He bites his lip. Without the long leather belt around his waist, the overcoat falls looser, but it still looks good on him. With Lonely Peak as his backdrop, and the cold blue moonlight illuminating his costume and features, he looks like a messy, wounded high elf stepped into the mortal plane. “I…don’t know? If need be, of course. But it’s complicated.”
He stares down at his crutches. They’re pretty torn up and damaged by our slamming them through a window, the crow skulls all torn off and shredded. A long cut runs up the metal on one side, tearing through the outer coat of matte black paint and showing the aluminum underneath. It’s almost like a scar.
“I’m sorry we damaged them,” she says softly.
Finn shrugs. “I did that. It was my suggestion. But to use them as clubs…I don’t know. It’s one thing to use them as a tool, and quite another to use them as weapons, you know? I’m not sure. My crutches are as much a part of me as my arms or my legs are. Besides, I need them. I’d rather you leave them with me, and I’ll do what I can. Okay?”
“Of course.” She hesitates, then holds the bread knife out to him. “Carry this, at least. In case you need to protect yourself.”
Finn slips the knife into a coat pocket.
“It’s okay,” I say. “We’ll have one another’s backs. We’ll all do what we can.”
“We should try to get them as close to the cliff’s edge as possible. I don’t want to give them room to move around or escape. We don’t know—well, we do know—how dangerous they are.” Finn leans hard against his crutches. “If worse comes to worst, I’ll do what I can.”
“If it does, I’d rather they get away than any of us get harmed,” I say.
“They’ll keep coming after us,” Maddy objects.
Finn glances in my direction. “Then we’ll cross that bridge if we get there. We have to be safe, Maddy. All three of us. We can’t forget ourselves. We have to survive.”
She hesitates, then nods. And one step at a time, we walk to the inevitable blocked path. I look over at Maddy every step of the way, to make sure no part of her now dust-covered costume impedes her running. I look over at Finn, who’s grown paler than usual and keeps biting his lip. He still avoids putting weight on his ankle, so I can’t imagine he’s looking forward to climbing, even if everything else wasn’t part of the equation.
And it is.
Before we turn the last corner toward the blocked path, I reach out to both of them. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” Finn says immediately.
Maddy straightens her shoulders. “I’m absolutely sure.”
I’m not. I hate this.
But I will do anything for the two of them.
Damien was wrong. My friends are hurting. It’s my job to protect them. It’s my job to keep them safe.
So I will.
You know how to do this—lay traps, engage villains, win boss battles. You’ve fought against rogue mages before, and you stood tall against everything the magisterium threw at you. You’ve survived traps and alchemy attacks. You are strong. You are determined. And, most of all, you know how to fight for your friends.
It takes different forms, of course. Sometimes protecting your friends means a stealthy dagger and a well-placed arrow. Sometimes it’s dismantling deathly traps with abandon, or bargaining for better chances against the odds. It’s quiet companionship and loud laughter. And sometimes it is challenging words that cut with words that mend.
It’s not giving up. It’s standing together, not alone. It’s facing whatever comes next. Because you believe in a cause, perhaps, but most of all, you believe in one another.
Twenty-Eight
Maddy
T minus a few minutes until our last hurdle, our boss fight. It’s not funny. It’s not a game. But thinking of it in game terms is the only way to avoid being terrified out of my mind. Besides, if someone so clearly wants this to be a game, maybe the only way to win is to play by the same rules—or break them.
But despite our plans, despite our whispered conversations, with every twig that snaps, we all tense. Every time the wind picks up or the caw of birds echoes through the night sky, we huddle closer.
And every time we go over the plan again, I zone out a little more. I keep my eyes steady on the uneven ground in front of us, on the narrow path. The shadows around us move with us. I’d expect to see coyotes again, but the shadows that flank us are all two-legged. Maybe they only exist in my imagination. Maybe one of them is real. I keep waiting for Carter to catch up with us. Maybe we can keep running.
I miss being able to run.
“Maddy?”
I look up. I missed something Ever said, clearly. “Are you with us?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, just…thinking. Distracted.”
There’s that look again. The same look both Finn and Ever have worn over the course of the night. Not distrust, not quite, but something a lot like it. Furrowed brows. Hidden eyes. Their bodies slightly angled away from me. Curiosity. Hesitation. Trepidation.
There’s only so much I can read, and still so much I don’t understand.
“You are sure about this, right?” Ever asks for approximately the fifth time in the last few minutes. Our plan depends on trust, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep up the mask of confidence.
So I finally drop it. “I’ve never been less sure about anything in my life. But yes.”
Unexpectedly, they smile at that. “I know that feeling.”
Huh. It’s the first time they’ve alluded to the secrets they’re keeping. They may hint at them, unknowingly, but they’re usually so good at keeping to the background. “I wish you’d tell me what is wrong.”
They open their mouth and close it again. “I always thought most of it is
