Destined

David heaved against the stone with all his might.

He must not realise; he would never let them leave Laurel like that. Tamani opened his mouth to warn David but his throat closed around his desperate words, blocking off the last rays of hope.

He couldn’t say the words.

Couldn’t say anything.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t see.

Blackness descended around him. He had to get to her — he couldn’t live without her, didn’t know how. Didn’t know how to breathe in and out in a world she wasn’t a part of.

Strong hands slammed him against the wall, the pain of his head hitting the stone bringing back the tiniest modicum of reason. Enough that he was able to blink and clear his vision — to see the face centimetres away from his nose. He didn’t know the faerie — it was just another Mixer — but the pain in his eyes reflected Tamani’s own.

“You have to let her go,” he said. And Tamani knew this faerie had been forced to let someone he loved go too. “This fight isn’t over yet,” the faerie pinning him said. “That rebel faerie’s still out there, and we’re going to need you.”

Klea.

She had taken everything — everything — from him.

She was going to the Winter Palace next. It was the only logical step.

There was no time to wait for the others. He had to go now.

She would kill him this time; he knew that. There would be no Shar to save him.

Maybe he could slow her down. Then she could kill him.

And, Goddess willing, then he would be with Laurel.

He forced himself to nod, to breathe evenly. To stop fighting against this faerie who held him back. He didn’t want to wait for Chelsea to discover Laurel was gone — to see David realise what he’d done. Didn’t think he could stand to share his pain with them.

The faerie in front of him said something — Tamani may as well have been deaf — and Tamani nodded, settling his forehead against the glass wall as if defeated. But his eyes roved the land outside, still just visible in the fading light. The steeply pitched roof of the greenhouse made the red gas slough off to the sides. This left the front door, just under the apex of the ceiling, safe. It wasn’t guarded — who would think to guard it?

Only a crazy fool would want to leave right now.

Tamani edged closer to the door, trying not to draw attention to himself, putting more and more rows of plants between himself and the crowd of Mixers. He was almost there when the one who had spoken to him earlier glanced back. He met Tamani’s eye, but he was too far away. Tamani slipped out the door, the glass frame closing and cutting off the protest.

Then he was running. He felt light, weightless, almost like he could fly as his feet pounded against the mud and grass and he ran for the Academy’s living wall, heedless of any of Klea’s minions who might still be watching.

He was going to kill Klea.

Or Klea was going to kill him.

In that moment, it didn’t matter which.

Laurel’s body ached and she hugged her arms to her chest. She’d barely gotten Mara out before collapsing on the floor in a fit of coughing. Then Chelsea was there, bending over her with concern on her face.

“It’s OK,” Chelsea was saying softly. “You’re all right.”

Several more faeries gathered round her as Laurel drew in a deep breath that filled her chest. “I’m good now,” she said after a couple more coughs. “I’m good.” But she didn’t get up. For a few seconds she needed to just lie there, focusing on breathing in and out. Just for a second.

She heard screaming and shouts from the wall of the Academy, but she clenched her eyes shut and blocked it out. She didn’t want to see them put the cut section of wall back in, or know how many they’d left to die. It was too much to even consider, so she lay with her eyes closed, trying to force her tears back until the commotion died down. Taking one more breath, she braced herself and opened her eyes, letting reality come crashing back.

“Where are David and Tamani?” Laurel said, pushing her sore body up and sweeping her hair out of her face.

“David’s over by the wall,” Chelsea said, pointing. “And I don’t see Tamani right now, but he made it out a couple seconds before you did, I promise,” Chelsea added. She must have seen the panic start to shine in Laurel’s eyes.

“OK,” Laurel said carefully. He’s here — I’ll find him.

At the wall between the dining hall and the greenhouse, they were stuffing thick mud from the planter boxes into the cracks around the cut-out square to seal in the poisonous mist. A couple of faeries had taken off their shirts and were using them to fan the stone, not only to dry the mud, but to dissipate any tendrils of the toxic smoke that might make their way out.

Laurel looked around the garden at the surviving faeries, more than half of them wounded or unconscious and all coated in soot. She should have felt pride that there were probably about a hundred survivors but all she could think about were the hundreds inside. The hundreds dead. Sprouts, professors, classmates, friends. All gone.

Friends.

“Chelsea, where’s Katya?” Laurel’s eyes darted around the garden, looking for the blonde hair and pink shirt that matched hers. “Where is she?” Laurel climbed to her feet, sure if she could just get a better look, she would find her friend.

“I–I haven’t seen her,” Chelsea said.

“Katya!” Laurel yelled, spinning about. “Katya!”

“Laurel.” Hands were on her arms and Yeardley’s voice was in her ear. “She didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

Katya. Dead. Laurel vaguely heard David arrive at her side and felt his hand gentle on her arm. “No.” She whispered the word. Saying it too loud would make it true.

“I’m sorry,” Yeardley said again. “I tried… I tried to get to her to save herself. But you know Katya; she wouldn’t.”

Laurel had managed to hold back until now, but with Katya’s face still so fresh in her mind — her smile, her determination on the balcony — it was too much. She collapsed against Yeardley and let the tears come raining down on his shoulder as he held her.

“She will be sorely missed,” Yeardley murmured in her ear.

Laurel raised her face from Yeardley’s shirt. “I’m going to kill her,” she said, the bitterness in the voice that escaped her mouth not even sounding like her own. A spark of rage ignited within her and Laurel let it smoulder, growing hotter. First Shar, now Katya… for the first time in her life, Laurel realised she genuinely wanted someone to die; wanted it so badly that she would strangle Klea with her bare hands, if necessary—

“Laurel.”

Yeardley’s soft, penetrating voice brought Laurel back to herself. She looked over at the fundamentals instructor.

“Laurel, you are not a warrior.”

That was true. But did it matter? The Academy grounds were practically littered with guns just now — all she had to do was pick one up and shoot Klea in the back. It would be as easy as chasing her down.

“I have seen your work. You’re no destroyer. You’re stronger than that.”

What’s stronger than destruction? Laurel had seen strength. Tamani was practically built of it. Yuki was so strong she had almost killed them all. Klea was even stronger — she’d beaten Shar, who Laurel had imagined undefeatable. Even Chelsea and David had helped repel an invasion of thousands of trolls in one afternoon. So far today, Laurel had done nothing but run away.

“You’re a healer, Laurel, you always have been. And even though you’re angry right now, you don’t have it in you.”

“I could,” Laurel insisted. “I could do it!”

“No, you couldn’t,” Yeardley said calmly. “Not like this. And that’s not a weakness, Laurel. It is its own kind of power — the same power that makes you such a great Mixer, the kind of Mixer Callista could never quite be.