Watching the children, Kreya picked up the bird construct and let it climb onto her shoulder. The rag dolls burrowed themselves into her coat pockets, chittering happily.
Amurra herded everyone inside, where they were greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering soup, made by Amurra’s mother and father, who proceeded to serve everyone dinner. As she scooped the soup into bowls, Amurra’s mother asked them, “Will you all be staying here for a while?”
“A few weeks,” Kreya answered. “While we recover.”
“Not so long for me,” Zera said. “I’ll have to get back. See what’s left of my business. Rebuild my home. Make sure Guine and the others aren’t permanently traumatized.”
Kreya heard what she didn’t say:Or dead.
They’d left before they could be sure of the full cost of Eklor’s attack, before the bone makers could compare their stories and realize what Kreya knew.We left to save me,she thought. Everyone had fled the city for that one reason. She looked around the table and felt tears prick her eyes—she’d thought the bonds between them had faded over the many years, but as it turned out, they’d only strengthened with time.
We all saved each other.
“Marso, you’ll stay as long as you want,” Amurra said to him without even a question in her voice.
Kreya approved. This would be a good place for him. Farbetter than where they’d found him, at least until he decided what he wanted to do with his life.
“I’d like that,” Marso said, “if there’s room.” He smiled tentatively at them. “You’ll have a full house, with four children.”
Stran clapped him on the shoulder. “Always room for you, my friend.” And then: “Four?” He shot a look at Amurra, who looked picturesquely confused. “You said that before, but...”
“Congratulations,” Kreya said.
“But I’m not...” Amurra trailed off and then her face blossomed into a smile. “I will be? You read it in the bones, didn’t you? You knew it when you first came here.”
Chatter turned to new babies and the future, and Kreya let it all wash over her. She reached beneath the table and caught Jentt’s hand in hers.
Zera lingered at the farmhouse for three weeks before returning to Cerre. She kept inventing excuses to stay: she’d leave once her cuts and bruises healed, she’d leave once Marso was settled in, she’d leave after Amurra confirmed she was expecting, she’d leave when the weather was clear...
At last, it was a perfect blue-sky day, a winter chill in the air, and she had no more excuses. She had responsibilities to both people and her business.
“Wear this,” Amurra said, pushing a thick fuzzy coat on her.
“It isn’t my style.” In fact, it was hideous. She’d look like a sheep with arms. “But thanks.”
“Better than freezing,” Kreya said as she passed by, carrying an armful of wood for the fireplace. “Take the coat, Zera. Even if it makes you look stupid.”
Zera scowled at Kreya’s grin but took the coat.
She hugged each of them.
Last, she hugged Kreya. “I’ll be back. That’s a promise. You...” She didn’t know what she wanted to make Kreya promise. Every time she thought about the future, she couldn’t imagine it without Kreya in it.We have time,she thought.I’ll see her again.She wouldn’t have to say a final goodbye for almost three years. She repeated: “I’ll be back. Don’t you dare leave before then.”
“I’ll wait for you,” Kreya said.
And that was as good as any promise.
Using a combination of speed and flight talismans—several dozen new ones that she’d made from chicken bones during her time at the farmhouse—Zera traveled home much faster than their journey in the crawler. It used up the weak, fragile bones quickly, but she had no intention of reselling such inferior talismans anyway. She’d only made them to occupy her hands while she’d been at the farmhouse.
Arriving at Cerre, she gave her name to the guards at the first gate and asked for their discretion, in exchange for silver coins, and she walked through the tiers with the hood of Amurra’s fuzzy coat up.
In the coat, she wasn’t recognized, and so she was free to stroll and note the damage. Every tier bore scars. At first, on the lowest tier, she thought it wasn’t so bad. The poor district looked about the same as it always had: ramshackle houses smushed together. A few more were caved in than usual, and she thought she saw more people camped beneath makeshift tents of scrap metal and wood. It wasn’t so bad, but it was clearly a problem in its own right.
Something to think on.
On the second tier, though, it was harder to pretend life wasback to normal. People were trying. Markets were set up. But only a few houses were still standing. Most looked as if they’d been ripped apart—Which they have,she thought. Construction workers swarmed over many of them, but a few were clearly abandoned. She hoped their owners had fled, but she had the feeling that the reason was worse—no one who’d lived there was left alive to return. On the third tier, the sturdier halls were intact—the hospital and various guild headquarters—but Zera couldn’t ignore the smashed buildings, the torn-up streets, or the way everyone walked a little too quickly, as if they were afraid they might have to break into a run at any moment. The fourth was equally scarred, despite all the gold being poured into rebuilding.
She at last reached the fifth tier and was pleasantly surprised to see that workers were reconstructing her home. Higher up on the tier, she could see other palaces were still in ruins, including Grand Master Lorn’s. Pushing her hood back, Zera approached her house.
