conversation on. “The Court of Love believes we’re returned to ashes, and our fertile remains are scattered in the meadows. From there, we help feed new life.”
“We’re flower food?”
It did sound rather trite, but also beautiful. I tucked myself a little closer and welcomed his warm arm draped over my shoulders. “I think I prefer Justice’s version.”
Lark’s small, quiet laugh touched my heart. “Pain believes there is only one life, and after that, nothing’s embrace.”
“Cheery.” I yawned into my hand. “And War?”
“There’s an enormous sandworm sent to devour our souls. We’re consumed and spent from its backside, born anew from its waste.”
“Worm food. Wonderful,” I drawled. One outcome was more likely for us than the others. “Draven is going to come back for us.”
Lark’s chin brushed the top of my head, then wedged there. “At least one of us is worth saving,” he said quietly.
He was wrong. We were both worth saving.
I had to believe in hope. If Lark didn’t, then I’d believe it for him. I’d be his light in the darkness, his pleasure in his pain. His hope that together, we’d make it through this—somehow.
CHAPTER5
Arin
A relentless thumpingin my head grew hotter and heavier with every heartbeat. The heat of the day had returned, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. Lark shifted against my side and muttered about never missing the rain before.
Hunger was a constant barb in my gut. The heat, the thirst, the lack of food—it was too much.
I considered throwing the stones again to see if the beast was out there, but even if it had gone, Lark and I had no idea which way to walk. Caught in the sun, without shelter, we’d die. Perhaps that would have been better than the slow, agonizing march toward death we endured now.
Wakefulness and dreams intermingled. In some dreams, Lark stroked my hair and hummed a tune. In others, Draven was telling me he’d kill a prince, then Lark and I would lie on our backs in the flower meadows. The sun was too bright; strange, how it made Lark shine but held no heat. That light had a hunger to it, as though, if he let it, it would swallow him, and me.
In one dream, Draven had hold of me, trying to shake me back to life. I laughed at him. The fool, there was no going back. And then the ground moved, flowing beneath me like a river of sand. The stars moved too, sailing overhead with the moon watching over us all. Those dreams clung on, and time lost all meaning. Somewhere deep inside, I knew I was delirious and that I was dying.
Death wasn’t as I’d expected. I hadn’t expected its embrace to be comforting.
In other dreams, Lark played his violin on the clifftop, and I stood beside him. Side by side. It felt right, it felt as though I didn’t need to fight anymore. Fate had brought us here, and there was no other place in the shatterlands for us.
Voices droned.
Cool, fresh water touched my lips, and a voice I didn’t know told me to drink. They were all strangers, in a strange place. Children laughed somewhere far off. People chattered. But this wasn’t a dream.
“Arin… you hear me?”
I blinked at Draven, then peered down at my hand in his, unsure if he was real.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His face betrayed his guilt. I knew that feeling.
I reached out and he smiled, leaning closer. My fingers skimmed his rough, whiskered jaw. Yes, he was real.Thiswas all real. If he was real, then where was—“Lark?”
Draven took my hand from his face and cupped it under his. “No, it’s Draven.”
I knew who he was. But where was Lark? Was he alive, was he here too? I tried to push up, off the pillow, but the world spun. Draven grumbled, telling me to go slow. Dropping back, I forced my thoughts to slow and my eyes to see. I was under a canopy, in the shade, with chairs, a table, water. A bed—I laid on a bed, stripped almost naked but for my undergarments.
