“I want to believe you,” Hal said, his voice wavering.
“Then do. You’re still family. You’re the closest thing to a son I’ll ever have.” Eywin opened his arms.
I stood frozen. Somehow I’d ended up in the middle of a moment that should have just been between them.
Hal stepped forward and hugged Eywin.
I sighed with relief, ignoring the familiar prickle of envy that always came from seeing the closeness of other families. Not having my own never ceased to sting.
Eywin looked at me over Hal’s shoulder, favoring me with a gentle smile. “Now, please let me properly speak to this lovely person you’ve brought with you,” he said.
Hal stepped back and swiped at his eyes, pulling himself back together.
“Asra’s an herbalist, like you, and a demigod, like me,” Hal said.
Eywin broke into a grin. “It’s always a pleasure to meet someone interested in the herbal arts.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, grateful that he seemed less interested in my parentage than my skills.
“We came because we urgently need an audience with the king. Nismae is planning to come for him,” Hal said.
“We’re here to warn him what he’s up against,” I added.
Eywin sighed heavily. “I trained Nismae myself, at least in the preparation of herbs and enchantments. There’s nothing she can pull that I won’t expect.”
I decided to cut to the chase. “Have you ever seen a dragon?”
Ewin looked at me more intently. “Not since I was a little boy.”
“That’s what’s coming for you. A dragon with no allegiance to the gods—a dragon who wants to take the throne,” I said. “Ina destroyed an entire bandit caravan in the space of fifteen minutes. It was as easy for her as breathing.” My stomach heaved as the memories came roaring back. We weren’t safe yet. We might never be—not until I found the Fatestone and made things right.
A flicker of uncertainty passed over Eywin’s face. “I heard about that.”
“I saw it happen,” I said, swallowing bile as the memories came back.
Trees sending tongues of flame into the sky.
Ina’s wings, shimmering silver in the flickering light.
Snow, red with blood.
“There were no survivors,” I said. “But we know what Nismae and Ina are planning. We can help the king prepare.”
“Then you certainly do need to speak to him,” Eywin said. “I’ll see that it is arranged.”
Eywin scheduled a meeting with the king for the following day and saw that accommodations would be prepared for us in the castle for the night. He and Hal made plans to catch up over supper, which I declined, and then a page arrived to escort us to our rooms.
Hal and I followed the page in silence, as my worries ate one another, each larger than the last. Hal had been reunited with his uncle, we had obtained an audience with the king, but so many unknowns still hung over us. We didn’t know exactly when Ina and Nismae would arrive in Corovja. I didn’t know if the king would heed my warnings about them. And I still didn’t know how to find Atheon. Worst of all, I had begun to worry that the Fatestone might not be able to solve the ever-deepening web of problems I felt trapped in the center of.
“Your room, my lady.” The page stopped in front of a door.
I paused at the door, casting a glance at Hal.
“I will escort you to your room at the far end of the hall, sir,” the page said, turning to continue down the corridor.
“I’m sure I can find it myself,” Hal said. “Thank you for your help.”
The page bowed and hurried off to his next errand.
“Asra, can we talk for a minute?” Hal asked.
I nodded and pushed the door open.
Hal followed me into my small room, which was simply but thoroughly furnished. I collapsed into a chair, no longer sure how I was going to make it through the rest of the day.
“Do you think we can trust my uncle?” Hal asked.
I looked up, startled. “You’d know better than I.”
“Apparently not,” he said, frowning. “I wish I understood why Nismae lied to me. It’s so unlike her. She keeps secrets, yes, but she doesn’t usually lie.”
“She thought she was protecting you,” I said. But I knew how he felt, what it was like to find out someone close to you had withheld the truth, only for it to end up shaping your life forever. If not for Nismae, he might have stayed in Corovja, his life entirely different, and in the end, she too had asked for his blood. “It would be nice if people were always honest.”
“That’s the gods-damned truth,” Hal agreed.
“If the gods had told me where I came from, I would have known how dangerous my gift could be. I might have known how to protect myself and my people. I could have stopped the bandits from killing everyone.” The gods still could have dumped me on the mountain and left me in Miriel’s care, but they could have also told me the truth. My hands trembled as guilt for all the destruction I’d caused rose up to drown me again. I could still smell the burned flesh of the people I’d meant to care for. I could still see the smoldering embers of Amalska when I closed my eyes.
“Asra,” Hal said. “Stop. I wish you knew more about your history, too. But you can’t change the past.”
My heart froze. The look in his eyes was so open and earnest. He believed in my goodness. And while he seemed to be more the sort to offer a helping hand when it was convenient and then be on his way, I knew it wasn’t like that with us. For some time now, he’d been offering me somewhere to fall. Somewhere to be safe. But I couldn’t be. Not with the fate-twisting blood that ran in my veins.
“But that’s the thing,” I whispered. “I can.”
“What?” He looked at me in confusion.
“That amulet your sister and the king have been seeking—the Fatestone—gives a bloodscribe the ability to use their gifts without cost, by preserving life instead of draining it away.” I took a deep breath. “Because the Fatestone offsets the cost of my power, it will also give me the ability to rewrite the past. I can undo the mess I’ve created from the very beginning.”
Hal stared at me in shock. “That’s why you want the Fatestone . . . not to be able to safely shape the future, but so you can rewrite the past.”
I nodded. “I have to. I could stop all of this before it starts. I can save the king without a battle ever having to take place. Nothing else will stop Ina now. With Nismae behind her, what other choice do I have?” I begged him to understand.
“But . . . if you rewrite the history of it all, I never would have found you,” he said, his voice soft.
“But the kingdom . . .” My voice trailed off.
The sorrow in his expression gutted me—the way he couldn’t quite meet my eyes. We had known each other only a few short moons, and yet I was important enough to him that he didn’t want things to change. He didn’t want to let go.
The knowledge cut like a knife. I so desperately wanted to be able to give him what he wanted. Sometimes all I could think about was how it might feel to put my arms around him, to bury my face in his neck, to find out what his lips tasted like. But I couldn’t have that. Not when death seemed as tied to my gift as my own shadow was to my body.
I stood up and crossed the room to him.
“I wouldn’t like that part either, but would it be so bad? All I’ve managed to do is get you into trouble. First we get detained by guardsmen, then nearly killed by Tamers, and you had to betray your own sister all because of me. Now you’re back in Corovja, when you never wanted to be.” I had to get him to understand that changing the past was for the best.
“Betraying Nismae was a choice I made. Don’t you understand? I chose you.” He met my gaze then and took my hand, his expression fierce.
“Hal . . .” I liked the warmth of his hand in mine. I didn’t quite understand why he was so upset, or how choosing me now meant we shouldn’t do what we could to save the kingdom at any cost. Wasn’t that why he’d saved me—because he knew I was the best hope of stopping Ina?