Alaryk’s expression softened marginally. His thumb stroked over my cheeks, like he knew I’d pull away.
“He’s dead, Amaia,” he told me, keeping my eyes. “Where he’s gone, you can’t help him.”
“No,” I said. I didn’t even know the acolyte’s name, but I still felt a spiral of heartbreak. My own. A splintering in my chest. “No, you’re lying.”
I wrenched myself from his grip, the sharpened edge of one of his nails catching below my jaw, a sting taking its place.
“Amaia,” he warned.
But I was already running to the dwelling, a lone little light on inside. My heartstone magic was gathering wildly in my chest, spurred on by panic and desperation as I sprinted.
Myzalla saw me first, and she tried to hold me back, the guards coming closer in a formation around me as I tried to get through them.
“I can help, I can help—let me through,” I heard myself say, my voice watery and brittle, gasps escaping me. I saw blue light reflect off Myzalla’s face, making her frown. My eyes.
“Let her through,” came Alaryk’s roughened order. “Let her see.”
Myzalla backed away immediately, as did the guards, and I barreled through the door, only to be greeted by the sight of an older Karag woman, one I recognized, who worked on the farm with Brune. She wasn’t crying, but there was a cold grief drenching her expression as she sat at the bedside of who I now realized was her son.
The acolyte’s face was an unrecognizable mess, bruised and swollen, though a lot of the dark blood had been washed away.
I spread out the tendrils of my magic, seeking, pressing, hoping.
“What are you doing to him?” came his mother’s alarmed bellow. “Get away!”
I felt the iciness wash over me. Familiar. So cold that it nearly stole the breath straight from my lungs, and I wrenched my magic away before it could be withered.
Dead.
Gone.
Lost.
There was nothing I could do. Not anymore.
I met the pained eyes of his mother, angry unushered tears in her vision.
“I’m sorry” was all I could breathe. “I’m so sorry.”
“You should never have come here. Any of you. Now my son is dead! Because ofyou. All of you!”
She pushed at my shoulders, shoving me back.
“Saran, that’s enough,” came Alaryk’s firm voice. He stepped into the dwelling, taking my wrist, and pulled me back. “The person who killed your son will pay the price. I promise you that.”
“And where wereyou?” Saran asked, turning on Alaryk. “Gone.You never should’ve allowed them to step foot here. This is sacred land. They only poison it.”
“Come,” Alaryk told me softly. I realized he’d tried to spare me this…but what did it matter?
The only person allowed to hurt here was his mother. The one left behind.
I glanced at the acolyte’s lifeless body on the bed one last time as Alaryk guided me from the dwelling, as I heard his mother break down in wrenching sobs that felt like blades across my skin.
I’d never known his name, but I would carry this moment with me for the rest of my life. A curse of my own. Until the day I died.
That would be my own punishment.
Chapter 20
