Pretending not to notice the specks of scarlet painting the floor and pushing past the sensation of someone’s blood crawling up my legs, I crossed the room.
The reddish-brown floorboards creaked as I sank to my knees beside Zion. My thigh resting against his, I took his left hand, raising it to my mouth and giving it a soft kiss.
Managing to offer a smile even when the universe was falling around him, Zion brought his and Gedeon’s locked hands closer to me, and I kissed Gedeon’s knuckles.
“We can stay here for as long as you need,” I promised.
Gedeon stroked the maple tree’s roots encircling Conall’s wrist, his corpse already cooling, the stale blood leaching all color from his skin.
“I don’t…” Gedeon fisted the smeared-in-his-brother’s-blood sheets.
“I know.” He didn’t need to say more. Death changed a person irrevocably. You could talk for hours, trying and failing to work through it, but that blackened corner of your soul was never going to return to its original state. “You don’t have to say it.” I reached over Zion’s lap to wipe a droplet of clear liquid off Gedeon’s cheek. “Just know I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not today, nor tomorrow. I’m here.” Kissing Zion’s shoulder, I added, “For you both.”
He returned the gesture with a brush of his lips against my temple—notmy nose. But the-less-than-a-second contact charged me with a resolve to do whatever was required of me to help them get through this. Regardless of how much it would hurt to shoulder their weight, I was going to serve as a pillar to lean on.
In Ilasall, or Coriattus, or Ardaton, servitude meant being bound to someone more powerful, your every move controlled by the strings the seven ruling the cities wielded.
But serving someone of your own volition stood for a show of support, not of slavery.
So as a hush descended over the room, I paid no heed to how the heels of my boots prodded my ass. Or to the ticks of the clock’s arrows slinking down, down, down, and then back up, signaling the passing time as I held Zion’s hand.
Sometimes, no words were necessary.
Sometimes, the best you could do wasbethere.
Sometimes, not letting go was all that mattered.
“We moved here only a month ago,” Dain’s whisper floated over to us. “How could they have known? The location of our house, even of our bedroom—they knew it all.”
Nissa lowered to sit beside Dain slumped against a wall. “You’ve mentioned Clyde shared blueprints with Ezra,” she told Gedeon. “I think he informed Coriattus where the leadership was going to stay for our”—she swallowed—“wedding. Only our houses were attacked.”
Our. Plural.
Gedeon whipped to Damia guarding the bedroom’s door. “Yours too?”
She nodded. “I wasn’t there. I…” She tapped her nails on the door frame. “I had decided to spend my night elsewhere. Turns out being…preoccupiedwas what saved me. They smashed one of the windows to get in. Based on the footprints, my guess is they searched the house and left when they realized I wasn’t there.”
“Shit,” Gedeon hissed, and Zion’s grasp on my palm turned bruising.
Nissa guided Dain to rest his head on her lap, and the three steel studs adorning the shell of his ear caught the warm light. The silver disks once had served as a symbol of his partners, but now, two of the piercings depicted loss.
Soothing her partner, Nissa raised her chin at our trio. “We’ll do whatever you want.” Her tone steady, she spoke as the new leader of their compound. “You have our full support in obliterating the cities. You want us to go after Coriattus? Join you in dismantling Ilasall? Ask, and we’ll oblige.”
Pain and wrath could curdle anyone’s stomach. Cloud your mind. Convince you to retreat. So I could understand Nissa’s stance. Once I’d learned Alora’s life had reached its expiration date, I’d been the same: unreachable, uncooperative, unwilling to go on. And if I’d had the load of responsibilities on top ofthat… Yeah, I would’ve wanted to shed the decision making as well.
Gedeon moved his and Zion’s laced fingers to rest on his thigh. “Be ready. That’s all I will ask,” he said to Nissa. “We do not know what will occur once we break down Ilasall’s gates.” His gaze hardened. “Because we will march to Ilasall in four days.”
52
ZION
Budding forests framed the desolate road we were flying along.
The sun beat on my neck through the rolled-down passenger’s window.
Ear-plugging wind carried Kali’s faint snoring from the backseat.
All of it was…disconnected. Separate fragments, not elements of a coherent whole.
