Page 38 of Flame and Sparrow

I laughed softly. “And it would be wasted where I’m going.”

We stood for a few moments more, saying our last goodbyes, until Andrel joined us. Zara watched the scene unfolding from her porch, staring at the Gatterlen lights and furiously scribbling notes. Cillian hugged me one last time before turning and starting a determined march back to the house.

Andrel made his way right down to the edge of the creek, swatting at the portal lights as though they were annoying gnats.

I followed him to the edge, picking up a handful of stones and tossing them into the fire, watching them sink. Trying not to think about myself sinking, and what might happen if this was all a terrible trick of some kind.

“It’s really happening.” Andrel gave the roiling waves of fire a disgusted look. “In a…flashy and pointlessly elaborate way. Typical divine nonsense.”

“I expected Cillian would try and drag me away from it,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t sneaking up on me to do just that.

Andrel gave a quiet, distracted chuckle. “I’ve been talking to him this past week, trying to convince him to trust you. Maybe it helped.”

“So…you truly believe I can do this?” The question blurted out of me, and I hated how badly I needed to hear him sayyes.

He didn’t say it. Not right away. Instead, he took a few of the stones from my hand and said, “Do you remember the day we met?”

The words surprised me; it wasn’t like him to wax nostalgic—and now, of all times?

I shook my head at him, giving a bemused smile. “I try not to think about it anymore than I have to.”

He grinned. “Are you still embarrassed by the scene you made?”

The day my father snuck my sister and me out of the house to attend the rebel meeting at the Morethian Manor, I’d not exactly been on my best behavior. I’d spent that morning arguing with my mother about the incident that had left the burn scars on my face; she’d wanted me to go to the neighboring city, to a temple dedicated to the Healing Marr, to beg forgiveness for being so careless with our prayer shrine. To ask the Healing God to fix my scars in exchange for my repentance.

I’d refused.

It had been an ugly fight, and I’d leapt at the chance to leave home with my father and meet the rebels I’d only heard whispers about.

I’d met those rebels, saw the state of the manor, heard the story behind it all, learned of all the things that had been lost. And with all the righteous indignity a twelve-year-old could muster, I’d formally declared war on the very idea of visiting any temple to any god—of healing or otherwise.

“The elders were shocked at how loud and blasphemous such a scrawny little kid could be, I think,” Andrel recalled. “But me…I was too excited to sleep that night because I’d finally met someone who hated the gods as much as I did.”

He skipped one of the stones across the fiery water. It nearly made it to the other side before sinking, pushing up a brief, bright fountain of fire as it went down.

“A hatred that couldn’t be contained in all the endless political meetings and posturing so many of our older leaders insisted upon,” he added after a moment.

A twist of that familiar fury unfurled in me as I stared at the portal ready and waiting to swallow me up, to take me away from him and everything else I knew.

“Promise me something,” he said suddenly.

I inclined my head to show I was listening; I think I would have promised him anything in that moment, as foolish as it might have been.

He closed his fist over the stones still in his palm, staring at the spot where the last one had sunk for a moment before turning to me. “Don’t lose your anger. And don’t stop until you’ve destroyed them the way they’ve destroyed so much of us.”

His hand reached for mine. The stones he’d closed in it had been crushed to dust by his cursed strength, and the gritty pieces that remained scratched my skin as he laced his fingers through mine and pulled me closer.

“I won’t,” I promised.

He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing me in for a moment before dragging himself away, planting a slow kiss on my scarred cheek as he went. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I nodded, making myself stand still as he let go of my hand and backed away.

“I won’t let you down,” I whispered as I watched him leave—a promise to him, to Cillian, to my sister and all the others who were counting on me.

I ran my fingers over the scars he’d kissed, then down to the sparrow resting at my throat, willing its magic to cover those scars and my ears. I didn’t expect the disguise to do me much good where I was going, but it had become like a comforting blanket that I couldn’t help but wrap around myself.

As the magic settled, I took a deep breath.

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