Page 87 of Ash and Feather

I caught a flash of blond hair darting between the shadowy trunks. A male figure moving on light, silent feet. His gait seemed familiar.

Cillian?

I pressed myself flat against the nearest tree, holding my breath as I studied his tall figure in the falling darkness, making sure it was really him.

It was.

He spoke briefly to a soldier who had been standing guard at the largest of the tents. He waved this soldier away—pointing him toward the chaos still building in the main camp—then he disappeared inside the tent.

Nothing between us now except a short stretch of forest and a flimsy flap of canvas.

Dravyn stayed on top of the hill, keeping watch. The space between us felt vast, but warmth reached through it a moment later, settling in my bones, and I heard his voice in my mind—

I’m watching over you. Go.

Before I could lose my nerve, I went.

I ran straight for the tent, hesitating only an instant before crashing inside, nearly colliding with Cillian in the process.

He stumbled back, reflexively whipping the short sword from his side and pointing it at me.

I lifted my palms and moved into the soft glow of the lantern hanging from the tent’s center.

He gasped. Shook his head. Slowly lowered his sword. “Karys? Is that really you?”

I was speechless for a moment, all of my carefully-rehearsed lines forgotten, my body trembling as I tried to suppress the storm of emotions rising inside me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

I forced myself to remember the plans I’d made, the lists of questions I’d planned to ask. The storm inside me quieted. I lowered my hands and took a step closer to Cillian. “I’ve come to stop you.”

“…Stop me?”

“To make you see reason. I…I know what you and the other rebels are planning to do tonight, and youcan’tgo through with it. An attack on this place will trigger complete war.”

He stared at me as though I was speaking an entirely different language.

Becausecomplete warwas the plan, of course. I knew that. I was just hoping he would deny it.

I wanted him to lie. To try and hide what he was doing, because that would mean he was at least somewhat ashamed of it. And if he had shame—and regret—somewhere in his heart, maybe I could still get him to change his mind.

He sheathed his sword, turning away from me and walking to a small folding desk that had been set up against the back of the tent.

The space seemed to expand around us, the air thinning as it did.

“I’m glad you’re safe.” His voice was quiet. Conflicted, I thought, which gave me a glimmer of hope.

But then he looked over his shoulder, and I saw the resolve settling among the shadows on his face. He looked older than I remembered, and somehow smaller—like a distant relative of the person I’d known.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he repeated, quieter. “But that doesn’t change what has to be done tonight.”

“Nothing hasto be done,” I whispered, fiercely.

“No? So things stay the same, then. The humans continue to multiply and drive us to extinction while the gods champion their cause.” He braced his hands against the table. Several of his fingers were wrapped in dirty bandages, I noticed. Another tattered strip of cloth covered his right forearm.

It was not surprising; he was always nicking or burning or otherwise maiming his skin during all his experiments with weapons. This, combined with my talent for healing, had given us plenty of opportunities to bond over the years. And perhaps I had exchanged my healing prowess for more fiery ambitions, but I still had to fight the urge to scold him for not keeping his bandages cleaner.

“Have you already forgotten what it was like to live in this realm?” he asked. “To be beaten down a little more each day? To be fallen and cursed?”

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