I have been looking for you.
No. They were just dreams.
You knew they weren’t just dreams.
My mouth opened, but I couldn’t speak. I felt as if I was going insane. As if the incredible odds against us weren’t enough. As if we didn’t already have such awful threats looming over us.
And now… this?
“Then I have some bad news for him,” Max said. “Reshaye is gone.”
Ishqa’s eyebrows lurched, even though the rest of his face remained completely still. “Gone?”
“Dead,” I said.
Ishqa frowned. “I do not know if it is possible for such a thing to die,” he said, quietly. “And he will still come for it, even if it’s just for the ashes. He is obsessed. He will never stop looking for it. Not in you.” His eyes slid to Max. “And not in you, either.”
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that box full of hands. My nerves were raw, too close to the surface of my skin.
“And the Zorokovs?” I asked. “What role do they play in this?”
“The…Zorokovs?”
“The Zorokov family. The Threllians. The ones responsible for those— those things. The message they brought us came from them.”
Ishqa stared blankly at me. And then, realization flooded his face. “The king would be willing to craft temporary alliances. I have… left his inner circle. But the last I knew, there was talk of such a thing. Alliance with some humans, to get the numbers he needed to do what he wished. For all his faults… he is not willing to jeopardize Fey lives.” A wrinkle deepened between Ishqa’s brows. “If he has done that, then perhaps things are moving even faster than I feared. And it is greater proof than ever that we must act quickly.”
“I told you it’s gone,” I choked out.
Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t. I was useless.
“I do not believe it is truly gone. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to truly destroy. If you let me try, I could—”
“You could what?” Max said. “Bring that thing back into the world? Everything that you’ve just told us is just another reason to leave it buried.”
Ishqa gave Max a look that veered on pity. “It will not remain buried. It is just a matter of whether we are the ones to use it, or he is.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“We?” Max said. “And what would this ‘we’ do, exactly? Let’s say we agree. Let’s say we let you… let you use your mystical Fey magics to drag Reshaye back to life. Then what?” His gaze slid to me. “Does she become your weapon, in this plan of yours?”
Ishqa was silent, just long enough to give the answer he didn’t voice.
“I take no pleasure in asking you for this,” he said.
Max let out a puff of air through his teeth and shook his head, his body language declaring his rejection before his words did: No. Absolutely fucking not.
And yet, a small part of me that felt the terrible silence in my magic where there had once been such power… and would be willing to do anything to bring that back.
But then, the memory flooded over me. The sensation of that pallid flesh against my fingers. That box of horrific, meaningless death. Those agonized screams.
I felt sick.
I couldn’t do this — couldn’t become a savior for another people when I still could not save my own.
“No. I have done this already. I have already traded myself away for someone else’s war. But where does that leave the people who need me? Do you expect me to abandon them so I can become your weapon, instead?”
Ishqa gave me a sympathetic stare. “This is not someone else’s war. This will be your war, whether you like it or not.”
“Then why are you the one here?” Max demanded. “You’re here to save human civilization out of… what, benevolence?”
Ishqa’s mouth thinned. “Do I need a reason?”
Max looked at him as if that was an insultingly stupid response. And it was. All it told us was that Ishqa didn’t want to give us the real answer, which didn’t do much to inspire trust.
Frustration simmered beneath Ishqa’s pristine features. “I am telling you the truth. This is coming, even if you choose to ignore it. So what will you do, then? Nothing?”
Max’s mouth opened, then closed. He glanced at me, a silent conversation playing out between us.
“We cannot do anything here, right now,” I said. “We need…”
A minute. A minute to think. A minute to consider. Because right now, all of this feels like a twisted dream.
And that was answer enough for Max. He turned to Ishqa, jaw set.
“Send us back. I don’t know where the hell we are, so I can’t.”
Ishqa did not move for a long moment, then approached us, a folded piece of parchment between his fingers. His eyes searched our faces.
“If you want to leave, I will not stop you. But…take this, too.”
There, with the paper, he placed a silver-gold feather.
“Burn that when you have made a decision,” he said, “and I will come to you.”
Max unfolded the parchment, revealing a delicate Stratagram. And Ishqa stood there, still until the very last second, when he lurched forward.
“My son,” he said, his voice rough. “My son is among the Fey that are missing. I feel the same anger my king does, the same desire to burn down this world that has taken him from me. To see your people destroyed for their part in it. But I have seen where that hatred leads. I’m coming to you as an ally and not an avenger.”
He stepped back, and the world was already starting to dissolve as he said, “Think about what I have said. Please.”
Chapter Seventy
Max
Nura threw open the door and just stood there, eyes wide, as if she was looking at a pair of ghosts.
Her jacket wasn’t white anymore. Half of it was soaked through with spatters of crimson, and the rest was covered
