The thought is addicting, intoxicating, swirling my mind with a high I never thought attainable, a peace so deep it feels as if I couldn’t crawl my way out if I tried.
The scent of myrrh washes over me again, calming every muscle in my body.
“I truly am sorry, son,” says Solomon, just as he slips a mask over his face.
I realize too late where the feeling of peace hails from.
The incense weighs me down, muddling my mind.
I reach for my Flame, but it flickers out as I lose consciousness.
CHAPTER 38
ASHA
The riverside plain that stretches across the outskirts of Rivre is just as I remember it, if not slightly warmer. Last time we were here for the Council meeting, the air had been crisp with an evening chill, and though it’s evening now, timed out perfectly so Blaise can walk among us for whatever nefarious purpose Az has for her, there’s nothing crisp about this air.
Humidity wraps me in its blanket, as if to protect me from what’s to come. As if the climate itself intends to make us sluggish, slowing us from our inevitable end.
My poor, unused legs ache as Az pushes me across the plain.
There’s a patch of grass to our left, one with a jagged rock I remember sitting on as Az explained to me his plan. I search for Gwenyth’s blood, any evidence that remains of her slaughter, but I find none. Of course, the weather would have washed away any evidence of her in the past year.
I wonder if her corpse was ever found by passersby, if anyone bothered to give her a proper burial, or if she was left to be food for the animals.
It’s not as if I cared much for Kiran’s first wife, but I’m beginning to wonder if Gwenyth and I will die for the same fatal flaw.
For loving and trusting Az.
Blaise follows close behind us, carrying Nox’s body along with her.
As Az pushes me through the field, his hand at the base of my lower back, its placement makes me want to squirm. I restrain myself.
My ankles ache from disuse, and more than once I find them failing to mark the change in terrain, and Az has to catch me before I fall on my face.
He seems to cherish the moments when he catches me, caressing my hair and smiling down at me knowingly.
“You’ve always been so clumsy,” he says, as if it hadn’t begun when I lost my eye. “Do you remember tripping over Bezzie’s crate of pomegranates when we were young? It sent the whole pile toppling over. We were picking them off the streets for weeks after that.”
I just blink at him, allowing a smile to graze the edge of my eye.
In actuality, it’s more of a grimace, but I’m betting on the assumption Az won’t be able to tell the difference behind the gag in my mouth.
He smiles, a beautiful smile that lights up all his features, and I figure I assumed correctly.
The closer we get to the Rip, the more the ground underneath my feet seems to hum, aching and thrumming with an ancient power that calls to both me and my magic.
When we reach the location of the Rip, the sheer power that leaks into the air surrounding us gives me pause. I stop my feet, wishing simply to stand in awe of it for a moment.
Az won’t allow that, of course. He just whispers at me that we don’t have time to waste and pushes me forward.
The Rip itself isn’t something I can see; at least, not since it’s closed. I wonder if it will become visible once it opens again.
Except we’re not opening it again, my magic reprimands.
Right.
It’s not that I have any intention of opening this Rip of my own volition. It just seems Az has thought out too much of his plan at this point to overlook the simple fact that I might refuse.
My friend is clever, cleverer than I’ve ever given him credit for.
I can’t help but assume he has a backup plan.
Even though I can’t see the Rip, I can feel it. Thrumming. Whistling in the faint breeze. There’s a sliver of the air in front of us that seems to call to me more brightly, and I find myself reaching for it, though I’m not sure what I’m expecting.
It’s not for my fingers to find solid air, the silky sheen of a Fabric invisible to my eyes.
My entire body shudders at the chill of it. The Fabric, invisible as it is, is cold. I wonder how far I could trace the Fabric. If I clung to it, could I follow it all over Alondria, feel the Fabric that separates the realms, or could I only feel it because of the energy emanating from the Rip? Once I reached a far enough distance, would the connection then fail?
A hand traces up my arm, Az closing in on me from behind. The heat of his torso presses to my back, and my stomach turns over.
He traces his fingers up my arm until he too touches the Fabric I hold between my fingertips.
“You feel something, don’t you?” he asks, his warm breath shooting shards of icicles into my ear.
I nod. Az knows anyway, and it’s to my benefit that he believes I trust him. Maybe then I can convince him to remove the gag.
Wouldn’t that be nice. Imagine what we could do to him, then, says my magic.
I don’t particularly want to imagine, but I can’t really blame my magic for its excitement over the idea of torturing Az.
“Blaise, bring me my satchel,” he says. There’s shuffling behind us—Blaise, doing as he says.
Tools rattle as Az reaches into his satchel behind me.
What he produces from the bag, I can’t see, but he lets out the slightest of gasps, and when he brings his fingers to mine again, they’re dripping with blood. His blood, I realize.
I flinch as he spreads the warm, wet substance over my fingertips, whispering hushing sounds in my ear, as if to soothe a child after a minor fall and scrape.
Once my fingers are coated in Az’s blood, he takes my hand and begins to use it as a quill.
The runes Az traces on the Fabric in his own blood are unfamiliar to me.
My magic scoffs. Are you so familiar with any runes?
I’m not, so that’s fair.
Still, these aren’t like any script I’ve ever read, and though some of them look like pictures, others have shapes that trigger absolutely nothing in my memory.
