Chapter 61
Chapter
Sixty-One
EVIE
T he thrill of birds jolted me back to awareness.
I opened my eyes, only to be met with the expanse of Zandyr’s chest. He was smiling down at me, arms still coiled tightly around my waist.
“You’re alive,” I breathed out and cupped his cheeks again.
I froze.
My palms were still glowing.
My gaze rushed around us. We weren’t in his room, but on top of a grassy hill, two lone figures standing in the sun. A perfectly serene, perfectly distracting place.
“Not quite,” he said, that gravel voice of his sending tingles down my spine. “There’s only a fragment of me still attached to the living world. Because of you.”
The same warmth I’d felt back in reality spread through me. The sensation was tender and pure and loving, and I wanted all of it.
“Then follow me right back to reality,” I said.
He frowned. “I don’t think I can.”
Terror gripped me tighter than I held onto his shoulders. “You can and you will.”
“You could stay here with me.” He covered my palms, bringing them to the center of his chorded chest. “Forget about assassinations and wars and betrayal. Just the two of us.”
I licked my lips. “The two of us, yes, but back in the real world. With the good and the bad. We can’t live in an illusion.”
“My dear Evie.” One of his large palms cradled my cheek, thumb caressing my lips. “You might have to learn to live without me.”
“No,” I said, not leaving any room for argument. “I’ve found you. You’re here. I’m not letting you go again.”
“Stubborn until the last moment,” he said endearingly.
“Yes,” I said with that Vegheara pride of mine. “Now come on.”
Where and how, I didn’t know. But the idea of Zandyr and I living forever in this meadow, just the two of us, was starting to sound too enticing.
“The gods have other plans, menace. I can feel myself slipping. I’ve lived through too much to beg for more.”
“Then live for me!” I didn’t care if I was selfish. He had to survive. “Do you want to die?”
“No.” He frowned once more, confused. He was right–the real him wasn’t here, not really. Only a shred of Zandyr had lingered, his humanity fading. “I’ve fought for life too many times to count.”
“Then why won’t you come? Help me understand,” I said desperately.
The meadow around us morphed, turning into a whirlwind of colors. The sky melted into a wooden, embossed ceiling, trimmed with gold. The grass rose, bending into furniture, and the chirps turned into the creak of old pages.
I no longer stood outside, but in a room filled with maps. On the walls, on the desk, threaded into the soft rug underneath my feet.
“Zandyr?” I called out, hands reaching out, but finding only air. He was right here . “Where are you?”
“Right there,” his formless voice said. “Open your eyes.”
I gritted my teeth. My eyes were fully–
A little boy took shape just as the colors settled. He jumped excitedly in front of the largest map on the wall, dark hair braided tightly in a single line along his back. He wore a small golden uniform that looked adorable.
I stood there, mesmerized. Little Zandyr. He was maybe nine or ten, with a toothy grin that could have melted any heart. He twirled a pen in his hands, his childish curiosity alight as he kept staring at the map of Malhaven.
“And over here–” he said with an endearing lisp, words flowing fast. “--is where pa-pa said the dragons live. He says they’re mean, so I can’t visit. But maybe they want to be our friends, how can we know if we don’t visit?”
I felt his innocent curiosity spreading through me. This was a memory, I realized. With the bond, it was only natural I felt what he had.
“And over here”–he pointed at a snow-covered peak, too high up for him to reach–“is where the gods hung the map of the world. So when the ice melts, it flows down toward us in the Obsidian River. That’s why it’s so big, right?”
A shadow appeared behind me, so sudden I flinched. An old man, with a tutor’s bronze eye-glasses, but the large body of a fighter. He prowled toward the little boy, who was still captivated by the tapestry.
Oh, no. I knew this memory.
No.
No, no, no–
“Isn’t that right, Ser Lynert?” Zandyr turned with that same toothy smile, all happy and hopeful.
In that same moment, the shadow attacked him.
“No!” I shrieked, launching myself at him.
Lynert picked up little Zandyr and slammed him against the wall.
“Don’t!” I reached out for the man’s neck, but my hands went straight through his body. I was fighting a ghost.
“You can’t help,” that same ominous voice said once again. “Nobody did.”
I watched desperately as little Zandyr began to cry, terror in his eyes.
“Please, Ser Lynert,” he begged, little feet flailing. “What did I do?”
Lynert took out a dagger. “You were born.”
“Help!” little Zandyr cried. “Help, someone!”
My heart seized as the child thrashed hopelessly against a man five times his size.
“Nobody will hear you, boy. Die with some dignity,” Lynert said dispassionately. “This won’t hurt.”
I saw the shift in Zandyr’s frightened gaze. The spark of survival.
I sensed his thoughts as clearly as if they were mine.
He didn’t want to die. His pa-pa had shown him some tricks, terrified this exact thing would happen.
As Lynert’s dagger came down against Zandyr’s uniform, pain erupted in my chest. But the golden fabric his mother had insisted he wear didn’t pierce immediately, the metallic threads acting as a shield.
Lynert hadn’t known it wasn’t a normal tunic.
His dagger scraped at little Zandyr’s chest, looking for an opening, slicing his chest. Blood began to soak the fabric right above his heart.
Zandyr took advantage of the man’s surprise. His little fist gripped the pen tighter–then shoved it in Lynert’s eye socket. The man fell back with a roar, letting go of Zandyr, who ran away as fast as his little legs could carry him.
But the shock and pure terror remained.
“Why are you showing me this?” I muttered.
“It’s you,” Zandyr’s voice said. “You wanted to understand, my mind is at your command. And this isn’t the worst of it.”