But so little of it had anything to do with her. It was never frightening to love Nessanyn. It was a survival mechanism.
Loving Oraya was terrifying.
It required me to see things I didn’t want to see. Face things I didn’t want to face. Allow another soul to witness parts of myself I didn’t even want to acknowledge.
I now felt like such a fucking fool that I had never thought of it in that way, with that word, until this moment.
Of course it was love.
What else could it be, for someone to see that much of you? To see so much beauty in the parts of someone that they hate in themselves?
I almost wished I hadn’t had the realization, because it made what loomed ahead that much more devastating. Easier to have nothing to lose.
I’d gotten us all into this mess. If I had to die to end it, so be it. But Oraya dying for my mistakes—
That would be a tragedy. The world would never recover.
I, I knew in this moment, would never recover.
But right now, she was safe. We had a few precious hours until everything changed, for good or for bad. I wouldn’t waste a single one of them on sleep.
I spent them counting the freckles on her cheeks, memorizing the pattern of her breaths, watching the flutter of her eyelashes.
And when the sun went down, and Oraya stirred and blinked blearily at me with those moon-bright eyes and asked, “Sleep well?”
I just kissed her forehead and said, “Perfect.”
And I didn’t have a single regret.
65
ORAYA
People don’t really talk about how the days that make history, the days that change the course of entire civilizations, start in such mundane ways. Raihn and I got up and put on our leathers like it was any other night. We choked down a few bites of food, though my stomach was so nervous I could barely keep it down. We did a quick pass over our weapons. We broke down our tent.
All of it rote, unremarkable routine. We wasted no time. The sky was still stained purple with the remains of sunset. By the time it would turn pink with dawn, everything would be different.
Raihn and I didn’t talk. After yesterday, I didn’t have anything to say, or at least I told myself I didn’t, when the reality was just that I didn’t know how.
The map on my hand was now closer, the scale shifting and detail increasing as we ventured closer to our destination. We had only a short flight to the star, now at the center of the back of my hand, situated in the center of little illustrations of rocks and mountains that shifted with the angle of my hand when I tilted it.
We left the tent behind. No matter what happened, by dawn, we wouldn’t need it anymore.
We rose into the sky, the remnants of it disappearing below us. It was a mostly clear night, the sky before us bright with velvet darkness and silver stars, some thickening clouds lingering to the west, obscuring the distant skyline of Sivrinaj.
We flew for several hours, the deserts beneath us morphing gradually into rocky foothills. The distant silhouette of Sivrinaj grew closer, though still little more than smears of light through the clusters of clouds. I hated how much those clouds obscured our visibility.
“Look,” Raihn murmured, swooping close to me as we approached our target. He pointed out to the north, where some of the clouds had begun to part.
The smile broke out over my face before I could stop it—a big, stupid grin.
Because there in the sky was an unmistakable sight—a distant morass of wings, both featherless and feathered, blotting out the stars. They were far away, but if I squinted, I could make out the figures at their head: Jesmine, Vale, and Ketura, Mische in her arms.
And then, far below them, to the west, was another welcome sight: a wave of troops cresting the hills on foot, dressed in mismatched, makeshift armor and wielding scavenged weaponry, but bearing it all with their heads held high.
The humans.
We had a damned army. An unlikely, cobbled-together one, yes. But an army, nonetheless.