Page 153 of The Princesses of Ruin
I shake my head. “Keep going.”
“Adrik’s okay, Emillia’s a little worse for wear, but serviceable. Lost a leg—crushed by the stone monster. Kazimir is making prosthetics. Lots of people lost something or other. Still haven’t found some people, so we’re presuming they're gone. I can have a list sent up to you if you want.”
He falls quiet, and in the silence is the revelation that hurts the most.
I’mnotthe only one suffering. I’m not the only one who’s lost. Limbs, lives, homes, loves.
And Scarlett would’ve wanted me to help them.
“Zane?” Gareth draws my attention back to him.
“A list is fine. I’ll review it.”
“We’ll need to make modifications to squadrons, send letters to the families, the like…It would be nice if they could see you.”
I nod. “Of course. I’ll hand deliver them.”
“The others too. They’ve been worried about you.”
My throat aches and my windpipe seems to narrow. I clear my throat. “You can tell them I’m fine. Fucked up, but fine.”
“Good,” Gareth says and bobs his head a few times. “Are you, though?”
Of all the people I’d want to spill my guts to, I’d trust Gareth the most. But I also don’t want to burden him with my pain or show him the weakness I can’t overcome.
“I miss her,” I say. “It hurts.”
He nods again, his eyes shiny. “It’d hurt if you were gone. I’d miss you.”
“Well, despite how I felt about it a few days ago, I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
His throat bobs and he nods more furiously, sniffling and dropping his gaze. This damn old man. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and fall into him. He wraps his arms around me with a gruff, barking sob.
“You stupid, idiot boy,” he says, his words muffled by my shoulder.
I pat his back. “I know.”
“Don’t you ever…” He hiccups a sob. “Never again.”
My eyes catch on the glowing teal dagger running the length of my forearm.
“I won’t.”
Chapter fifty-three
Kazimir
Grimaw and Raenkor patrol the skies with me. It’s frigid, but bright sunlight beats down on us. We glide from one end of Fynren to the other, watching for ships, troops on foot, or anything else that might indicate a neighbor trying to take advantage of our current position.
It’s been two months since we ripped a hole in the realm and pulled Ashai into our world. Two months since Scarlett took all that power back to the nine hells with her. Not even Alyse knows if she’s still alive in there somewhere.
Blessedly, since Ashai’s influence in the world has faded, so has Alyse’s extra-realm-sensing powers. She can still hear everyone on Gaien, and while that’s a significant burden, it’s much better than being tapped into every creature that ever was or will be on all planes of existence.
Still, much of her energy is spent on blocking out the world when I’m not near. I don’t blame her for wanting the solitude of the forge—her newest hobby. She’s quite good at it, too. I owe many of my prosthetic designs to her ingenuity with metal.
Above me, Raenkor snorts. He points a claw, and my gaze follows that line to the south end of Fynren. The highway between theBlack Forest and the Underbelly has movement, but it doesn’t look organized. It’s a long, meandering caravan with several large wagons and some smaller ones.
I signal for the dragons to stay aloft as I drop from the patrol. The wind gradually gets warmer until I’m coasting over the muddy snowmelt beyond the gate. By the tracks, it seems a few people have traveled into the city today. I twist my way through the banks and turns of the road until I see the head of the column.
