The world had been simple then. I didn’t need aMating Journey.I needed her.
But she died in the eruption that ended The Great War, just like the others. And she took part of me with her.
As I stand here, staring at her name, I know that something else is missing. And something new keeps trying to force its way in.
My eyes burn. I take a fortifying breath, pressing my hand beside her name.
“I wish you peace, my love.”
Pain stabs through my chest with every breath. I wait, listening to the rhythm of my heartbeat as unshed tears blur my vision. Finally, I let go. Step back.
A cold numbness starts in my chest, spreading along my arms.
Lifting the crystal, I press it higher against the wall, lighting a new line of names—ones that belong to those with no family left to mourn them. It feels like painting, bringing color back to something lifeless. I move methodically, frantically, not allowing myself to picture their faces. That would bring too much emotion for me to hold.
By the time I turn away, more than half the tunnel is lit.
I wonder if Arlet has ever come here. Had she seen Adra’s name? I don’t think she knows about her, and I have never been in the position to discuss it. It might be nice if she knew. Perhaps she would understand something inside of me.
But it is foolishness to consider this.
“Till tomorrow, my sweet Adra,” I murmur. “Forgive my straying. I am a lonely old monster.”
I brush past the names left unlit, knowing I will tend to them another day.
A scream pierces the air.
I stop near the entrance where the tunnels reach the open caverns. Blue and red crystal walls sing the dreadful sound back to me, momentarily quieting the hum of the city. Light blazes in the middle of the night. My head snaps up, searching for the source.
Another scream splits the silence.
Feminine. Bright. Agonized. Familiar.
Fuck.
My feet move before my mind catches up. A siren calls to me, and I have no choice but to answer. A group of humans have gathered near one of the bridges leading to the exit. I push through, scanning the space when I see her.
Arlet is curled into a ball on the floor, barefoot and sobbing.
A sharp panic grips my throat. She looks wrong. Rocking, pale against the dirty black stone. Too small. Too fragile.
This is my second time seeing her cry in two days.
"Out of my way!" I bark, dropping to my knees beside her. Grabbing her shoulder, I shake slightly. “Firelocks.”
From this close, I can feel how cold she is. Sweat slicks her skin, making her look sickly. The delicate paleness of her face is almost translucent in the dim light and the freckles along her cheeks are stark against the blue veins near her temples.
She looks like she was carved from marble.
I place a hand over her brows, my palm nearly swallowing her head.
"Firelocks, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?" My voice is sharp. Was she attacked? Or was it thatmanthat went to her house?
She thrashes against my hand and lets out another scream.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. “Get the Queen! Get Ulla!”
I draw her against me, my arms locking around her small frame. She shouldn’t be left out here, suffering, while people gawk at her.