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“I— I’m glad I knew you too,” I reply.
My words sound like they’ve been pushed out of the void and dragged through all the layers of stone beneath the Iron Mountains. As they fall, I force my arm to move. Her palm is warm, and her skin soft, and as I close my fingers around hers my mind whispers that this is the last time I’ll ever touch Alindra of the Worlds Above.
She pulls back. Her lips part slightly, and voids below, I can’t do it. I lean forward, ready to cover her mouth with my own, or to wrap my arm around her waist, to scream that, damn it, I do want to stay here with her.
And something flickers in the corner of my eye. I glance down to see my own illusion magic faltering. The corner of a nasty, muddy pair of socks pokes through my illusion of a clean-swept floor. It’s just like the last time I kissed Alindra and lost my illusions, revealing the disaster of my ruined body.
My back stiffens. I flex my magic, imposing order on this horrible disaster of a world. Alindra’s expression shifts. She must be able to tell I did something with illusions, although I hope on all the stars she can’t tell exactly what. Past me would be horrified by the state of this filthy tent.
But past me is dead.
“Goodbye, Alindra,” I force myself to say.
She nods, her eyes on my illusion of a clean floor.
“Goodbye, Phaedron,” she whispers.
I manage to hold the illusions steady until the tent flap swings closed behind her.
Chapter41
Phaedron
OUR WORLDS ARE ABOUT TO CHANGE
Imiss most of the speeches and, as I expected, no one gives a flying fuck. Pulling myself together after saying goodbye to Alindra takes a long, pathetic time, and it also takes the rest of the wine swilling around the last bottle under my bed. I go ahead and clean the tent while I’m at it, piling dirty clothes into a basket I declare a hamper, sweeping the floorboards, and making our beds. It’s not like we’re coming back, but I don’t want anyone to come in here when we’re gone and see that we lived like fucking animals. Especially not Alindra.
By the time I pull myself and my illusions back together, giving myself clean clothes and a reasonable facsimile of a right arm, some dragon is giving a speech before the little assembly of people sitting on chairs that face the base of the cliff. I stand in the back as the dragon heaps praise on Rowan for his invaluable service to the dragons of the Iron Mountains, then goes on and on about the new era of peace and understanding between our kingdoms.
Somehow, I manage not to roll my eyes. I wonder how many of the dragons who’d gathered in the cirque at the top of this cliff were ready to eat us even after Rensivar vanished with his throne. Until Rowan ripped open yet another hole in reality, this time at the feet of an especially annoying dragon with a lot more spines on his neck than would seem necessary, just to prove that yes, he was the bastard with the magic that changed their world. Not that asshole Rensivar. And not our father Varitan.
A dozen or so split-tail swallows swim through the air above us, swooping and diving as the rising sun slowly paints a path down the jagged cliff’s face. I tilt my head until I can see the tips of the pine trees all the way at the top of the cliff, the edge of the little grove where Rowan sent our father to the void, and then the wine I just stupidly drank on an empty stomach reminds me that I hate heights and I’d better stop staring at the sky if I don’t want to fall down on my ass.
A smattering of applause pulls my attention back to earth. Rowan stands up in the front row, then runs his hand through his hair, mussing the white cloth tied over his missing eye. His white silk sleeves are pushed up around his elbows, and his pants are wrinkled. Someone gave him an elegant emerald waistcoat with large, brightly polished silver buttons, but he missed the middle button when he put the damn thing on, and something about the gleam in his eye makes me wonder if he did it on purpose.
“Alright,” Rowan says, turning toward the crowd. “Dragons. Everyone. Thanks for everything.”
He falls silent. The air fills with the chirping cries of the swallows.
“Our worlds are about to change,” Rowan announces.
He’s smiling, but still, there’s something hard in his expression. He still looks just like the kid who ran off into the void, swearing on all the stars he’d never seen that he would find a way to map it.
And he did. No matter what, Rowan always found a way to do the impossible.
“It’s about damn time,” Rowan continues. “And I swear to you, it’s going to be for the better.”
He falls silent again. Some of the elves seated before the cliff turn to each other with polite little frowns, like they’re not sure if they should applaud or not. I smile despite myself. Nice speech, little brother. One for the history books.
“Alindra?” Rowan says, holding out his hand. “Let’s do this thing.”
Alindra comes to her feet, and a fist closes around my chest. Someone has given her new clothes for the occasion as well, a burgundy dress with golden trim that hugs her curves and then falls in loose waves around her legs. She looks absolutely stunning; the most beautiful thing in either of our worlds.
Rowan tugs the white cloth off his missing eye and turns to face the cliff. Alindra places her hand in his. Almost immediately, the air begins to tingle with magic. The swallows spin away, climbing in wide circles into that vast blue sky. I brace myself for what’s coming next, the heavy heat of magic, the way it burns my throat when I breathe, the searing agony of crossing yet another portal.
The sunlight around Rowan and Alindra thickens and bends, almost like they’re trapped within a crystal sphere. The cliff’s jagged face wavers, distorted by magical energy, and something moves through the ground, a whispering sort of tremble. Moments later, there’s a low, heavy groan, as though the mountain itself were speaking.
And then the cliff cracks open.
