Page 64 of The Last One
My clothes! My still-muddy clothes that she said she’d wash.
She catches me looking and says, “There was a lot of mud. They probably need to be washed two more times.” She blushes. “Looks like Jadon’s given you another shirt to wear. So, I’ll clean your clothes once we get to Pethorp. But you have them now. Happy?”
“We need to leave now!” Jadon shouts from the pantry door. “Right now.”
Olivia surveys the destroyed sitting room and near-empty pantry. Her eyes glisten with tears, but her posture remains proud, almost regal. “Goodbye, little cottage. Thank you for protecting us.” With that, she and Philia brush past me, disappearing into the night with Jadon.
I take in the cottage as I pull on another pair of borrowed breeches. The room smells sour, like turned stew and animal hides. But the odor isn’t causing the worry gnawing at my stomach.
It’s too many things. That woman. Those sunabi. Their warnings.
But I’m not planning to be captured—by Elyn, by birch-skinned creatures, by whatever it is that now waits for me in that dark night. I might not know much, but I knowthat.
“I need to check on Jamart before I leave Maford.”
“Why?”my three companions ask, scowls on their faces.
“Kai.” Jadon shifts his bag of gear on his shoulder. “We can’t go back. I’m trying to get you out of here.”
“Jamart’s one of the few people here who treated me like a person instead of an outcast,” I say. “I have to say goodbye. Any more questions?”
Silence for a moment—embarrassment for all three—until Jadon says, “Meet us at Gery’s barn. We’ll grab some horses and go from there.” He points at me with concern in his eyes. “Stay in the shadows. Don’t get caught.”
I set off back to the town square. The fire still lights up the night, and the smoke makes the dark sky white. Survivors either try to douse the flames or comb through houses and shops in search of the living. Some wrap bandages around their injuries while others drink wine and water straight from casks and barrels. The white wooden doors of the chapel still stand, that bloody message—GIVE US KAI—bright as the flames around it.
I’m relieved to find Jamart alive. The candlemaker sits on his porch, his head in his hands and tears streaking down his dirty face. The candles in his shop have survived, but now their wicks flicker with flame. The air around him smells of beeswax and lilac.
“This town,” Jamart says, weeping. “What has happened to this town?”
Jamart and I sat back in that garden not long ago, dipping wicks into wax. Not long ago, this Mafordian treated me with respect and kindness. While the straw-basket beehives have survived, no bees dart in and out of those holes. Melting wax and honey pool in the dirt. This place of quiet respite is now destroyed.
“Lady Kai,” Jamart says between sobs when he sees me, “it’s all gone.” He drops his head, and his tears darken the ashen ground.
“But your house and shop,” I say, looking at the still-standing structure behind him. “It hasn’t burned down. Your candles may have melted some, but—”
“Who is around to buy anything?” he says. “I don’t know who’s still alive, but I know plenty are dead.”
“Your daughter?” I ask.
He nods and swipes his eyes. “She’s here. At least I got my girl back.” He meets my eyes. “Thank you for rescuing her, but now…”
I tilt my head. “Now, what?”
He swipes at his mouth. “Every time they look at her, they’ll see Narder dead, all because she was spared.” He tries to smile. “Guess that’s why they say be careful what you pray for.”
I step away from him, disappointed that he’s disappointed.
“I am grateful for your blessing,” he says. “I am.” His glazed eyes take in the destruction, and he whispers, “I am.” He keeps his gaze on the town.
A breeze whispers across my cheeks. “I need to go,” I say, dropping to my knees to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss but I’m happy that you lived. Would you rather have what so many are dealing with right now? No home? No family? Sickness?”
He bites his lips, his eyebrows crumple, and he whispers, “I don’t know.” He pauses, then says, “I don’t know what to believe. Who to believe in. I thought you…you…” His gaze dips, and he wrings his hands. “But I think, I think I believe the white-haired one.”
I stare at him—for ages, it seems. The muscles around my face feel like they’re all twitching, and I touch my cheek as a comfort. I will no longer find any here. I step away from Jamart, back, back, back until he’s lost in the smoke and I can no longer see him. Grief swells in my throat, and it cinches the sobs threatening to overwhelm me.
Holding my breath, I hurry back toward Gery’s barn. Just as I reach the edge of town, where the woods border the road to the barn, I slow my step, shivering, but not from the chill in the air. Something isn’t right. The reek of decay and rot wafts around me, a worse odor than cow manure and anxious sheep. I take a few steps before stopping again. Thatsmell. It’s drawing closer. Like it’s following me. I whip around.
“Lucky me.” Johny the guard sidles out of the shadows of the trees. He’s been injured in the skirmish, and the wounds on his neck and bared stomach glisten with pus and poison.
