“It’s magnificent…” I don’t realize I’ve spoken aloud until Rowenna barks out a derisive laugh as she trudges closer.
“This place is an abomination. Ruined by the Vanzadorians and their power—much like you. You let them fracture your foundation and erect something new and unnatural in its place. This new version of you maylookbrave and impressive, but your core is rotten because you have no loyalty, no roots.”
“That isn’t true,” I argue. “Sometimes we have to adapt and change to survive. Sometimes new branches must be grafted onto old trees to help them thrive and grow in different ways.”
Rowenna groans. “I can’t listen to this drivel any longer. This is your last chance to walk away from this madness and return with me to Tashir. Do whatever you need to appease your misguided conscience. Purge every memory of your time here if that’s what it takes. We never have to speak of this again. Things can be exactly as they were before—wecan be exactly as we were before—only better,” she says with sudden tenderness. “We’ll be together, and Tashir will finally be free.”
Rowenna’s looking at me the way she always used to—overflowing with pride and love—and it’s almost enough to make me say yes.It would be so easy to sacrifice my memories and wash my hands of this place and these people. I could regain the sister I knew and seize the future we fought so hard to create. But then I look back at Alaric, still sprawled across the rocks in a pool of blood, and it reminds me of Besnik’s broken body on the banquet table and the choice Alaric had to make in that moment. The very same choice I’m faced with now.
Forget and return to the way things were—go back to tending my plants, never thinking about anything or anyone beyond my own little plot. Or I can thrust my shovel into this hard new soil and cultivate a real relationship between Tashir and Vanzador. It won’t be easy—I’ll undoubtedly get blisters and cramps—but that pain will give both countries the opportunity to grow back taller and stronger and better than before.
“Forgetting the truth doesn’t make it go away, Ro,” I finally say. “It may temporarily ease our conscience, but in the end, it perpetuates the cycle of hate and oppression. Can’t you see that?”
Rowenna shakes her head sadly. “The only thing I see is a traitor.”
She fists the dagger and comes at me again, but she’s out of strength—weakened from months of living on the frigid streets of Vanzador—and I easily block the attack.
The knife sails from Rowenna’s hand and skates across the rocks, spinning precariously close to the edge.
She scrambles after it like a woman possessed. Like she expects me to fight her for it. But I haven’t moved. I know better than to go near the edge where Soren fell. Where the rock is practically hollow from overmining.
But Rowenna doesn’t know any of this. She never took the time to learn about Vanzador’s mines.
“Rowenna, stop!” I shriek. “It isn’t safe!” But that just makes her move faster, scrambling farther out onto the ridge, oblivious to the hair-raising sounds of the earth shifting.
As she reaches for the knife, a loud crack splits the air.
Ro skids to a stop, frozen with her hand outstretched. We stare at each other, waiting. Wincing. After several agonizing seconds, Rowenna’s shoulders relax. And that’s when the ground gives way.
I am acutely aware of every detail: the fractures in the stone racing outward, the dirt jamming beneath her fingernails as she claws at the crumbling rock, her eyes darting to mine the moment she realizes there’s nothing to grab. And that’s what undoes me. They’re not the eyes of the feral, desperate girl who tried to stab me, but the brave girl who shoved me behind her every time the Marauders crashed through our bedroom windows. Eyes that sparkled with wonder the first time I coaxed a bagrava seedling to life. The eyes of the girl in her chain mail wedding dress, daring the world to bring her down.
And I can’t let that girl fall.
I dash forward, over the widening cracks, and slide onto my stomach to distribute my weight. Rowenna reaches for me, screaming my name, and I lean out farther, farther, until I’m surrounded by more sky than rock. Just when I’m certain I’m going to follow her over the edge, our fingers brush, then miraculously catch.
The sudden jerk of Rowenna’s weight drags me farther over the disintegrating ledge. My arms feel like they’re going to wrench from my body, and my fingers are still wet with Alaric’s blood.
“Don’t let go, Indira! Don’t let go!” Rowenna cries.
“I won’t,” I say through gritted teeth. “But I’m not strong enough to pull you up. You have to help. Find footholds and climb.”
Rowenna bites her lip and nods, and with a look of sheer determination on her face, she manages to dig her toe into the rock face and lift herself a fraction.
“Good.” I breathe out heavily. “Now, do it again.”
As she inches higher, I slowly squirm backward, trying to time the jerking of my body with the forward thrust of hers. Little by little, we retreat until Ro’s elbows, then chest, then knees are back on solid ground.
I let out a hysterical laugh and collapse on my stomach, cheek pressed against the frozen rock, every part of me exhausted, aching, and tingling—but alive.
Somehow, we’re both alive.
Rowenna is coughing and gagging like I pulled her from water instead of open air, and she refuses to let go of my hands, like she’s afraid she might be dragged back over the edge if I let her go.
“You’re okay,” I murmur soothingly.
“Why did you save me?” she croaks with what’s left of her voice. “After everything I just did?”
I give her hand a gentle squeeze until her tear-filled eyes find mine. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re my sister. I love you. I know you would have saved me if our roles were reversed.”
