Page 8 of The War of Wings
“We are most certainly not even.” I reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. “I’m your sister, Larka. You could’ve told me.”
Larka opened her mouth to respond, but slammed her mouth shut as she nodded. “Yeah, I could’ve. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
I sighed. “Don’t be. I feel guilty for her death.”
Larka snorted. “Don’t. She’s here with me now,” she quipped with a smile, but the smile contorted. “That’s a bit fucked up to say, yeah?”
“I mean…” I trailed off, still trying to wrap my brain around the fact we were here. “Wait a moment.”
“What?”
“That must mean…”
As if pulled toward me by an invisible force, a figure crested the small hill at the side of the garden. He stood straight as an arrow, strong, steady arms laden with firewood. Each log fell to the ground and rolled down the slope. But it wasn’t tremors that caused them to fall. Not this time. Never again.
“Petra?” he asked, disbelief lining his familiar features.
I shot to my feet, hurtling for the garden gate. “Da!”
???
“You’re still my Da,” I whispered to his smiling face. The only thing I’d told him so far was of Katia and Rhedros, and he hadn’t even flinched at the truth.
“I know, love,” he answered, a familiar grin on his face. “Cannae lie and tell ye I’m surprised. Don’t think I could’ve produced somethin’ so lovely as ye.”
“And what does that say about me?” Larka asked, outraged.
“The mouth on ye Larka is proof enough y’er mine,” he laughed, ruffling her hair. She stuck her tongue out at him as she combed through the strands with her fingers.
The three of us sat at the table on the porch of the house, the breeze sailing pleasantly over my skin. Sitting across from me was a perfectly healthy version of Da. That, I could tell just by looking at him. There was no sign of the tremors that had plagued him his entire life. His voice didn’t shake when he spoke. He was tall, broad, and muscled. My father, the way he should’ve always been.
And so came the recounting of my entire story again. Larka listened just as intently as she had the first time, filling in details she somehow already remembered. I’d finally reached the point where Castemont fell beneath the rubble of the castle, incinerated by drivas.
“Excuse me,what?” Larka spat, her shoulders stiffening. “Did you just saydrivas?” I rubbed at the back of my neck and shrugged apologetically. “Elin!” Larka shrieked, and the woman craned her neck around the doorframe. “Did you forget to tell me about the fucking drivas that flew in at the end of the battle?”
Elin’s eyes widened then blinked slowly. “Drivas? I must’ve kicked the bucket too early,” she joked dryly, but there was a look of wonder in her gaze as she disappeared in the house once again, giving us privacy.
“I guess I forgot that detail,” I said with a shrug.
Da’s palm hit the table, a raucous, hooting laugh rumbling from his chest. “What a thing to forget!”
“A lot has happened recently, okay?” I mumbled, rubbing my hands over my face. Something dug into my gut — a small seed of something unsettling. A restless uneasiness, as if I wasn’t in the right place, as if I didn’t deserve to be here. Like I hadn’t earned this peace. I tried to will it away the way I had the dread, but it was rooted firmly in place. I pressed my hands into my stomach in an attempt to staunch the discomfort that was so at odds with the beauty of our surroundings. My feet began to tap against the wooden deck.
My father’s brows furrowed. “What’s wrong, Petra?”
A shuddering sigh left my nostrils. “I’m not sure. This just feels so final.”
“It’s a wee bit final, aye,” he answered with a smile. “Death is final, but it’s also infinite. This is where we’ll spend eternity. No pain, no strife. Ye can do whatever ye want without thinkin’ once o’ survival.”
I laced my fingers together in an attempt to keep myself from fidgeting. “Is there a way to find out who else died in the battle?”
Larka’s head dropped to one side as she thought. “We may be able to find out if we go to the Gates. That’s where we’resupposedto enter.”
Da raised a brow. “She didn’t come through the Gates?”
“No.” Larka’s finger pointed to the patch of grass, which was now unceremoniously squished in the shape of my body, and the pile of armor next to it. “Sort of just appeared over there.”
Da’s head cocked to the side. “Int’resting.”
