Marlow cast him an anxious look. “No, as in, there are three men downstairs asking questions.”
“Think the innkeeper will say anything?”
“They’re offering caern. What’dya think?”
August’s gaze jumped to the door, then to Lottie, who vanished a second later.
“Alright, we’ll jump,” Felix said. “You can heal a broken leg or two.”
“I used most of my energy onhimthanks toyourtemper. I can’t heal all three of us.”
When Lottie appeared again, her expression was pure panic. “They’re coming up. These aren’t the Watch, Auggie. You need to get out.”
The overwhelming urge to run pulsed through him, and the prickling sensation built in his fingertips. He hadn’t hidden outin the woods for nearly two years just to be hunted down in a ratty, flea-infested inn.
The air thickened and shimmered.
He thrust out his bound hands. “Cut me free. I can get us out.”
Of course, he had no intention of taking either ofthemwith him. He’d have to be quick. Get through before they stopped him. Once he was gone, Ashcroft’s people could deal with Felix. One less problem for him to worry about.
Felix scoffed. “Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m—”
“Arunas above!” Marlow snapped. “Just do it, Felix.”
To his surprise, Felix listened.
The moment August’s hands were free, he slashed them through the air, tearing open the veil and moving to step through. Felix, unfortunately, had expected it. He seized August’s arm in a vice-like grip, holding him in place.
“I wasn’t going to leave you here.”
Felix gave him a crooked smile. “Ah, now, we both know that’s not true.” He motioned for Marlow to go first.
She stepped through. On her own.
They could cross without him. That would make escaping considerably more difficult.
“Our turn,” Felix said, then dragged August through after her.
There’s a Jivanten word,trisouelle.It means a soul-shattering grief so profound it could destroy the world. August’s father had taught him the language as a child, and he loved how the words all flowed like a gentle stream over smooth stones. But that one stuck out. He’d see it in sad poems and stories about grief and loss, and it always seemed to encapsulate the sensation so well that he could feel it deep in his bones. He’d stocked it away in his memory, sure it was the perfect word, and when his father died, it had felt right.
But the reality was, it was meaningless. It was nothing. There were no words in any language that could capture this grief. The sharp edges of it carved through August, hacking and slicing until he was sure only tattered shreds of his heart remained. He hoped that maybe the Jivanten people were onto something, and that his grief would destroy the world, because if Lottie was gone, what did it matter?
Hot tears streamed down his face, the pool of blood—Lottie’s blood—soaking the fabric of his trousers as the crowd’s shouting faded into background noise.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
He stared down into Lottie’s empty eyes as dark cracks spread around him, fracturing the shimmering air.
How could he exist without her?
Don’t leave me. Please stay. Please.
She was all he had.
He looked up through the creeping darkness of his shattering world to find Felix watching with eyes that glinted like knives. A grim shadow of the boy August had thought he was.
This was Felix’sfault. All of it.
