Page 149 of The Last One
Jadon takes over holding the cotton to my cheek as Veril returns to his bag. “First.” He plucks out a pearly vial filled with pink tonic. “Then to stop any infection.” He offers the rum.
I drink the pink stuff and follow it with a glug of rum.
Jadon removes the cotton ball and studies me.
My face numbs. My injured cheek prickles. I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath and slowly release it.
Jadon gathers my cape—it came undone in the chaos.
Philia helps me stand. My mouth tastes metallic, like I’ve been licking dirty spoons. “I really need my amulet. Otherworldly like him demand to see authority—”
“What do you mean ‘authority’?” Philia asks, face paling. “Who are you?”
All this time, I’ve been searching to uncover my identity, and now, here I am, with the answer to that question, not willing to say it. If otherworldly plan to attack me more regularly, then I need to share this truth.
I meet Philia’s gaze. “I’ve recently discovered that I’m not a mage from Peria after all.”
“Then…who are you?” she asks.
I glance at Veril, who gives me a slight nod. “I am Kaivara Megidrail, a defender of Vallendor.”Megidrail—I just remembered my last name, and the speaking of it flowed off my tongue like soft water. I purse my lips, still reluctant, but I charge ahead. “You may know me as the Lady of the Verdant Realm.” I pause, then flick my eyes at Jadon. “Believe it or not.”
Jadon says nothing because he’s already told me what he believes.
“You’re…you’re…” Philia’s face stumbles from confusion to disbelief to clarity. “You’re agoddess?” She squeals, claps her hands. “This makes total sense.”
It does?
“Do I still call you ‘Kai’?” she asks. “Or your ladyship? Or—”
“Just Kai,” I say, remembering that I said the same to Veril nights ago.
“Did you both know this?” Philia asks Veril and Jadon, her face bright.
Jadon offers a curt nod.
“Not the entire time,” Veril says. “I had my suspicions.”
Philia smiles broadly, her spirit so bright, it almost causes me to squint. “Livvy won’t believe this,” she whispers. “We need to get to her before…” Philia’s nostrils flare, and her eyes shine with tears.
Jadon peers in the direction we’re traveling. Finally, he squeezes the bridge of his nose, shakes his head, and exhales. Exhausted, he gathers his sword and says, “Let’s find somewhere safe to camp. I think we could all use food and rest.” He squints at me, his expression pinched and weary. Without another word, he starts up the trail.
I level my shoulders and shuffle beside the Renrian. The look that Jadon gave me… On its face: weariness and confusion. But nothing is that simple with Jadon. Weariness and confusion, yes, but there was something else there. What was it?
“Wait.” I stop walking and stare down at the trail.
Veril turns to me. “Something else?” Then he looks to the dirt. “I don’t see anything.”
I don’t say a word—I won’t be able to talk without crying.
The old man shuffles closer to me, eyes still on the trail. “Remember, Kai. Your vision improved after your confrontation with Tazara. My eyes are that of a two-hundred-year-old Renrian who has traveled without his soft bed and warm—” But then even he sees what I see.
Dead moths.
“Oh dear,” Veril whispers.
I have two options: choose to believe that these dead moths are an omen of what’s to come. Or choose to trust my gut and the certainty that I feel moving in this direction, a certainty that feels like a satiny ribbon that pulses like the stone of my amulet.
This forest around me is dying. There are dead toads over there. There are petrified sparrows over there. The dirt no longer holds the prints of Jadon’s boots. Somewhere in the brush, an angry aburan stalks what’s left of these woods. Death and dying all around—why would moths escape that fate?
