Chapter 39
Callan
As the sun rises, light spills over the horizon line, painting the sky red.
Tomorrow’s sunrise will look different. Feel different. My coven won’t be asleep behind me, and I won’t be sitting here alone. If all goes to plan, I’ll have Cin back, we’ll bring our people home, and I’ll watch tomorrow’s sunrise with my father.
My father.
It’s almost too good to be true.
“Cal.” I turn at Hunter’s voice. He’s wearing all his armor, blonde hair hastily brushed back, and his eyes are half-closed from sleep. “You sure you don’t want to come?”
I glance to Easton, who has just finished pulling his hair back and is now swinging his bag over his shoulder, cautiously crossing the dwindling fire to where Hunter and I stand.
I’d asked them to go and make sure Pirn was ready for all the Sol we’re sending through tomorrow. It’s mostly the Menders that will need the warning.
These people…I have no idea what kind of shape they’ll be in. If their condition is at all similar to Iris’s, then everyone needs to be prepared for what we're about to send through the Banyan. Well, as prepared as we can be.
I nod in assurance, looking back at Hunter. “I need to stay here, but the two of you need to be back before midnight.” And not a second later. The last thing I need is Lucina to be ready and us to be lagging.
Hunter’s head tilts. “Midnight? I thought you said by morning?”
“What? No,” I snap, temper fraying. “I told you that—”
“He’s kidding.” Easton clasps a hand over my shoulder. “You said midnight about a hundred times, boss.”
“We heard you,” Hunter adds. “And we’ll be there.”
I glare back at him, relieved but still a bit wound up. A lot is riding on this. It’s the closest we’ve been to what we’ve worked years for. I won’t apologize for a shortened temper or a strict run of things. I can’t even believe he’d joke about any of this at all.
“You should really get some sleep, Cal.” Easton advises through a yawn, his expression hardening into something serious as he looks me over. “You’re going to need it.”
Rolling my shoulders back, I nod. “Your concern has been duly noted.”
Easton scoffs. “And ignored?”
“And ignored.”
Hunter rolls his eyes.
They act as if I sleep soundly on a regular basis. I don’t. I can’t remember the last time I did. On a good night, I manage a few hours, but being out here…while Lucina is in there? Combined with the pressure we’re under?
Forget it. I’ve hardly even tried.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure them, nodding in the direction they should already be walking in. “You two should get going.”
Easton glances to Hunter, who gives a mock salute before he turns to leave. Easton lingers, eyeing me for a second longer, but whatever opinion he’s tempted to share, he holds on to it.
“Be safe,” he tells me, then leaves to trail Hunter.
I watch the two of them go, their forms getting smaller and smaller as they move towards the barren plains of Griseo.
Tilting my head to the side, I crack out the stiffness in my spine and make my way to the fire pit. I snuffed it when everyone went to bed last night, deciding a fire is too risky. We’re too close now to threaten exposing ourselves for something as trivial as heat.
The nights are colder, the very last of the summer hanging on by a thread, and even the green on the trees around us has begun to fade. I’ve certainly been caught without heat on colder nights—winters in the north are unforgiving.
I shift the few logs that haven’t burned with the toe of my boot, debating using magic to heat a pot of weak coffee.
It will be another long day of waiting, but at least it will be the last. I didn’t anticipate hating this so much—standing around with nothing to do. I consider myself a patient man, but the last three days have certainly tested my tolerance.
It’s the not knowing that’s making me paranoid. When the stars aren’t out, I have no way of communicating with her. No idea what she’s up to. I believe she’s capable of protecting herself, but every time I close my eyes I imagine her being caught and hauled away.
And that’s the best of my nightmares.
The worst of my imagination is Lucina staring blankly at the ceiling, no sign of life in her eyes. Or her body on a white marble floor, a pool of red blood swelling around her. The sound of her screaming, no one being there to help, and me…out here…oblivious to it all.
A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl around to face the sound, a heavy dose of magic bursting through my blood.
“Whoa!” Pax raises both hands. “It’s just me, Cal.”
Exhaling a sharp breath, I lower my defenses, pulling back on the spark of fire zapping up my spine. I turn as he approaches, reaching for the pot of coffee.
I don’t need it. I just need something to do.
“It’s early,” I huff out.
Pax grabs two mugs from the crate. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Tossing a flame to the remaining logs, they instantly catch fire, and Pax adjusts the trammel while I fill the pot, scooping in what’s left of the coffee grounds before hanging the full kettle from its hook.
Flames lick the charred bottom as I move to sit beside Pax. I stare straight into the fire, long enough that those images of her begin to burn through the flames.
“Did you hear from her last night?” Pax asks.
Breaking my narrowed attention, I look over at him.
He looks decently rested, even after his journey to return Kimber. I still can’t believe he’d risk bringing her out here but at least she made it back safe.
“Yeah,” I reply, glancing in the direction of Streatham. “She said she’s ready. Tonight, you and Nix will head to the northern side of the city, Hunter and Easton will wait here to escort the Sol to the Banyan and Devon, and I will be waiting for her signal just outside the city.”
Pax exhales a deep breath. “I hope the Sol can handle the trek back to the Banyan.”
“They’’ll have to,” I reply, tapping the side of the pot to check the temperature.
My only hope is that the rising sun will replenish the Sol enough to give them the strength to make the journey. Hunter and Easton will be there to help in any way they can, and Devon and I will stay back to eliminate any threat that might follow. We’ll buy them as much time as we can.
Deciding it’s ready, I grab his mug and mine. The coffee is a light shade of brown as I pour it into our cups—the best it’s going to get.
Pax looks towards Streatham, mindlessly taking his drink, the steam pluming into the chill air around us. “And what comes after?”
My brows furrow. “After what?”
He gestures to the space around us. “After all of this. The rescue, the ward falling, the Sol safe and sound in Pirn…what comes after that?”
I’ve been far too occupied with the present, and its obstacles, that imagining a future beyond it is almost laughable.
The rescue, the ward falling, the Sol safe and sound in Pirn…We’re relying on at least a dozen miracles to pull it all off.
“I don’t know, Pax,” I snort. “Hopefully some godsdamn peace.”
“With Streatham as it is?” he counters, capturing my attention. His gaze lingers on the shadowed city ahead. “It won’t change once we take our people back. It will still be dark, and it won’t belong to us.”
“It will always belong to us,” I correct him. “But the people matter more than the place does. If we can get them out and take them—”
“Home?”
I suck on my teeth, dropping my gaze to my drink. It’s too much, thinking about the next step. I’m hardly surviving the current mission.
When I lift my head, there’s a glimpse of defeat in his eyes. “Somewhere safe,” I amend. “For now.”
Pax exhales a heavy breath before taking a generous sip of his coffee. “I don’t want any more Solian children being raised in hiding, Cal. They deserve life. A good one. The kind we were promised before everything went to shit.”
I nod. “I want that too.”
He’s quiet after that, and I’m content in the silence. For a moment, I actually find it pleasant. Pax has always had that way about him. The calm, grounded, perfectly balanced energy. After so long being trapped in my own head, it’s refreshing to be surrounded by it.
“I like the plan,” he says after a while. “And I think it will work.” Pax finishes off his coffee and reaches out to pour himself some more. “But I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
I raise a brow. “With?”
Pax sits back with his mug. “There will be no godsdamn peace, Cal.” Dread coils in my stomach when his gaze drifts to the dark cloud over Streatham. “Not for a while.”