My voice comes out croaky. “He’s not getting any better.”
A silence.
“No, he isn’t,” Graylin says at length. “At least, not that I can see.”
“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” I ask desperately. Of course I want Marcus to get better. But I also need answers. About the silver trade. About Solarians and my mother and Nate. And Marcus has those answers. He must.
“If there was, I would have done it already.” Graylin’s voice is a mirror of how I feel. Brittle, like the slightest blow could break us entirely.
When I shift in my chair, my spine makes a muffled crack. My muscles ache. I feel old, and that makes me think of the Heiress again. I still need to ask her why my mother’s name appears on Marcus’s list of HOSTS. I think about the magical objects in the Heiress’s room, the rows of gleaming silver things marching over her desk like ants, and the ledger with the tightly scrawled descriptions of the magic each one had. Magic like healing.
I reach into my pocket and my fingertips meet cool, smooth metal. I pull out the silver dish I took from the Heiress’s room and hold it up for Graylin to see. The one with the inlaid gold symbol of two snakes wound around a winged staff. I googled the symbol yesterday—it’s a caduceus, something to do with Asclepius, the ancient Greek god of medicine. Maybe the Fiordens have their own versions of our myths, or maybe our ancient stories have permeated all the realms. Maybe they made their way to us from another world long ago.
But however the symbol of medicine came to be stamped on this hunk of silver, it can only be a good thing, right? The dish looks almost ordinary, except for the faint glow that seems to rise off the metal, visible only now that it’s dark. I still don’t understand how it’s possible for magic to live in such a mundane object. But why not try it? It’s not like things can get much worse.
Graylin looks at it and blinks. He straightens, like he’s coming fully awake. He sees the glow too.
“What is it?”
“Um … Brekken gave it to me a long time ago,” I improvise. “He said it had Fiorden healing magic.” If I can’t protect anyone from real danger, at least I can shield Graylin from this whole tangled mess a little longer. Let him focus on healing my uncle so we can learn the actual truth.
Graylin breathes in sharply when I put the dish in his outstretched hand. He holds it up to the lamplight, turning it this way and that, looking for I don’t know what.
“Well?” I ask.
Graylin’s brow furrows. “I don’t understand this,” he says, half to himself. When he looks back at me, there’s something wary in his gaze. “You said Brekken gave this to you?”
I nod, hoping he doesn’t see the lie on my face. Marcus would, but Graylin’s always let me get away with more. Saliva pools in my mouth but I make myself not swallow.
“The magic is there. I can feel it.”
Graylin turns the dish over and over, and I catch quick slashes of reflection in it—the dim lamplight, Graylin’s brown face, guilt in my own eyes. “But I don’t understand how it was bound here. It feels … alive.”
I shrug, careful to keep my face expressionless. “Who knows. But do you think you can use it?”
“I can, but the question is whether I should.” Graylin lets his hand drop and looks hard at me. “Maddie, Brekken betrayed us. You know that.”
No, he didn’t, I want to say.
Marcus did.
I can’t meet Graylin’s eyes, so I look down at my hands instead, fidgeting against my jeans. “I know. But if there was something wrong with the magic, couldn’t you feel it?”
“Maybe.” His voice frays, agitation creeping in. “But I don’t know where this came from. I don’t know anything anymore. I thought I could heal Marcus myself and look what’s happened—”
His voice cracks, and he falls silent, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. I can’t seem to breathe as I watch him try to collect himself.
There’s a very specific kind of splintering feeling that comes with seeing the people you trust fall short or fall apart. They are the ones who are supposed to take care of you. I’ve felt it twice in a major way, with Mom and with Marcus, and a hundred lesser times, whenever Dad was too tired to see that something was wrong, or my teachers ignored the ugly chants that followed me around the playground. I know it’s not Graylin’s fault; I can’t expect him to stay calm and collected when his husband won’t wake. But I still feel very alone in this moment.
After a long time, Graylin speaks. “I’ll try to use this magic.” He closes his fingers around the dish, his eyes flickering between it and Marcus. “But no promises.”
“Of course.”
Suddenly, a new wave of exhaustion rolls over me, stronger than any of the ones before. If I stay here any longer, I’ll keel over in my chair, and I won’t be any use to Marcus then. Not that I am now, but still. I stand.
“Get some sleep,” Graylin tells me as I head for the door. “It’ll be okay.”
But he doesn’t sound convinced.
I’m walking back to my room when I catch a glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of movement outside the window. Instinctively, I freeze, then inch closer, keeping to the side of the frame so that if whoever—or whatever—is on the lawn decides to look up, they won’t see me.
My heart contracts when I see a familiar small figure skirting the trees, her pale hair shining in the moonlight. Taya. She looks over her shoulder every few seconds, and sticks to the shadow of the trees, like she doesn’t want to be seen. She has some kind of tool or weapon in one hand, but I can’t make it out at this distance.
Hot anger curls suddenly through my insides. She knows the Solarian is on the loose. It’s already attacked her. She saw what happened to Max. So what is she doing? Without wanting to, I imagine her lying in the infirmary, bandaged and unresponsive.
My heart lurches, and before I can think, I’m running down the stairs, through the entrance hall. There are guards at the front door, two of Sal’s guys who look at me with concern, but I wave them off and they let me go. How did Taya get past them? The Byrnisian dagger and Fiorden revolver that I carry now at Graylin’s request bounce awkwardly against my hip.
The grounds are damp from all the Silver Prince’s manufactured storms during the last few days, fog clinging to the ground and shrouding the distant mountains; but the night is clear and the stars shine overhead. I get out onto the lawn just in time to see Taya vanish into the woods. Knowing that the guards are probably watching me, I make myself walk, not run, after her.
Once I’m among the trees, the night noises billow up around me, much louder than on the lawn. Frogs, crickets, owls, wind in the pines. Somewhere far off, there’s a plaintive howl, a howl that might be a dog, a coyote, a wolf even.
I stop just past the tree line, not wanting to go farther in without knowing where Taya is, or to yell and advertise my location to whatever else is lurking in the woods. I stand very still, hold my breath and listen for any noise that doesn’t belong to a night on the mountain.
Then I hear it. A sound that is now burned into my memory forever. The metallic, rhythmic thump and whoosh of a shovel and dirt.