Tension grips my stomach as I stand and allow the cold marble to cool some of my frustration.
If I really am Kyanite and Bloodstone, then the gods have a strange sense of humor. They threaded light and darkness and sparked the resurgence of a magic they cursed.
How foolish of them.
I exhale and lean my forehead against the window. Maybe I’m not meant to understand the gods. Maybe none of us are.
“Sol, there’s something else,” he continues. “I have been sending teams of scouts into the Akarri mountains, searching for a way through them so you can renew.”
“And?” Hope stirs in my chest as I turn around, gripping the windowsill as I await his response.
Torchlight caresses his taut features as he shakes his head. “Avalanches have made them impossible to travel through.”
My hope dissipates like the fog beyond the windowpane. I stare down at my black-tipped fingers, wondering how I’m going to mend them.
The Seer’s voice whispers in my ears.“You must not travel through the mountains.”
Maybe she knows something I don’t.
“Thank you, Hector,” I say, appreciating his endeavor to help me.
He nods. “Of course, and I haven’t given up. I will keep sending teams until I find a way to help you.”
The urge to tell him not to screams through me. Something about the Seer’s caution quiets my tongue. Hector cannot know about her warning for me to find a different way.
What words did she use? Reverse tree?
A hoarse laugh escapes me. There’s no such thing as a reverse tree.
ChapterFifty-Five
Everly fetches me the following morning, and as we are walking along the outskirts of the city, she says. “I want to help you, Sol. Will you let me help?”
Pain stabs me in the chest as I wipe at my cheeks, at the tears that aren’t there. I haven’t allowed them.
“How?”
“I’ll show you.” Determination fortifies her tone as she keeps walking through the streets of Karra.
My thoughts shift to Cenric and how difficult everything must be for him right now. “How is Cenric?”
Everly’s bottom lip trembles before she finds her voice. “He’s not handling Praxis’ death well. He…” She swallows. “He left right after the funeral, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh, Everly.”
“He grieves alone,” she says, her words low, anguished. “And he shuts me out.”
I pull her to a stop beneath the limbs of an evergreen tree. “Can I do anything for you? For him?”
She reaches for my hands and clutches them in hers. “This. Right now. This is what I need. Your friendship. Your compassion. Thank you, Sol.”
My eyes burn as I drop my gaze. Ever since Aniah and Mother died, I have needed a friend like her.
Still, I can’t shake free the truth of why Praxis is dead, and Everly’s husband is grieving.
Everly’s grip tightens. “I know what you’re thinking, Sol, and I want you to stop. It’s not your fault someone was trying to kill you.”
“Yes, but I—”
