Page 51 of Fable for the End of the World

The tremor in her voice seems to ripple the air itself. I don’t probe any further.

Inesa crouches down beside the creek and tries to scoop up some water, but the bowl is shallow and hard to fill. After a few increasingly frustrated tries, she sets the bowl aside and takes something out of her pocket. It’s a piece of metal, small and scuffed, and it glints in the sunlight.

“What is that?”

“A compass. Well, part of one.” Inesa’s gaze is fixed on it. “One of the more useless things we inherited from Dad. Luka has the other half.”

She uses the broken piece to scoop up water from the stream and fill the bowl. Though its construction was slapdash, the bowl works well: No water leaks out from the wood as she lifts it from the ground.

I remove the decon-tabs from a pocket of my suit. It’s not much water, and I can’t afford to be wasteful with them, so I only put one in. It fizzes for a few seconds before it dissolves, leaving the water slightly carbonated.

Inesa holds out the bowl with two hands. “You first.”

Considering she’s the one who found the stream and made the bowl, it seems unfair. “No, you.”

Her eyes gleam. “Afraid I’m poisoning you?”

“No.” My skin prickles with heat. “Okay. Fine.”

I take the bowl from her and tilt it to my mouth. Cool water trickles down my parched throat, and almost immediately I feel woozy with relief. My instincts tell me to gulp it all down, remorselessly, but Inesa is waiting, so I ration my sips.

Somewhat reluctantly, I offer the half-filled bowl back to her.

She puts the compass case away, so both of her hands are free, then takes the bowl. While she drinks, I watch her. I find myself oddly fascinated by the way her throat pulses when she swallows, distorting the garish bruises that are turning from red to violet. When I remember how I touched her there, I feel a jolt of heat.

My temple throbs, reminding me of the thrust of the rifle against it. Finally, I bring myself to ask the question that’s been on my tongue since we first ran into each other in the woods.

“What happened to your brother?”

Slowly, Inesa lowers the bowl. There are a few beads of moisture clinging to her lips, and she wipes them away. My heart does an odd little stutter in my chest.

“I told you,” she says at last, “we got separated when the Wends were chasing us.”

The bowl has been completely drained. Inesa takes out the compass piece again to refill it. Wind comes shuddering throughthe trees, lifting my hair and making goose bumps rise on the back of my neck.

Inesa looks up at me from under her lashes.

“I’m going to find him,” she says. “I don’t care how long it takes. I know he’s looking for me, too.”

I don’t reply. There’s a sheen of pain in her eyes, but underneath it there’s determination, fierce and bright. I wonder if there’s anyone in the world I love enough to never give up on. To follow to the end of the world. Maybe Keres, but she doesn’t see me anymore. I’d be chasing a ghost. Azrael? He’s looking for me. He must be. But I don’t know if he’s looking for Melinoë, because he can’t bear to lose her, or for his perfect Angel, his most adept creation—and is there any difference between the two?

Inesa might be chasing a ghost herself. Luka could very well be dead, and we’re both aware of it, though it doesn’t bear speaking aloud. I should hope for my own sake that he is. But when I look into Inesa’s burning gaze, there’s a tiny flare in my own chest to match it.

I try to stamp it out as quickly as it sparks to life. We drink our fill of water in silence, though I never quite manage to return my heart to a steady rhythm. And, as always, there’s the hum of her tracker, pulsing faithfully alongside it.

Twenty-One

Inesa

The crackling ache in my throat is gone, my muscles are stronginstead of shaky, and my eyes are fully open for what feels like the first time in days. Even the sunlight seems brighter as it breaches the canopy of leaves, warm and pale yellow. I stand still for a moment, tilting my face toward the slashes of unobstructed sky.

I don’t let myself bask too long, though. Melinoë is watching me.

If the sunlight is coaxing me back to life like a wilted flower, it’s having quite a different effect on her. Her shoulders are raised up around her ears, her body tensed and gaze narrowed. It gives her the appearance of a wary cat, not even trusting the impartial brightness of the sun. I remember thinking of her as spidery, when she first dropped onto the hood of the car, her long, thin limbs clad in black, her eyes wide-set and night-dark. Now I can’t shake the feline aura she exudes.

“Are you feeling better?” I ask. It still feels like an absurd thing to say, considering we were quite literally at each other’s throats no more than a day ago.

She gives a stiff, tight nod.

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