Somehow, her feet had carried back out of the Lightning Tower and across the city. Cold earth was grainy in her mouth; she must have tripped and fallen. Hands appeared on her back, and she nearly jumped out of her skin until she heard a familiar voice say, “Are you alright?”
Dess was above her, his straw-like hair lit with a halo of sunlight. Thran stood with his back turned a few yards away. She had indeed tripped and landed face-first in a mud puddle, the farmland around them damp from yesterday’s rain. She pushed herself onto her knees, hands sinking into the muck. Dess’s arms slid under hers, and he helped her the rest of the way to her feet, concern souring his jovial mouth.
“I’m okay,” she said, and the words came out as a rasp. She cleared her throat. “I’m okay. I can stand.”
His hands stayed on her shoulders.
“Really.”
He scanned her face.
“What?”
He let her go, finally, a sigh escaping him. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last hour.”
“Oh.”
“Thia?” he asked again, when she still stood there, silent.
“I want to go home,” she said weakly. Because she was weak. Useless. Not made for a world such as this.
She sucked in several breaths, trying to get a hold of herself. She walked through the facts, as she always did when she needed to calm herself. She was either going to be trapped here forever, or she could go after Xercae. If she died trying, what did it matter anyway? The quest was no different than it had been at the start, only now it was a witch, not the king, who might kill her.
“Dess,” she began.
He seemed to sense the change in her demeanor and visibly perked up. “Yes?”
“Thran.”
But Thran wasn’t paying attention. He was staring off into the distance, brow furrowed.
“Thran?” Thia prompted. Perhaps he had retreated in fear, just as she had. She touched his shoulder, and he started. “Are you alright?”
He nodded. “Sorry. I was just thinking.” He ran a hand over his stubble. “The king’s eyes.”
“Eerie,” Dess muttered.
“Aye.” Thran shifted, seemingly uncomfortable to have so much focus on him. “They just reminded me of somethin’, is all. Something I read once.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure….” He trailed off, cheeks coloring. “Never mind, lass. Doesn’t matter now. What were you saying?”
“Right.” Thia grit her teeth. “I don’t presume either of you will say yes—that is, don’t feel like you have to, but I want to ask—”
“Of course I’ll help you hunt Xercae,” Dess said, finishing her thought before she could voice it. They turned to Thran.
Thia didn’t want to push him. He was clammy just considering it, his forehead gleaming and lips pressed into a thin line. But she didn’t want him to wonder if she thought less of him for his past choices. She was only a little uneasy when he tightened his hands into fists, blue eyes holding hers, and said, “I’ll see you home.”
Dess, in turn, appeared shocked by the older man’s statement. “We saw the king,” he said. “You could return. Pagdan’s orders are complete.”
Thran inspected the boy with a soft gaze. “Perhaps, lad. But our purpose isn’t.”
Dess had no response to that. He continued to watch the man, perplexed.
“It’s settled,” Thia said. She reached for the shard, which had come loose from her jerkin when she fell. She was about to shove it back down her shirt when she caught a flash of silver. Frowning, she inspected it, hoping for Callista. There was nothing but the usual glass. The sun’s reflection? Shaking her head at herself, she tucked it away. “So. Either of you know anything about witch killing?”
Dess grimaced. “It’s not the killing that’s the problem. It’s the hunting.”
