Page 104 of The Eternal Mirror
He looks away and swallows. “I’m scared,” he says.
“Yeah, me too.”
Something flashes in his face. Surprise, maybe.
“Well, that’s fucking honest,” he mutters. “I’m not saying I wanted fireworks and a speech about hope, but something a little more inspirational than ‘yeah, me too’ might have helped.”
I let the words hang there, and just stare past him, at the camp below. I can’t help but think about how little any of this matters if Amber doesn’t come back from whatever dark place she’s hiding in.
But that won’t help Zayne either.
I remember Khendril once telling me that one of the most important things a commander can do is inspire his men to greater things. So, I glance back at Zayne. “Next time, I’ll bring fireworks.”
He huffs something between a laugh and a snort. Doesn’t thank me but walks away a little less hunched.
I descend, boots hitting packed earth with enough weight that people clear a path. Not out of fear—at least, not only that.
I don’t look toward Amber’s tent. Not yet.
First, there’s work.
Thorben finds me by the command table, brushing ash off a corner of the map.
“Three days until the next ration shipment,” he says. “Scouts say no sign of anyone one else in the vicinity. Yet.”
“Yet,” I echo.
A boy runs up—skinny, flushed. One of the runners. “Prince Khaosti—sir—uh, I was told to report this to you.” He’s breathless, holding a folded bit of parchment and a worried frown.
I take the note. Read it. Then glance at him.
“Speak.”
“It’s Niall. He hasn’t come back. He was supposed to check the east perimeter last night. But no one’s seen him.”
“Who was he paired with?”
“No one,” the boy says, eyes wide. “He prefers to work solo.”
I glance at Thorben. He curses under his breath.
I don’t.
I tuck the paper into my pocket. It’s no real loss; Niall was never committed to the fight, and now he’s run. With luck we’ll never see or hear from him again.
I make the rounds. Talk to the command unit. Watch Sheela and Killian—he sits beside her now, always within reach. They’ve found something steady in the rubble.
I envy them.
Then a scream breaks through the usual noises of the camp. Not loud—but sharp. Ragged. At the same moment, the bond tightens around my heart, jagged and painful. I run toward the scream. I move fast, clearing obstacles, sliding between groups. There’s a knot of people forming near the edge of the witches’ tent.
And just outside…Amber crouches on her knees beside Hella. She’s stopped screaming now. But I can feel her grief and her rage through the bond, like it’s ripping her apart..
Hella’s breathing is shallow. Too shallow. Her lips are blue.
Amber is chanting. Low and wild, hands glowing too bright, the earth cracking beneath her knees. Magic pulses—too much of it. Unstable. Grief-slicked.
I don’t step closer. I know better.
