Page 142 of Ash and Feather

We were both breathless when I finally drew my lips from hers.

“I love you.” I dropped my forehead against hers, framing her face between my hands. “And I thought I’d lost you. It was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced, but it made me realize something.”

She lifted her gaze to mine, questioning.

“That I would have burned down a thousand worlds to find my way back to you.”

She trembled beneath my touch, her breathing uneven as she struggled to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. She eventually gave up on this effort, merely letting them fall as she leaned her head against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly to me.

We stayed this way for several minutes.

She moved first, pulling away, walking over and settling onto the edge of the fountain. The occasional tear still escaped, winding a shining trail down her cheek, but her brow was furrowed in thought. She braced her arms against the stone beneath her, steadying herself, her demeanor shifting—as it so often did—to that of someone determined to push through the pain and make sense of things.

“Howdidyou find me?” she asked.

And so we had arrived at the part I was dreading.

Every muscle in my body clenched with reluctance as I sat down beside her. But I couldn’t put it off any longer; she deserved to know what had happened while she was being held prisoner.

So I told her about Cillian.

It was cruel. Unfair. Had she not suffered enough? Lost enough? I hated the world and everything in it a little more with every word I uttered, but somehow, I got the words out.

Her face became a wall as I spoke, hardening further with each detail I fumbled through. The tears continued, but they fell without sound or movement. She didn’t even bother wiping them away.

When I’d finished speaking, she stayed silent. A statue at first; an extension of the fountain edge she sat upon.

Then it seemed to hit her all at once.

She crumpled slowly, tucking her head toward her chest, drawing into herself like a withering bloom.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty, thirty, forty…I lost count. She paced. Flung stones into the fountain. Burned away flowers and vines with precise, angry flourishes of her hands.

All the while, I stayed close, giving her space when she needed it, holding her close when she looked as though she might collapse.

It was excruciating to not be able to do anything more than this.

We were sitting atop one of the garden walls, her head resting against my chest and her body wrapped tightly in my arms, when she finally spoke again.

“Cillian must have told my sister I was in Mindoth. That’s how she knew to look for me. To target me.” Her voice was perfectly even. Emotionless. The practiced tone of one who had far too much experience speaking of betrayals.

“Yes. That’s what I suspected as well.”

“Savna poisoned me with…something. Something more powerful than anything we’ve encountered yet.”

I fought the urge to reach for my shoulder, where I carried my own scars from what I assumed was the same poison. I hadn’t noticed any similar scars on her; maybe her sister had quickly given her an antidote, at least.

“My sister…she believed she was saving me by stealing me away.”

“Poison and cages are unusual tools for saviors,” I muttered.

“I thought so, too.”

“…Thought?” A muscle in my jaw twitched. “In past tense?”

She didn’t reply.

Still protecting her sister, even now.

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