Page 229 of Lana Pecherczyk
The baby’s first, shrill cry pierced the air—strong, healthy, alive.
Aeron jerked his head toward the baby as River repositioned it and cradled it against his chest—tiny flailing fists aimed forhis face. Aeron swiped Ada’s hands from his ears and stumbled toward River … toward his newborn as it wailed a second time. He blinked, tilted his head, and then his face crumpled with wonder.
“You heard that?” Trix burst into tears.
At first, Aeron hand-signed something, but then he froze mid-sign and slowly lowered his hands.
“Not like before,” he answered, voice rusty from disuse and off-key. But he didn’t care. He looked at the wriggling, fragile thing in River’s arms, and his eyes glimmered. “It’s muffled, distorted. Only in one ear, but…” He jiggled his finger in his ear. “But I hearsomething.”
Joy flooded River’s soul.
Blake had done it—stubborn, selfless mate. Even sick, almost dying, she’d given them this miracle. It wasn’t perfect, but from the look on its parents’ faces as River deposited the newborn into Aeron’s arms, it was perfectly imperfect.
He spun toward his mate’s bed, words tumbling. “Blake! Look what you—Aeronheard—it’s a girl! You saved?—”
Her chest wasn’t moving.
Blake’s eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling, peaceful, empty, already gone.
Chapter
Seventy-One
The incoming triad message whispered across Ash’s forearm. He continued his descent into the dark tunnel beneath his mother’s spire. Not the bad one, the other one. The one he’d made his friend. Manabee lanterns flickered along the walls. Their buzzing light cast dancing shadows that seemed to mock him.
Back again so soon,they taunted.Hurrah.
He stopped when the message started to itch, belligerent at being ignored. He yanked up the torn sleeve of his ceremonial garb. Letters had formed in the designated space:
Why do it? Why trade yourself for the cryptex?
He stared at the words until his eyes burned. He traced his thumb across the fresh ink, as if he could somehow erase the question or the pain that prompted it.
Cloud.
The name settled on Ash’s chest like a stone, growing heavier with the memory of each choice that led him here. Back to thesetunnels beneath the spire. Back to her domain, where ancient glyphs carved into rock watched his every movement with hollow, knowing eyes.
His clawed finger moved to trace a reply, hesitated, then began:
To save you.
He stopped. Deleted the words with another touch. The response tasted wrong down here, so he tried again:
Had no choice.
Worse. His hand trembled as he erased those words, too.
Sitting here in the belly of his mother’s lair, those justifications became dirt in his mouth.
He slid his hand beneath the feathery ceremonial collar and checked that the thin lump remained beneath the lining.
Why do it? Why trade yourself for the cryptex?
His mother would accept nothing less. He was always destined tobethe price. It was never a matter of if, only when.
Why?
Why now?
