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I rubbed my temples. “Why not?”
“I figured you would not want Riven to see you in a state like this. Or Nikolai.”
I opened my mouth to respond. No words came. What reason did Syrra have to show me any kindness? I certainly hadn’t tried to win her favor.
I vomited again. Syrra passed me a damp towel.
“Why?” I only had the strength for short sentences.
Syrra stood from her chair and stared into the small flame of the oil lamp. I almost retched again before she spoke.
“I know the pain you feel,” she said, still staring at the light.
I wiped the cloth across my lips again. “You can’t.”
“No?” Syrra scoffed. “I have lived for millennia,ikwenira. Long before your king came to these shores. Before the magic started leeching from the ground. When my people were free and at peace. Spent their days training and laughing and loving under the suns.” Something caught in Syrra’s voice, and she coughed.
“I watched it all fade away. I watched my people die. Watched myfamilydie fighting the king you serve, knowing I was too powerless to stop it. I carried that guilt with me for a long time. I choked it down with more than drink too. Anything to spare me from that pain. Spare me from the memories. The decisions I made. And the ones I could not take back.” Syrra poured a cup of water from the dresser and shoved it toward me.
“I do not pretend to know the details of your pain, but I know the weight of it. I will not judge you for how you lighten the load.” Her dark eyes stared down at me. There was no friendliness in them, none of the warmth that shone when she looked at Riven or Nikolai. But there was no condemnation either.
The tension in my shoulders relaxed and I leaned against the headboard.
“What if the pain is too much? What if it crushes me?” I whispered. They were questions I’d only ever asked myself.
“It won’t,” she said simply.
I raised a brow at the certainty in her tone.
“If the pain was too much, you would have ended it by now.” Her eyes cut through me, and I wondered if she had glimpsed what lay beneath my clothes. I pulled the bed cover higher up my chest.
Her words pricked my eyes until they stung. I blinked back the truth. “I don’t deserve that kind of relief.”
“The weight you bear is not your punishment, Keera. It is your heart. One day it will stop bleeding.” Syrra’s fist gripped her shirt over her own chest. Over her own stitched heart.
“I don’t have a heart anymore,” I said quietly. “It turned to stone the day I passed my Trials.”
“What I saw today,” Syrra said, “was someone who still cares. Someone who cares a lot. You might be in pain, but you still have purpose.”
I winced. “To be the Blade?”
“To be whatever you need to be to get the job done.” She made it sound so simple.
I leaned my head against the wall and stared at the dark rafters until the grain started to swirl.
“I’m too broken to get the job done.” My head hung against my shoulders and my eyes pinched shut. My scars felt sharp, not like the knife that had cut them, but the jagged edges of broken glass. I was made of pieces, sharp edges that tore into me with every move I made. Every breath I took.
“A broken blade can be mended.” Syrra’s voice was heavy. For the first time I could hear the lifetimes behind her words.
“How?” I asked. My voice cracked again, eager for an answer.
Syrra lips twitched. She held out her hand to help me out of bed.
“Killing the king is a good place to start.”
THE MORNING AIR WAScrisp, carrying the scent of wet earth as the first fallen leaves began to decay. Even at their highest, the suns no longer heated my back to the point of scorching. Most of the day, I kept my cloak wrapped tightly around my neck to stymie the chilly breeze that was our constant companion along the road.
Autumn was coming fast. The equinox was just over two weeks away and would start the Harvest celebrations. Silstra would mark the day by sending full barges of grain and vegetables down the Three Sisters—Eleverath’s sustenance for the winter. The dam would need to be blown by then for our plan to have a chance at succeeding. A fact that wasn’t lost on the group. We spent most days keeping a steady trot along the road. Conversation was minimal and always among the three of them.
