my chin over the edge, watching as the Forgotten Isles disappeared one by one, like candles snuffed by the mist, until finally Lake Paduan was gone from sight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
We flew until the next dawn, then landed in a clearing near the horses. The sky was a tumultuous gray, thick and pregnant with rain. But the young sun threaded through cracks in the clouds, and I basked in its watery light.
I had no idea where we were going, but I didn’t care. As long as I was away from that wretched island, I was content. Not even the sun, whose rim grew darker and redder by the hour, worried me. I would far rather face Emperor Khanujin’s wrath than the creatures of Lapzur.
Edan shifted into his human form, sprawled on the ground. His eyes fluttered open, and he bolted upright. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I lied quickly.
I wasn’t fine. What I had seen on that island still wrenched at my heart—Mama and Finlei and Sendo alive…I hated the demon for twisting my precious memories of them, and for reopening a wound I had struggled so hard to close.
A little voice inside urged me to tell Edan about my encounter with the demon: I could still feel his claws on my neck. Yes, he had touched me. But nothing had happened. I’d defeated him—his terrible howl still rang in my ears, the sight of his charred bones burned into my memory.
“I’m fine,” I repeated. I looked up at Edan and nestled my head in its special nook on his shoulder. I had so many questions for him, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead I said, “You were right. It was the hardest of the three.”
“It’s different for everyone,” he said slowly. “What did you see?”
I rubbed my temple, my fingertips buzzing with heat and my body tingling. Edan would be overly dramatic about it if I told him, so I didn’t. No doubt it was from exhaustion.
“Finlei and Sendo. And my mother. They were still alive, and we were all so happy. Baba was happy too, and he was still sewing. And Keton…he’d never fought in the war.” My voice was choked with emotion, my throat raw and tight. “I didn’t want to leave. I almost forgot…everything.”
Edan wound a stray piece of my hair around his finger and tucked it behind my ear. “Even me?” he asked softly, but with a hint of mischief.
“Even you.”
He touched his forehead to mine. “Then I’ll have to insinuate myself into your life more deeply, Maia Tamarin.”
That made me smile. “I suppose so.”
Edan lifted his head and traced my smile. “There, my fierce tailor is back.”
“No more xitara?”
“I thought you didn’t like it.”
“It grew on me,” I admitted.
Edan’s mouth set into a line; he was about to make a confession. “I didn’t mean it as little lamb, you know. You were always too strong and brave for that.”
“But—”
“In Old A’landan, it does mean little lamb. But in Narat, what I grew up speaking, it means…brightest one.”
“Brightest one,” I whispered. The words sang in my heart. “You called me that, even when we’d just met?”
“I meant it for your tailoring skills then,” Edan teased. “And now for what you are to me.” The playfulness on his face faded. “The whole time on Lapzur, I was afraid I’d never have a chance to tell you. I was afraid I’d lose you.”
I wanted to hug Edan close and tell him he’d never lose me. But a sudden hollowness overcame me as I remembered the demon’s touch.
Unaware, Edan placed a warm hand on my shoulder. “The magic of those islands is strong, but you did well. It was brilliant, using the sunlight to ward off the ghosts. If not for you, we might both still be there.” He stroked my cheek. “And now you have the blood of stars.”
To my relief, Edan didn’t ask to see it. He simply kissed me on the nose, then left to tend the horses. When he wasn’t looking, I took the demon’s vial from my pocket. Its iridescent contents sparkled in my hand, the colors so rich and infinite it was as if I held a handful of diamonds under a rainbow. But when I held the vial by its stopper and did not touch the glass, everything dulled, becoming dark as slate. It could easily be mistaken for a bottle of ink, not a precious liquid capable of granting immense power. Not the blood of stars.