My throat felt tight. “And you never tried to leave?”
A shadow flickered in her expression. “Some did.”
“And?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. I remembered the way the creatures outside moved, their almost-human limbs, the wrongness in their joints. My stomach went hollow.
“I don’t know what this place is,” I said, “but it feels like another kind of prison.”
“Maybe,” Yira said. “But it’s one where children laugh, where we bury our dead with names, not numbers. Call that a prison if you must. I call it mercy.”
Her words followed me long after I left her at her door.
By the time I reached the broad platform at the village’s center, the noise of the tavern rolled out—laughter, voices raised, the thrum of a drum somewhere inside. The scent of spiced meat and ale hit me.
For a moment, I stood outside, caught between the pull of the past and the weight of the present.
“Commander.”
I turned. A man stood near the entrance, maybe eighteen at most, armor scarred but intact. I knew the insignia. Nyxarra’s crest, though dulled with time.
“I never commanded you,” I said.
He straightened. “No, sir. But you knew my father. Jalen Aross.”
I blinked. Jalen had been one of mine — stubborn, loud, the sort who cursed more kindly than most.
“You’re his son,” I said, the fact tasting strange and sharp.
The man nodded. “He talked about you. Said you carried him out when the wall fell. Said you didn’t give up when everyone else did.”
My fists clenched before I could stop them. “He was a good man. I’m sorry you lost him.”
The soldier’s jaw tightened. “Not before he told me to find you. Said men like you made the fight worth it.” The admission stuck in my chest and knocked my breath from me. “He believed in you.”
I let everyone down. I’d chosen the oath and watched as the world paid the price. Did they not see that? Did they not see the men and women I’d traded for a line of defense, the faces that haunted me when sleep dared to show itself?
The thought burned hotter than the lanterns. For a breath, I wanted to turn and walk away—leave their faith in me as someone else’s mistake.
I stepped inside.
The tavern glowed with firefruit lanterns and warmth. Santiago’s laugh rang over the crowd, his arm slung casually around Lysara as she tried—and failed—to look annoyed. Across the table, Gabriel nursed a goblet of wine, his lavender-tinged cheeks already deepened with more than one serving. He stared into the dark liquid like it might answer him, lifting the cup again before I could catch his eye.
Eyes turned toward me as I entered. Some widened. Some softened. Some whispered my name.
Aurelia wasn’t here and I felt her absence like a pull.
The thrum of a drum carried under the chatter, boots stomping the floorboards in rhythm, laughter spilling bright enough to chase shadows. The smell of roasted meat and spiced ale clung to the air. For a moment, I stood near the threshold, uneasy in the noise after years of guarded quiet.
Santiago spotted me first. His grin was wide and sloppy, his cup raised high.
“Malachi!Finally.” He leaned hard into Lysara, nearly knocking her shoulder. “I told her you’d show.” A scar now sat where the arrow had been removed.
Lysara didn’t even bother to mask the roll of her eyes, though her lips betrayed the faintest smile. She shifted him upright with one hand on his chest, muttering something about keeping his ale from spilling. “If you spill on me again, I’ll stitch your mouth shut instead of your wounds.”
Her words were sharp, but the curve of her mouth betrayed her. Santiago only grinned wider, looking down at her like she was the only thing in this entire place, and throwing his free arm around her as if she hadn’t just threatened him.
I swallowed the knot in my throat and forced myself forward, to the long table where the others sat.