I write until my hand cramps and my eyes cross, refusing to stop until I’ve filled every inch of available space. The urgency to explain abandons me in a rush. Without it,I’m tired. Hollowed out.
Lyklan thinks my love is foolish, but he doesn’t know Celine like I do. He didn’t fall asleep longing to wake up old enough to do something about her S’lach problem. He didn’t watch how fiercely she fought in the arena to keep me and the others safe.
He believes Celine abandoned thenish, but why is it her responsibility to prevent her father’s evil from spreading? S’lach’s rise to power didn’t happen overnight. Many angels failed to stop him. Angels older than Celine, with more political experience.
She shouldered the weight of his evil for too long on her own; it’s someone else’s turn to deal with him. I want to be the one, but I’m starting to lose hope.
S’lach’s ability to silence his opponents makes him nearly impervious to radiant attacks. It’s why he’s universally feared. Few have the bravery to face someone without their magic.
I knew it as a boy. It’s why I focused on physical combat without the aid of magic. I’m well-versed in radiant attacks, but I’m at my strongest with a sword in my hand.
I need more time.
Perhaps instead of asking Lyklan for my journal, I should have asked him for a weapon. But if I attempt an assassination and fail, we would both be killed for it. There would be no way to convince S’lach the weapon didn’t come from my former guardian. I can’t risk his life, too.
Sighing, I lay back on the narrow bed and shut my eyes. White presses against my eyelids. It’s not painful, but it is impossible to ignore. Will I die for the Elodius deception, or can I convince S’lach that his defection was unplanned?
My heart sinks. I’m no strategist. If Alistair or Ciprian were here, they would run through all the scenarios, test potential responses, and weigh the likelihood of success for each one until they found the best options.
I swallow with difficulty around the sudden lump in my throat.
I’m used to missing Celine. I didn’t expect to miss them, too.
The camaraderie. Having a shared goal without the burden of sole leadership. During my time in the Fringes, I didn’t feel likeeverything was my responsibility. I was just Malach, and that was okay. Gods, I miss it. Miss them.
I can’t give up. Not yet. Not ever.
I press the journal into Lyklan’s hands.
He tucks it inside his shirt, his jaw clenched tight.
“If there’s something you want to say, you’d better say it now,” I murmur. After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, I’m beyond formality or the rules dictated by celestial tradition. Lyklan may be the last friendly face I see, and while I’m not sure I’ll ever completely forgive him for his part in my branding, deep down I know he had no choice.
“You’re going to die,” he says.
“How comforting.” I chuckle. “Is that all?”
He begins to pace, his long legs devouring the room’s modest footprint in determined, agitated bites. “This isn’t how it was supposed to happen,” he mutters. “We were supposed to prevail, destroying his regime from the inside. The othernishdon’t have the magic or organization necessary to do it, but they hate him. All it would take to topple his control is a well-timed blow.”
I glance at the closed door and frown. “Keep your voice down, or you’ll end up floating in the eternal beyond beside me.”
Lyklan hisses. “I deserve it for my cowardice.” He narrows his eyes. “Your determination is misguided honor, Malach. Let me get Celine. She could challenge him for control of their radiant lineage. He would be politically neutered?—”
“No.” I put my hand on Lyklan’s shoulder and force him to stop moving. “He would kill her if she tried. Even Celine can’t survive an infinite number of assassination attempts. Eventually, someone would get lucky.”
“She should kill him then,” Lyklan seethes. “Before he gets thechance to kill her. Your sacrifice is a waste if it doesn’t save anyone. Let me go to the Fringes. I’ll find her and bring her back. If you’ll only allow me to make the smart decision?—”
“It’s not your decision, friend.”
He stiffens at the term of endearment, and his wingtips graze the floor. “I’ve failed you,” he says. “I’m the first of my family’s line to betray yours.”
“Lyklan...” I squeeze his shoulder, then drop my hand. “The honor we were told to live by had value. It gave us structure and clear priorities, but...” I scrub my hand over my face, the dull throb of my headache lingering. “It has limits. You were right about that. There are other codes of conduct worth examining. Even with my judgment, I haven’t always made the right decisions. You can’t allow regret to consume you.”
“You’re trying to absolve me?”
“I’m trying to tell you there’s nothing to absolve.”
He flinches as though I slapped him. “I-I wanted you to bend your morals to secure victory, not as a parting gift before your demise.”
