It opened a wound in my chest, comparing these last weeks to our time in the castle. What had changed? Why this distance? Was it just desperation, brought on by his draining?
Or could it be resentment, for my role in his ruin?
I shrugged off these thoughts as best I could as I led the sorcerer down a crumbling path between crumbling buildings. In a comradely manner, and with no nerves whatsoever, I beamed at him, breathing the recycled air with gusto. “A healthy body leads to a healthy mind.”
“Yes, and how is yours?” he grumbled, before pausing. “That was mean, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m supposed to be nice.”
“Yes.”
“Except when I’mnotsupposed to be nice.”
“Exactly,” I said, and Merulo groaned again.
A number of the buildings leaned over us in frozen collapse, like eavesdroppers. The sorcerer eyed these as we passed, fingering the wand tucked into his belt. “You shouldn’t walk here alone.”
“Nothing bad has happened yet.” I paused, realizing this wasn’t a sound argument. “And if it happens, then it happens.”
“Nothing has happened, but if it happens, it happens.” The sorcerer raised his hands to the domed ceiling, as if in prayer. “Sometimes, I find it hard to distinguish whether intelligible language is passing through your mouth, or whether you’re just making sounds.”
I decided to ignore him.
It was an interesting exercise, matching the sorcerer’s strides. His spidery legs traversed the same distance as mine, but, without adjacent muscles to power them, I found myself outpacing him whenever my attention lapsed. Merulo made a great show of not breathing heavily, though his nostrils flared with the effort. But if I slowed too much, then away he strode, as imperiously as he might pace the lengths of his battlements.
It brought an odd anxiety, embarking on such a mundane activity with him. Walking with someone else, I might reach for their hand, and intertwine our fingers—but with the mad sorcerer? Spitting lightning bolts and forging half-alivemonstrosities were perfectly natural for him. Handholding, less so.
“It’s here,” I said, spying the fallen sign I used as a landmark. Something like a sentient wheel of cheese lay balanced against a wall, its mouth agape. “In here.”
Forgetting my inhibitions, I grabbed for Merulo and pulled him into the alley between two buildings, where the artificial lighting failed to reach. He made a face, but allowed himself to be maneuvered into the shadows, and positioned before a ladder. “You have to climb,” I said, pointing. “If you’re able.”
Merulo glowered. “Of course I’m able.”
I eyed him, doubtful. “Would it be better for me to go first, so that I can help you up? Or . . .” At his hesitation, I decided. “I’ll go first.”
“This is beyond foolish,” he called, as I scurried up the metal rungs, luxuriating in the stretch of my muscles. “And unsafe. These buildings are very, very old.”
At the top, I pulled myself onto the roof, then turned to hang my head down. “You scared?”
“You—” the sorcerer spluttered, and reached instinctively for his wand. “You mangy—You insufferable—You think that I would be scared, of a ladder?”
I leaned further over the edge. “It does look that way.”
Truthfully, I’d been scared, too. The first time ascending, I’d placed my weight carefully on it, step by step, ready to jump free at the slightest sign of bending.
From two stories below, Merulo speared me with a glare. “If you continue to speak like Hydna, I will forbid you from spending time with her.”
“Alright, I’m sorry. Can you come up, though? Please?”
Saliva filled my mouth as my anxiety grew. We’d both experienced flying on our own wings, so fear of heights shouldn’t really be a factor—but his pride might be. And I didn’t have time to cook up a different scheme. Not before he shed his limbs.
There was some further grumbling, as Merulo shifted from foot to foot. Finally, he rolled back the sleeves of his robe, exposing arms like white sticks, and stepped onto the ladder. His face took on a look of great concentration.
I decided against hooting and clapping, as that might be interpreted as mockery. Instead, I hovered at the roof’s edge with the nervous pride you might feel watching a small child ride their first unicorn. “Come on,” I muttered, too quietly for him to hear. “You can do it.”
Step by step, Merulo mounted the ladder. His skin went through a remarkable transformation, shifting from bleached white, to the boiling red of a shellfish. At the top, I seized his flailing hand, lifting him bodily onto the roof.
