I grin up at my old teacher, patting him on the shoulder. “I doubt you’ll be able to tear yourself out of the Montfort vaults long enough to say hello.”
At his side, Sara raises her head. “I’ll make sure he does,” she says quietly, taking Julian’s arm.
Anabel is not so understanding. She glares at me one last time before scoffing aloud, disgusted by my presence, and walking off at a brisk pace. I don’t blame her. After all, in her eyes, I’m still the reason her grandson denied a dynasty, cast away a crown for something as stupid as the love of a Red girl.
She hates me for that. Even if it isn’t true.
“Anabel Lerolan may not see reason, but she does see logic. You’ve opened a door that can’t be closed,” Julian says quietly, watching the old queen clamber into a waiting transport. “She couldn’t put Cal back on the throne now, even if he wanted it.”
“What about the Rift? The Lakelands? Piedmont?”
Julian cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head. “I think you’ve earned the right to not worry about such things for a while.” He pats my hand kindly. “There’s rioting; there’s movement, Reds crossing our borders by the thousands. Know the stone is truly rolling, my dear.”
For a second, I feel overcome. Equal parts happy and afraid. This can’t last, I think again, knowing the words to be true. Sighing, I let go of them. This isn’t over, but it is for me. For now.
I have to hug Julian one more time. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Again he pushes me back, his eyes shiny. “Yes, well—enough of that. My ego’s already bigger than it should be,” he stammers out. “You’ve wasted enough time with me,” he adds, giving me another push. In the direction of his nephew. “Go on.”
I don’t need any more prodding than that, in spite of the nerves currently wreaking havoc on me. Gulping a little, I pass the rest of the dignitaries from our reforged alliance, smiling as I go. No one stops me, allowing me to approach the former king unimpeded.
Cal feels me coming. “Let’s walk,” he says, already moving. I follow him under one of the wings of our jet, stepping into shadow. Farther down the runway, an engine roars to life, close enough to shield us from anyone who might bother to eavesdrop.
“I’d come with you if I could,” he says suddenly, turning around to watch me with burning eyes of bronze.
“I’m not asking you to do that,” I reply. The words are familiar. We’ve had the same discussion about a dozen times by now. “You have to be here, to pick up the pieces. And there’s work to be done in the west. Ciron, Tiraxes—if we can do something . . .” I trail off, imagining those far-off countries, vast and strange. “It’s better this way, I think.”
“Better?” Cal snaps, and the air warms around him. Gently, I put a hand on his wrist. “You think walking away is better? Why? I’m not a king anymore. I’m not even royal. I’m—”
“Don’t say ‘nothing,’ Cal. You’re not nothing.”
I see accusation in his eyes, his skin hot beneath my fingers. It hurts to look at him, to see the pain I’m causing.
“I’m what you want me to be,” he forces out, his voice a little strangled.
I’m seized by the realization that I don’t know when I’ll see him again. But I can’t look back up. It will just make this more difficult.
“Don’t pretend like you gave all this up because I asked you to. We both know that isn’t what happened.” For your mother, for what is right. For yourself. “And I’m glad for it,” I mutter, still staring at his hand in mine.
He tries to pull me closer, but I stand my ground.
“I need time, Cal. So do you.”
His voice drops so low he could be growling. It makes me shiver. “I decide what I want and need.”
“Then give me the same courtesy.” Without thinking, I look back up sharply, surprising him. Even though I feel anything but strong, I play the part well. “Let me figure out who I am now.”
Not Mareena, not the lightning girl. Not even Mare Barrow. But whoever came out on the other side of all this. He needs space too, whether he can admit it or not. We need to heal. Rebuild. Just like this country, and the rest that might follow.
Worst of all, best of all—we have to do it without each other.
There’s still a gap between us, a rift. Even in death, Maven is good at keeping us apart. Cal will never admit it, but I saw the resentment in his eyes that day. The sorrow and accusation. I killed his brother, and that weighs on him still. I know it weighs on me.
Cal searches my eyes, his own flashing as the sunlight above us turns red. His eyes could be made of flame.
Whatever he’s looking for, a weakness, a crack in my resolve—he doesn’t find it.
One blazing hand trails up my neck, until it stills at the side of my jaw, fingers resting behind my ear. His skin isn’t hot enough to burn, not like Maven’s, which marked me forever. Cal wouldn’t do that, even if I asked him to.
“How long?” he whispers.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, easy to admit. I have no idea how long it will take to feel like myself again, or whoever I am now. But I am only eighteen. I have time.
The next part is far more difficult, and my breath hitches. “I won’t ask you to wait for me.”
When his lips brush mine, the touch is fleeting, a farewell.
For however long it takes.
The Paradise Valley is well named. It stretches for miles, a rolling plain in the bowl of the mountains. The rivers and lakes are pristine and strange, unlike any place I’ve ever seen before. Not to mention the wildlife. No wonder Davidson sent us here for a little peace and quiet. It seems untouched, removed from the rest of the world.
We walk the path at dawn, careful to keep away from the red-hot geyser fields running the length of the clearing. Most of the watery pools are still and flat, but they spiral in a rainbow of colors. Beautiful but deadly, able to cook a person in a matter of seconds. Or so I’ve been told. In the distance, one of them spits boiling water and clouds of steam high into the hazy purple sky. The stars fade one by one. It’s cold, and I pull the heavy wool shawl tighter around my shoulders. Our footsteps echo against the wooden walkway beneath us, built up and over the rust-colored basin floor.
I glance at Gisa sidelong, watching her keep stride. She’s more willowy these days, and her dark red hair hangs in a long braid. The breakfast basket dangles in her hand, swinging idly. She wanted to watch the sun rise over the big spring, and who am I to deny my little sister anything?
“Look at the colors,” she murmurs as we reach our destination. Indeed, the big hot spring looks like something out of a dream. Ringed in red, then yellow, then bright green, and finally the deepest, purest blue, it doesn’t seem real.
We were well warned, and in spite of the urge, neither of us dips a finger in the waters below. I don’t fancy boiling the skin off my bones. Instead Gisa sits down on the walkway, her legs folded beneath herself. She pulls out a tiny notebook and starts to sketch, occasionally scribbling notes.
I wonder what this place might inspire in her.
I’m more inclined to eat, and I fish through the basket, pulling out a pair of still-warm breakfast rolls. Mom made sure we were well provisioned before we set off for the morning.
“Do you miss him?” she says suddenly, not looking up.
The question catches me off guard, especially the vagueness. She could be talking about anybody. “Kilorn is fine. He’s back in Ascendant, and Cameron will be there in a few days.”
Gisa doesn’t mind the thought of someone else with Kilorn. She cares more for the pretty shopgirl back in the city, these days.
“I don’t mean Kilorn,” she says pointedly, annoyed with my dodging.
“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow dramatically.
She doesn’t seem amused.
“Of course I miss him.”
I mean Cal. I mean Shade. I mean Maven, even in the smallest of pieces.
Gisa doesn’t press me further.