Chapter 21 #2
Alaryk fastened his gaze on me. He could only protect my secret for so long, couldn’t he? But the crowd was becoming louder and louder, even in the presence of Samryn, all spurred on by each other.
“Can I speak?”
Only belatedly, I realized it was my voice that billowed out across the crowd. Heads turned.
Syris hissed, “What are you doing?”
My heart was in my throat, but all I could feel was Alaryk’s eyes. His arms crossed over his chest, regarding me over the crowd. He shook his head subtly, warning edged in his gaze.
I took in a deep breath, frozen in place when I saw that most had turned to regard me, whispers weaving through the hundreds of people in attendance on the landing field. All of Grymia…looking directly at me. I was on the incline of the hill, so everyone could see me clearly.
What in Kakkari’s name possessed me to speak? I thought, dazed.
“I…I’m sorry about Gethrin’s death,” I found myself saying, my voice rising.
“We all came here to Grymia together, to…to learn from you and to exchange any knowledge we ourselves have. That was always our intention and purpose here. What Ryak did…it’s inexcusable.
I have no idea why he did what he did. I don’t know him well enough to be a judge of his character, but I do know that…
” My eyes flicked to Nevin, whose jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed in a similar expression to Alaryk’s. One tinged in warning.
I swallowed, hard, closing my eyes for a brief moment to center my thoughts. “I do know that I feel equally responsible for Gethrin’s death.”
Confused murmurs erupted.
“Amaia,” came Tarkosh’s quiet voice. “Be careful.”
I opened my eyes. Maybe it was the guilt I’d felt lingering from the night before, or maybe it was being confronted with all of Grymia, with everything I feared.
Alaryk couldn’t keep my secret much longer, but I realized I didn’t want to be afraid anymore.
I’d lived my entire life in fear of others knowing the truth.
I’d tamped down my magic so deep because of it.
And maybe if I hadn’t been so afraid…Gethrin would still be alive.
And so it felt like my own punishment—while also being in control of my own freedom—when I said, “I possess heartstone magic. I have the ability to heal. I could’ve saved Gethrin’s life. But I was too afraid to do it.”
Gasps and a cacophony of voices erupted through the crowd at my declaration.
I heard Tarkosh’s deep sigh.
When I met Alaryk’s gaze, it was assessing. His lips pressed, and even from this distance, I could see his jaw ticking from how it was clenched. Myzalla moved to his side and was speaking to him, her brows drawn. When I looked to Nevin, I saw that he, too, looked thunderous.
Tarkosh put her hand on my shoulder. I realized I was trembling.
“What do you mean you could’ve saved his life?” came a voice near me. Moak. His expression was confused, troubled, even.
“I—I could have healed him,” I confessed, “when he was still alive.”
The crowd was surging forward, but then the earth rumbled again, Samryn stomping his limbs to try to bring order.
When I peered over at the Elthika, I felt a tinge of fear when I saw red smoke billowing from his jaws.
Ethrall, I knew the Karag called it. Poisonous fog that could kill with long exposure.
Once Dakkar had seen its likeness, and it’d killed an entire race called the Ghertun in the Dead Mountain.
Only some of the Vyrin possessed such a lethal ability, which was why they were so revered. And feared.
The mere sight of the ethrall quieted the crowd.
“Enough,” Alaryk said, but the word was directed at Samryn. “Faryn.”
The command seemed to be enough, and Samryn banished the ethrall, the red curls disappearing instantly.
“What does she speak of?” came Saran’s voice when no one else spoke in the wake of Samryn’s interference. “She could’ve saved my son?”
The question was directed at Alaryk and Alaryk alone.
He said something to Myzalla, and she inclined her head, beginning to cut through the crowd. Toward me.
“It’s true,” Alaryk announced. “Amaia of Rath Savenal possesses a rare heartstone magic. A powerful one, which will not only help our people but our Elthika too.”
“And yet my son is dead,” came Saran’s wooden tone. And it cut me deeply. I heard the depth of her grief in the brittleness of her voice.
“If you want someone to blame,” Alaryk told her, “then blame me. I told her not to use her power here, in fear that it would put her in danger. She was waiting for my order to act, and as you know, I was not here to give it.”
“She’s your weapon, Karath. And you wanted to keep it a secret instead of saving one of our own. My son.”
“Make no mistake, Saran,” came a rider’s voice, “one person and one person alone killed Gethrin, and he will get what’s coming to him. But pushing blame onto anyone else, including your own Karath, gets us nowhere. We all respected Gethrin. We all feel his loss. But you’re making it worse.”
“How dare you,” Saran snapped.
Arguments broke out at the front of the crowd, voices rising.
Myzalla was still pushing through the crowd, coming up the slight incline where we were standing. She looked blurry, only for me to realize it was because tears had pushed into my eyes.
“He wants you away from the crowd, Amaia,” she said quietly. “Let’s go.” Her hand took my wrist.
My eyes met Alaryk’s as Myzalla pulled me away. I thought that my admission might make things better, like I’d feel absolved if I confessed my own guilt, if I came clean about what I could do…about what I could’ve done.
But it had only made things worse.
For Alaryk…and for me.