The casting. The Caltothians. Had the soldiers presumed me dead? Had my magic worked? If it hadn't, where were they now? How much time had passed? Biting back a cry of pain in case any were still nearby, I forced myself to sit up and see through the dizzying fog to my surroundings.
Two men and one woman in Caltothian armor were splayed out below a large boulder to my right. I immediately felt sick. The granite behind them was stained red and their bodies were crumbled at odd angles. There was no movement in their chests, the breath stolen from their lungs. Blood covered the grass beneath them.
Three. I had just made my first, second, and third kill. Before I had even obtained my mage's robes. I bent over and vomited into the grass. There was no pride, no justice, just the appalling sense that I had lost my innocence. That I was a monster.
It didn't matter that they would have killed me first. Seeing the three lifeless soldiers – still so young and strong and now stained forever against a rock, never to take another breath– left me with a nausea so fierce I could barely breathe without cowering against the ground in a pale, clammy sweat. I had known I would kill in Combat, but I had always pictured the glory. Now my opponents were here, and they were real, and all I saw was blood.
And then I saw Darren. A strangled cry escaped my lips and I dove forward to the fourth person I had missed at the edge of the rock's base, hidden by one of the men whose armor had initially blocked my view.
I knelt beside the prince, listening desperately for a heartbeat - but I could hear nothing over the hysterical screaming in my head.
You killed him! You killed him, you killed him, you killed him!
I felt frantically for a pulse but it was the same. My hands were quivering too badly to tell. I saw the blood pooling underneath his hair but I refused to acknowledge it.
He'll wake up, you'll see, he's only unconscious! I tried shaking his arms, I tried yelling, I tried pleading with the gods.
But nothing happened.
Slowly, uncontrollable tremors took control of my limbs and I began to tremble uncontrollably. He's dead. I was crying and screaming. My sobs were so loud they drowned out the beating in my heart.
Darren is dead. My ribs were cracking apart, crumbling into a million burning shards. White ice plunged into my chest. Invisible hands were choking my lungs until I could no longer breath.
You made the right decision, Ryiah. Let's just leave it at that. His words brought a flood of memories and my tears turned into a flood. An avalanche of emotion and self-hatred came rushing out and reminding me that the fallen prince was more than a friend, more than the wrong decision I had pretended he was.
I saw Darren the first time I met him. In the mountain overpass as cold garnet eyes met mine in haughty condescension. If someone had told me back then that he would be the one to break my heart, I would have laughed in their face. But now my heart was broken, shattered, crumbling into pieces that would never, ever heal.
In the midst of my tears I saw a stark flash of lightening high above the trees. Andy's warning. They hadn't left, but they would be leaving soon. Could I make it in time? Now, if I ran, would I make it?
But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter one bit because I am not going anywhere. I could never go back to Andy, my faction, my family and friends knowing I was responsible for killing him. My body shook harder and I realized Darren had been wrong – I hadn't been in danger of making the wrong decision, he had: me, the girl who would take his life.
I suddenly couldn't bear to be near him. I was dirty, tainted. The prince deserved better than a sobbing murderer at his feet. I forced myself to wipe away the tears, not caring that I had just smeared blood and dirt across my face in the process. I stood with my back to the prince and scanned the clearing for any sort of winter flower that I might be able to set beside him: I couldn't recreate a funeral pyre, but I could give his body one last thing of beauty before the Shadow God came for his soul.
But then I remembered. We were too far north, still in the months of winter, and there had never been a hint of blossoms anywhere along the trails we had taken. I couldn't even give Darren something beautiful, something to take with him now that he was gone.
My tears became hysterical and my legs gave out. I kneeled in the mud, sobbing. What had I done?
Something brushed my shoulder – but I barely felt it, the rain was drowning out everything as I fell away…
Ryiah.
The rain still had his voice. It hurt how real it sounded, catching the slight lilt to his tone – a hint of music edged in humor and bitterness, a mixture of darkness and light.
I told myself I didn't deserve to hear it.
Ryiah.
This time it was louder and for a moment, for a moment I believed.
"Ryiah." A rough hand gripped my shoulder and jerked me around. And then, suddenly, I was face to face with Darren.
The prince was sitting across from me, cradling the back of his head, the strangest expression on his face.