“I’m sorry about earlier—at the fireworks,” she continues, seeming hesitant when I’m the one who’s silent for once. She’s so focused on me that she doesn’t even wave as her friends and their animalcompanions depart. “But I needed to make this decision on my own, and I couldn’t let you factor into it. That’s why I kept my distance, even before your trip with Azelie. Besides, I thought if we spent more time apart, my staying here might hurt less.” She bows her head. “You don’t deserve to hurt anymore.”
She extends both her arms, beckoning me closer. I hesitate a moment, but I can’t seem to resist her pull, the tide to her moon, and I let her draw me into an embrace.
“You could stay, too,” she whispers, her lips brushing my ear. “And if the chance to be your girlfriend is still—”
“We both know I don’t belong here. I don’t knowwhereI belong,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear the rest of what she was going to say. It would hurt too much. “But I’ve never seen you like this. You deserve to be where you’re happiest, and that’s why you have to stay, no matter how you feel about me.”
Meredy’s eyes shimmer, forcing her to blink hard to clear them. “Will you take my father’s journal, then, and fill out more of the maps he started before he died? And keep Evander’s dream of seeing the world alive? I mean, the way you came up with nineteen places... you were more than worthy of his love. I don’t know that I’d have thought of it.”
I nod, my throat too tight for words.
If I could, I’d tell her that I meant what I said about waiting a long time for her. I’d tell her I’ll miss keeping each other company through the deepest, longest stretches of night. I’d tell her this wasn’t how I wanted our story to end.
Her voice unnaturally high, Meredy says, “I guess this is goodbye, Master Necromancer.”
Drawing a breath, I manage to whisper, “Goodbye, Master Crowther.” I turn to go.
Meredy puts a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. “Odessa. Wait.”
Her lips are so close to mine as she tries to kiss me. I turn my head so her kiss grazes my cheek, cool and dry.
As I stride back to the inn without another word, something inside me cracks. Just a hairline fracture at first, becoming a full-blown break by the time I’m at the staircase, the pain intensifying with every step I take away from Meredy.
***
I’m happy for her.
“I am,” I insist as I try to drink a cup of tea in the boarding house’s small parlor, watched over by Nipper. “So happy. See?” I attempt a smile.
Nipper yelps and scoots backward, her long tail nearly swiping a lamp off a table. I guess my smile isn’t exactly convincing.
As I raise the delicate teacup to my lips, Nipper scampers off, only to return moments later with something between her teeth. She drops a drool-covered sock in my lap and swishes her tail from side to side again, clearly proud of herself.
“Thanks,” I tell her weakly, rubbing her head.
She disappears again, this time returning with a torn-up book.
A dirty glove.
A knit hat with holes in it.
An apple core.
Before I’ve even finished my tea, I’ve accumulated the contents of a rubbish heap on my lap. I can’t help it—I laugh. “You’re not so bad to have around, you know,” I tell Nipper as I throw my arms around her neck. I let her chew affectionately on my hair for a moment. “Isthis one of your magical powers Azelie was telling me about? Making me laugh when I’m miserable? It’s pretty impressive.”
Later, after tucking Nipper into my bed—someone might as well use it—I stagger bleary-eyed into the tavern where Kasmira, Dvora, and the rest of the crew are already deep in their cups. Just for tonight, I’m going to wallow. I’m going to mourn the loss of a future with Meredy that never got started, and tomorrow, I’ll be stronger.
While Kasmira and her crew play a game of darts that involves drinking and losing various items of clothing when they miss the board—Dvora is already without her blouse—I stride to the bar. I want to try something new, something strong and bewildering enough to make me forget Meredy.
Nearby, a woman with battle scars on her cheeks and hands—I’d recognize the mark of a blade anywhere—lifts a slender glass of crimson liquid studded with berries and topped with a pink blossom. As I lean in to ask what it is, her conversation with the man on her other side becomes clearer, and I pause to decide whether I should interrupt after all.
“Still doesn’t feel real that the commander sent me home.” The woman sighs, lifting the crimson drink to her lips. “Three days ago, I was fighting the Ezorans, and then I took a blade to the leg that forced me off the battlefield for who knows how long...” She shrugs. “Not that I’m complaining. This way, I’ll be home with my wife and son on their birthdays. Of course, I hate to think of what new, painful tactics the Ezorans will devise while I’m away.”
The soldier’s companion swears creatively, then grunts. “No sense worrying about them for now. Enjoy your holiday.” He takes a sip of his ale, then peeks at Kasmira and the crew over his shoulder, his expression turning thoughtful. “Say, here’s something todistract you: Have you heard the latest news from Karthia? About the rebellion?”
I grip the edge of the bar as my heart falters.
“Apparently King Wylding is dead,” he continues, his voice softening with awe. “There’s a young queen on the throne now, and her citizens aren’t happy. A couple Shade-baiters—that’s what Karthians call rogue necromancers—created a Witherling on purpose and set it loose on her. She’d barely recovered from that when a weather worker turned traitor and struck her with lightning. And it’s not just the attempts on her life—the unhappy people are organizing, she claims, building a force to oppose her guards...”
