When I met Alaryk’s gaze, it was assessing. His lips pressed, and even from this distance, I could see his jaw ticking from how it was clenched. Myzalla moved to his side and was speaking to him, her brows drawn. When I looked to Nevin, I saw that he, too, looked thunderous.
Tarkosh put her hand on my shoulder. I realized I was trembling.
“What do you mean you could’ve saved hislife?” came a voice near me. Moak. His expression was confused, troubled, even.
“I—I could have healed him,” I confessed, “when he was still alive.”
The crowd was surging forward, but then the earth rumbled again, Samryn stomping his limbs to try to bring order. When I peered over at the Elthika, I felt a tinge of fear when I saw red smoke billowing from his jaws.Ethrall, I knew the Karag called it. Poisonous fog that could kill with long exposure. Once Dakkar had seen its likeness, and it’d killed an entire race called the Ghertun in the Dead Mountain.
Only some of the Vyrin possessed such a lethal ability, which was why they were so revered. And feared.
The mere sight of theethrallquieted the crowd.
“Enough,” Alaryk said, but the word was directed at Samryn. “Faryn.”
The command seemed to be enough, and Samryn banished theethrall, the red curls disappearing instantly.
“What does she speak of?” came Saran’s voice when no one else spoke in the wake of Samryn’s interference. “She could’ve saved my son?”
The question was directed at Alaryk and Alaryk alone.
He said something to Myzalla, and she inclined her head, beginning to cut through the crowd. Toward me.
“It’s true,” Alaryk announced. “Amaia of Rath Savenal possesses a rare heartstone magic. A powerful one, which will not only help our people but our Elthika too.”
“And yet my son is dead,” came Saran’s wooden tone. And it cut me deeply. I heard the depth of her grief in the brittleness of her voice.
“If you want someone to blame,” Alaryk told her, “then blame me. I told her not to use her power here, in fear that it would put her in danger. She was waiting formyorder to act, and as you know, I was not here to give it.”
“She’s yourweapon,Karath. And you wanted to keep it a secret instead of saving one of our own. My son.”
“Make no mistake, Saran,” came a rider’s voice, “one person and one person alone killed Gethrin, and he will get what’s coming to him. But pushing blame ontoanyoneelse, including your ownKarath, gets us nowhere. We all respected Gethrin. We all feel his loss. But you’re making it worse.”
“How dare you,” Saran snapped.
Arguments broke out at the front of the crowd, voices rising.
Myzalla was still pushing through the crowd, coming up the slight incline where we were standing. She looked blurry, only for me to realize it was because tears had pushed into my eyes.
“He wants you away from the crowd, Amaia,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.” Her hand took my wrist.
My eyes met Alaryk’s as Myzalla pulled me away. I thought that my admission might make things better, like I’d feel absolved if I confessed my own guilt, if I came clean about what I could do…about what Icould’vedone.
But it had only made things worse.
For Alaryk…and for me.
Chapter 22
AMAIA
I wondered if this was how Ryak felt, pacing the dwelling he was being kept in. Forhours, I stayed in Alaryk’s home—the door, I saw, guarded by Myzalla at first before another rider came to be her relief, likely called away to help clean up the mess I’d caused. The other rider didn’t let me leave either, had actually forced me back into Alaryk’s dwelling when I’d felt my patience finally snap.
From guilt, from worry, from sadness… I’d felt each emotion chip away as the hours passed, morphing into something else entirely.
When I finally saw Alaryk, the sun had already set. Long enough for the heat of my temper to simmer toward a roiling boil.
Though two meals had been sent throughout the day while I’d waited, I was still furious that I’d been kept caged. My skin was practically crawling with it. It was the one thing I couldn’t stand—and he knew that.
