Page 175 of Winds of Ruin
In that time, should the Morai attacks continue, there might not be a realm left for us to save.
Dritan’s body slackened. The hard lines of his scowl melted into a soft, drowsy expression before he slumped forward and fell to the hot stone ground.
Lark threw herself over him with a hearty cry. The mirror lay shattered beside him.
“We’ll find a way,” I reassured her, unable to breathe, unable to believe myself.
I’d cursed my son.
Every minute he remained locked away in that abominable existence with Caym was a minute I’d need to repent for.
Lark’s hands frantically moved to his neck and wrist, seeking a pulse, and her head met his chest. “He is breathing, but his heart isn’t beating,” she blubbered out. Her words made my blood run icy. “What does that mean?”
“It isn’t?” I lifted Dritan from under his shoulders and knees to keep him from the burning ground. “I don’t know…”
When I was under the Sethe curse, my heart had beat. I could hear it sometimes if I listened closely enough—a steady rhythm to anchor myself to.
My arm hairs pricked up as molten rock rose in the cracks of the cliffs and the island rumbled. “We need to get him out of here,” I shouted. “Get the carcanet.”
I retrieved the Sword of Isolde, glaring down at it before sheathing it at my hip. I found no comfort in having the relicsback in our possession; little good they did us when the third, my son, lay vulnerable to whatever ends Caym planned for him.
Clutching my forearm, Lark asked, “Where should we go?”
We needed a miracle from the Sources themselves. There was only one woman I knew capable of summoning them.
“To the South Tower.” Without question, Lark Shadowed the three of us away from the crumbling island.
I didn’t have time to appreciate the expansive views from the ocean cliffs out the dining hall windows of Amara’s home. I’d always loved this room when council meetings met here. That felt like centuries ago—a time when Caym’s hate had weighed on my decisions and I’d aligned myself with all the wrong allies.
My birth mother’s residence was a seafarer’s dreamscape. Surrounding us were romantic views, sunset-soaked seashell chandeliers, and tapestries. Too cheerful for the occasion.
Silence greeted us. She wasn’t home.Shit.
“Set him here,” Lark said. She swiped her arm across a birch wood table, pushing away books and a vase of roses, which crashed to the ground.
I set Dritan gently down, scanning his too-pale face.
“Why did we come to Eros?” Lark asked, meeting my gaze.
“I once watched my mother summon the Sun Source to save your Aunt Asterie… She may be our last hope.”
“I’ll go find her,” she gasped out. “Stay with him.”
Before I could offer to go, she ran onto the balcony and descended the staircase that spiraled around the limestone spire, shouting for her aunt.
Dritan’s breath grew shallower, and a tremble overtook him, causing the legs of the dining room table to quake. I clenched myfists, pressing them down on the table beside his head, wanting nothing more than to trade places with him. If I’d never woken, if I’d kept fighting Caym, would we be here? Would my son have to suffer the same torture? I’d never felt so helpless as during those months under Caym’s control and then the years spent with him in my head—until now.
“You can fight him in there,” I whispered. “Stay strong. We haven’t gotten to know one another yet. And that girl—it would destroy her. Fight for her.”
Love made a powerful motivator to live—hazel eyes and a singsong voice had urged me forward every time I’d thought of giving up.
Lark Shadowed in with my mother. Amara’s mouth hung open when she spotted Dritan lying across the table. “I just returned from the docks to prepare ships to aid the West Corridor. Lark explained what happened.”
Amara clutched the beads of sea glass at her neck. Sand clung to her unpressed tunic, and bags had formed beneath her eyes.
Lark didn’t allow me a chance to speak. “We need to unbind Caym again,” she spat out. We can trap him somewhere new.”
Amara’s stare met mine with watery remorse. We both knew Caym had grown too strong to take such a risk—he’d broken free already. Death’s reign had begun anew. We faced destruction either way.
