Penn says nothing at all. There is nothing to say. His friend is dead, his city in ruins. And yet, we are still here. Still alive. So he pulls me into his arms and lets me weep against the hollow of his throat. His chin comes down to rest upon the top of my head as he holds me close, his hands gripping me so firmly I can hardly draw breath.
“Carys is asking for you,” he says when I’ve quelled my tears. “She’s at her shop. She’s…not doing very well.”
I jerk my head back to meet his eyes. They are infinitely grave. “Does she know? That I was the one who sent him into the palace?”
“Rhya—”
“She will hate me.” Another wave of tears threatens to overtake me. “And I cannot blame her for it. It’s my fault.”
“It is not your fault.”
“I’m responsible. I practically killed him myself.”
“You did not kill Uther.” He shakes me lightly. “You saved countless lives during the battle. You saved us all, Rhya. Without you, we would be naught but pulp in the giants’ hands. Carys knows that. Everyone knows it. One day, they will write songs of this battle, and sing of the wind weaver who cast a light in the darkest of moments.”
My lips twist. I am not entirely sure I like the sound of that. Glancing around, I trace the lines of wreckage. It will take a long time to rebuild the fractured buildings and splintered homes. It will take even longer to heal the scars of all we have lost.
“Efnysien was already hesitant to enter the city when he heard Soren had joined the fight. But he turned tail and fled as soon as he saw your lightning,” Penn tells me. “He realized, without the Reavers or the ice giants, he had little chance of taking the city. His army was already fleeing south by the time the Llyrian troops arrived. Soren is chasing them from our borders as we speak. He wants nothing more than to tear his brother-in-law limb from limb.”
“He’s not alone in that regard.”
“We will have our chance at retribution, Rhya.”
“You don’t think Soren will catch him, then?”
Penn shakes his head. “Efnysien is a coward above all. He values his own life much more highly than those of his men or his allies in battle. He fears our maegic almost as much as he covets it. So, for now, he will flee back to his dark kingdom of sand and shadow to reevaluate his plan of attack.”
I swallow hard. “He will come back.”
“He will come back,” Penn agrees. His tone hardens into a vow. “And if he does not, it matters little. For I will hunt him down and eradicate him from this earth, even if it is the last thing I do. He will pay—in blood—for all that he has taken from us.”
I shiver at the ferocity of his words. There is no doubting the truth in them. Efnysien has started a war. One we will finish.
For Keda.
For Uther.
For the hundreds lost.
For the futures stolen.
“Will Vanora sanction a war?”
Penn stills. “Vanora is dead, along with half the courtiers in the throne room. Crushed when the towers came down. The Ember Guild is still working to dig out any survivors.”
“Gods.”
He nods.
“Penn, I’m sorry.” The words feel woefully inadequate in the wake of such sweeping loss. “I know your relationship was…complicated. But she was still your family.”
“Vanora has never been my family. Not really.” He looks at me again. His eyes burn like embers, smoldering even beneath the crushing sadness that presses down on us. “The only family I care for is the one of my own choosing. My horse. My men.” He pauses. “You.”
My heart flips inside my chest. I want very much to stretch up onto my tiptoes and press my mouth to his, but a thought occurs to me before I can act on the urge.
“Wait a minute—you’re the king!”
“I suppose.”