Her heart spasmed with sadness, seeing the desperate look in his eyes. “Please!” he begged her, imploring her to abandon him to the madness. To save herself as he could not do.
Tears stung Hettie’s eyes. He had always been so hard, so implacable. But she saw at the end that he had been preparing himself for the moment. That he had truly come to the Scourgelands to die and save her and Annon if he could. He wanted to repay the debt owed to Merinda. Hettie rarely wept. She experienced a surge of forgiveness so powerful that she nearly started sobbing. Through the hard shell of his emotions, she saw him as he truly was and she pitied his loneliness, his solitary life, his determination to sacrifice all to save the world.
Abandoning him was the hardest thing she had experienced. She hurried onto the rocky edge, clambering swiftly to find handholds and footholds. One of the beasts snagged her boot, but she kicked free of it and clawed her way higher, leaving the Weir down below to surround Tyrus on all sides. He was hunched in pain, his arms crooked as they spread out, unleashing flames.
The rocks scratched her fingers as she pulled herself higher, fighting off exhaustion and despair. The smoke from the fires made a haze that was difficult to penetrate. Before long, she lost sight of Tyrus below and the darting shadows that converged on him. A few drops of rain pattered on her head. Thunder boomed right overhead, splitting the air with its deep coughs. She struggled to find footing, maneuvering up a cracked lip that made her muscles ache and wither. There was no Paedrin to catch her if she fell this time. No rope or harness to secure her to the knobs and crags. Painfully, span by span, she climbed toward the crest of the promontory, listening to the barks and snarls below.
A wave of heat and light rushed from below, blinding her. She pressed herself against the rocks, scraping her cheek against a spur of jagged stone. The fire was white-hot in intensity, exploding in a pillar of devastation that scorched the ground all around. The wall of flames was almost as high as she had climbed and it made her reel at the power he had delved into to unleash such an inferno. The light made her shadow against the cliff wall, and she hung her head, drenched with misery as she realized what he had done. He had sacrificed his own mind and his life to save her, a poor Romani girl who had never studied the Paracelsus tomes, had lived a life of thieving and deception since she had been stolen at birth. Of the two of them, she had deserved to die.
The flames roared and spread across the wasted land. But amidst the roar of the flames, she heard Tyrus’s mad laughter ringing out louder still.
Annon’s eyes felt as heavy as stones. He lay crumpled in the clotting mass of dried leaves and sharp twigs. His blood seeped from his body, spilling from the wounds and soaking the ground. His feet tingled with the loss of feeling. His fingertips experienced the same sensation. As a strange memory, he recalled the Rike Lukias speaking clinically of these sensations where Khiara had revived him back in Silvandom. What a curious memory to have in such a moment. He swallowed, experiencing the effort it took to complete. His vision began to swim, but he tried to focus his eyes. Was that music he heard? What strange memory had been unlocked in his mind? He lay prostrate, one arm flung out ahead of him. The burn of the arrow in his shoulder that had pierced him through was fading. The one in his stomach had wrenched when he had collapsed, ripping his skin wide open. He felt numbness now. Water—just a mouthful of water would have been worth a thousand ducats.
He tried to move his neck, to see the gnarled limbs of the great Dryad tree. He could not see Phae but thought he had spied her entering the gap in the trunk. That was good. A part of their quest had been fulfilled. With all the death and suffering he had experienced, he was ready to lay aside his grip on the mortal coils. He had hoped, secretly, that he might catch a glimpse of Mirrowen when Phae entered it. A glimpse was all he desired.
Shion backed up against the great tree, fighting off the soundless guardians robed in brown. Annon could do nothing more to help him. His strength was ebbing, draining from his body. It was close now. He could feel his consciousness wavering.
Paws crushed the twigs near him as the Weir approached. He let out his final breath and shut his eyes. He began counting his last heartbeats.
There was a ringing in his ears that drowned out the sounds and he felt himself slipping away. His final thought was not of his sister. It was not of Tyrus or Reeder or the many people he had encountered.
Neodesha, he thought.
He imagined he heard a whisper—far, far away. Annon.