It was only a matter of time before Cynthia alerted River and Kai to Ione’s absence.She spurred her horse on, finding a comfortable pace – even on horseback, the journey to Lodestone would take a few hours – and hoped to high hell that the two of them would take their time sobering up before chasing after her.
“They love you,” Cynthia had said the second time Kai had woken them up in the middle of the godsdamned night by pounding on her door and demanding to talk.She curled up tighter on her end of the bed like this was one of their childhood sleepovers; outside, River had found Kai and was attempting to wrestle him away.“They do,” Cynthia reiterated, grumbling.“Even if they’re obnoxious about it.”
Ione clenched her jaw and pulled her pillow over her head.“Acknowledged.”
“The priests said it was Menon,” Cynthia went on, wide awake now.“Menon’s decision.It wasn’t anything Kai did.”She winced; outside their door, something had shattered.
“That doesn’t matter,” Ione said, although she believed her.“I’ve room in my heart to hate both of them.”
Menon’s absence from her body was like an unfilled hole, a missing organ.Mikau had once said that after the removal of a sick organ, the rest of the person’s innards would shift to fill the gap.
It felt impossible that this would happen to her, that she would ever feel whole again.
From up here, Lodestone glowed with colour, a toy-sized sprawl of buildings partially obscured by low-hanging clouds.Her heart thumped at its closeness, at what it meant for her: Saros would have his war, and Ione would be nobody, and – as frightening and thrilling as it was – she didn’t care anymore.
She was nobody.Had no expectations, no burdens, no name.To hell with Menon, with the people who had forsaken her; with her own parents, so disappointed, like they were the ones dealing with the gaping hole in their identity.Ione would carve her own life for herself, live freely, vibrantly.Ignore the tiny voice at the back of her head, Kai’s, usually, sometimes River’s:Gods, you’re naïve.This is just roundabout suicide.
Ione shook them from her mind, tightened her grip on the horse’s reins.The jagged boulders and cairns had begun to smooth out, uneven dirt paths growing gentler, peppered with prickly shrubs and spurts of autumn wildflowers.She was halfway down the mountain; ahead of her stretched a sea of grass, waterlogged after the recent rains.
And at its end, Lodestone.
Ione was nobody.And after one last errand, she would be free.
The streetlamps had just flickered on by the time Ione found herself swallowed by rows upon rows of terraced buildings.She drew her cloak tighter around herself, eyes straining for anything she recognised, a salon, a bookshop, a cafe.She knew Lodestone well enough, but in daylight, with chaperones.
Her horse whipped her tail, whinnying.There were few citygoers left littering the streets, all evidently frustrated with her slowness, other riders or small carriages brushing too close past her horse and muttering complaints under their breath to move.Ione urged her mare onwards, her gaze darting, unable to focus on the smudges of storefronts in shadow, the blurs of painted signs.
“Just one godsdamned indication,” she muttered to herself, frazzled.She had passed Soliz countless times, had never paid it much attention.She closed her eyes, summoning its tall spires in her mind, but her distant, daytime memory did not translate to this lamplit mire.
The first drop of rain on her cheek nearly had her groaning.The people around her scurried on amid the click of unfurled umbrellas or the oceanic scent of a water shield to hold back the rain.Ione gritted her teeth, not wanting to summon her own shield, to reveal herself as a hydromancer.
“Excuse me,” she called to a passerby.“Could you point me towards Soliz Shrine?”
They held up a hand, uttered an impatient,Sorry, I’m in a hurry.
Two further attempts at asking for directions fell flat.Ione bit back a curse, torn between giving up and finding an inn for the night or forging on.But the thunder of hoofbeats rushing to her made it plain that Menon was still mocking her: a white horse hurtled past, screeching to a halt in her path.
And on it, wrapped in a fine woollen cloak, River.
“Ione,” he shouted, cantering up beside Ione’s mare and grabbing hold of her reins.“Forgods’sakes, we’ve been worried sick.”
He caught her hand and squeezed, his relief so palpable, so comforting in this unfriendly place that Ione wanted to hug him.But the unearthly glow of the streetlamps illuminated his cloak, the insignia emblazoned over one shoulder.A crescent moon speared by a sword.
The Mahina family crest.Chilled, Ione dropped his hand, an undeniable pang of resentment spearing through her.“I see you’re finally taking a break from the bottle,” she said, at once vindicated and guilty when River lowered his face.“But you have another pathetic creature to tend to, Holy Seleneschal.”
She had missed River.Had needed him.But she’d barely seen him for days, and when she did, he was either drinking or pouring his attention into Kai.
“With my newfound freedom as a commoner,” she said, scanning past him through the drizzly rain, “I’m visiting Soliz.I hear it has beautiful frescoes.I figure if I squint, I may see them.”
River straightened, on guard in case Ione decided to bolt, which was a fair concern.“Hilo did mention their frescoes.But I’m guessing you heard Kai last night.About Lina.”
Ione heated, suddenly registering eyes on them, the shapes of onlookers gawking from beneath shopfront awnings.“I’m surprised you remember,” she said tartly.
“Mymemory’s not the issue.I remember far more of this week than I’d like to.”He sighed, softening, the loving seleneschal.“I’m sorry, Ione.I am.But running off and sneaking into Soliz is only going to end badly.”
He cast for her reins again before she could skirt past him, but Ione caught his wrist.“You can fight me, River, but you’ll hold back.”She threw his arm down.“And I won’t.”
He clenched his jaw, calculating.“What’s the plan, then?”
