“Itanya?” Folami asked, worry making her words harder than needed. I squeezed her hand where it was clutched in mine, her fingers twitching in anticipation.
The Bondsmith smiled at her, tiredness etched into each line of her face and the dark circles under her eyes. She wiped her forehead with her shirtsleeve, only serving to spread the sweat and grime around rather than remove it. Her hands were stained red from blood, skin and fluids crusted beneath her short nails.
“Alvor. Safe,” she grunted. “She is waiting for you.”
I could practically feel the relief waft from Folami, her shoulders sagging and features softening.
“Thank you,” she whispered. I stole a glance at Ilyas, noticing the silver glistening in his eyes.
The Bondsmith grunted before turning to the next injured. She was young—no older than her mid-twenties—and missing her leg from the knee down. TheBondsmith peeled back her pant leg where it had stuck to the open wound, and the girl screamed in pain as the Bondsmith pulled pieces of rock and fabric from the stump.
My stomach roiled, and I had to close my eyes in an effort to not puke.
“You should be warned that she is not the same girl that left. She is still Itanya just . . . more,” the Bondsmith said in between the girl’s screams.
Folami quickly said something that I couldn’t hear over the pounding in my ears before I felt her tug gently on my hand, leading me away from the makeshift healer’s tent.
I hawked and spit, releasing the excess saliva from my mouth.
“That was—” I said, trailing off as I looked at the sight of the battle. It was mostly cleared, our dead moved to one side in rows for identification—a daunting task—while the bodies not claimed by Samyr or Solace’s sycophants were piled on the opposite end of the field, waiting to be burned.
The opposing forces had left quickly, taking few of their dead in favor of returning home, lest Rohak change his mind and exact revenge then and there.
Now, all that remained were the Elyrians who had fought—and died—bravely for their freedom. Pride coursed through my blood, stinging the bridge of my nose. We were fewer now, our ranks considerably thinned, but we had done it.
We had won.
Elyria was safe once more.
A familiar raven-black braid caught my attention from where it flapped in the wind.
My gut twisted as we neared the pile of bodies ready to be burned. There, head sticking out from the middle of the pile, was Sasori’s ashen face. Even in death, her brow was pinched in a frown, her mouth a hard line.
“I am sorry, Lex,” Ilyas said with a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off.
Surprisingly, I felt nothing but a sense of relief for both Sasori and me.
I was free from her memory, and she was free from those who tried to control her while alive.
“How did she die,” I wondered out loud, scratching at dried blood on the back of my hand.
“I killed her,” Folami declared, shocking Ilyas and me.
“Pardon?” I coughed, turning to face my Pain Bonded. Not an ounce of regret shone on her face, only female satisfaction.
Folami stood with her hands clasped behind her back, muscles straining with the motion. She was an utter vision of strength and love, protection and devotion.
“I killed her. She was trying to sneak up on you, and I stabbed her,” Folami said nonchalantly. I raised my eyebrow, knowing there was more to the story. But that was for Folami to tell at a later time, if she ever wanted to.
“Thank you,” I said, dropping a kiss to her brow before tucking her beneath my arm. I turned, opening my right arm for Ilyas. He grinned at me, spinning into my body with anoomph. Folami laughed, and the sound buoyed me. I gripped Ilyas around the waist, his big hand coming to rest between Folami and me.
“What now?” he asked.
I gnawed my lip, certainty in my decision bolstering my next words.
“Now, we go to Alvor. We find Itanya”—I felt Folami’s heart rate increase—“and we look for our fourth.”
I loved my Bonded, but we weren’t complete without Peytor. It was like something was missing, and I knew they felt it, too.
