ago, when you used your legacy to order that boy not to die. “
This confirmation that Aron had indeed accidentally used his graal to interfere in Nic’s fate on Harvest rattled Aron so deeply he couldn’t begin to understand the rest of that admonishment. He stared straight ahead, openmouthed, as Iko let him go. When he glanced back, Iko was already beginning to shift from blue to golden and furry as the Sabor began to expand in width and height, reassuming the formidable countenance of a gryphon.
In the distance, the creaking of carts and wagons and the shouts of guardsmen receded, but soon enough, the shouting began to grow loud again. The guardsmen were coming back, no doubt on foot, and no doubt running.
On wobbly legs, hardly able to get a full breath or think through the endless rushing of his own thoughts, Aron approached the trees. Almost immediately, he saw a woman in bloody gray robes propped against a dantha, her head drooping to one side.
Snakekiller.
Though Aron had seen her only once in a vision, he knew her, recognized the feel of her energy, as familiar to him as that of Stormbreaker. Her chest rose and fell, shallow yet even, but her color was that of days-old milk, off-white and fading.
A few paces from where she rested lay a thin blond boy with clawlike hands. From the odd angle of his body, Aron could see that the boy’s spine was misshapen, curved in several places, and one of his legs seemed to turn inward. His breathing was deeper than Snakekiller’s, but his essence seemed somehow more distant.
The sounds of approaching soldiers grew louder.
Aron rushed to Nic and tried to lift him, but found him much heavier than he expected. He would never be able to carry them both at the same time. With a creeping, crushing sense of dread, Aron realized he wouldn’t be able to get Nic and Snakekiller back to Iko and secure them to the Sabor’s back before the soldiers returned.
And his swords—he had left them lying on the grass of Dyn Cobb’s field. When the soldiers returned, he wouldn’t be able to fight them.
Panic flared like fire in his chest, and it took him only moments to make his next choice, though he knew at every level of his being it was the most fateful decision of all. Forcing his own breathing into a steady pattern, he moved his awareness through the Veil with a bleak determination he had never felt before in his life. It took no time for him to locate the red energy streaming off Nic, and the more muted greens and reds of Snakekiller’s mingled legacy. Working part on intuition and distant memory and part on the training he had received from Dari, Aron let his own graal mix with theirs, lending them some of his physical and mental strength.
He sucked in a breath.
The truth of Nic, the reality of him, what he was and who he was, hit Aron in the gut. The rightful heir to the throne of all of Eyrie, and the key to finishing this terrible war.
Aron caught his breath by sheer force of determination, for now there could be no doubt what he must do.
This was it.
This was the moment he had been chosen for—or one of them.
I’m sorry, he said to Nic and Snakekiller, fairly certain they would never remember his apology. What they would remember and respond to, against their wills and against even the demands of their own bodies, was the command he challenged the rest of his energy and awareness into forming.
Wake.
As he spoke the word in his mind, Aron let go of any attempt to control the color and force of his graal. He had no doubt that people as far away as Triune and even Eidolon heard his command if they were on the other side of the Veil, but he hoped it would not touch anyone he didn’t intend.
The effects on Nic and Snakekiller were immediate—and terrible.
As Aron came back through the Veil, Tiamat Snakekiller’s eyes flew open. She let out a scream of agony that threatened to curdle Aron’s essence. Nic moaned and thrashed as Aron made himself stride forward, tears flowing.
To Snakekiller, he said, “Soldiers are coming.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending.
Nearby, Nic was wide-eyed, sweating and panting, and Aron almost folded in on himself as he remembered his long-ago oath.
I’ll meet you, he had promised, at Nic’s insistence.
He had given his vow to meet Nic, to be