A dog was barking.
The noise was muffled. Distant and moving further away; after a few moments, it faded from hearing. Other sounds replaced it. Quiet footsteps. Water creaking through pipes. Shutters rattling in the wind.
A heavy, soft weight rested on top of her. Warmth. It was very important that she did not move. If she stayed perfectly still, nothing would hurt. She would not have to think. She would stay here, in this bed, and the rest of the world would cease to exist.
The only problem was that she was extremely thirsty.
Karys groaned.
“Awake at last?” asked Ferain.
She was not going to open her eyes. If she just kept her eyes closed—
“I hate to bring it up again, but you really are very boring to watch sleep.”
Her lips parted, and she produced a low whisper. “Water.”
“Next to you. Can you manage?”
Karys opened her eyes. Overcast light filtered through white gauze curtains; she lay in a large four-poster amidst mountains of linens and blankets. The bedroom was unfamiliar: the walls a pale peach colour, the floor covered in thick rugs. A second, smaller bed was jammed into the corner, a thick duvet neatly folded on top of it. Ferain rested on the coverlet at her side.
“Hello,” he said.
She levered herself up, and reached for the glass on the bedside table. Her hand shook when she raised it to her mouth. In her haste, she spilled half the water over her chest.
“Slower, don’t gulp it,” said her shadow.
Karys ignored him, and tilted the glass further. She accidentally breathed in, broke into a coughing fit, and upset the rest of the water down her shirt. She spluttered.
“I told you: slower,” said Ferain, exasperated. “No one’s going to steal it. There’s more in the pitcher.”
Karys wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked down at the water-soaked cotton bedclothes she was wearing, and grimaced. Cold. But her thirst no longer burned. She set down the glass. On the bedside table stood a lamp, a silver pitcher, and Haeki’s elephant.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice a thin rasp.
Her shadow flowed over to the dresser below the window. Karys felt a soft pull in her chest as he opened a drawer. “Ilesha’s place. Here, she won’t mind.”
He picked up a long dark red shirt and carried it back to the bed, then retreated to the corner of the room. He always did that—whenever she got undressed, whenever she bathed. Making sure that she knew he wouldn’t look. With shaking arms, Karys peeled off her wet bed shirt and set it down next to the lamp. A dull chill permeated her body. It wasn’t just the spilled water; the cold ran deeper than that.
The Split Lapse scar sat squarely over her heart. She touched it.
“Well, that could have gone better,” she said.
In the corner, her shadow sighed. Karys unfolded the new shirt and struggled into it. The fabric smelled clean, lightly perfumed. She dropped back onto the pillows.
“I’m sorry,” muttered Ferain.
“For?”
“I—you were right. About the separation. I pushed you into it.”
He sounded so tired, so … fragile. Karys shut her eyes briefly. The ghost of the drawing pressed down on her chest. “Nuliere?”
“Contained. Haeki’s taking care of her.”
“And Winola?”
“Still recovering. Lindlee thinks she must have taken at least four times the usual hit of necrat. Spent the first night crawling up the walls, but there shouldn’t be any permanent harm.”
“When you say ‘first night’…”
“It’s been two and a half days.”
The words took a second to sink in. How … how could I have slept that long? Karys felt winded; the walls of the bedroom shrank around her. Although she tried to sound cheerful, her voice came out in a strained croak. “Well, I can understand why you were bored.”
Ferain returned to the bed, settling at her feet.
“You scared me,” he said.
Karys nodded, and forced her mouth into a smile. She found it difficult to look at her shadow. Two days. Time slipping like water from her fingers. “It’s more time than I would have expected.”
“Oh, but it could have been worse.” Her shadow shifted, and Ferain’s tone went strangely casual, conversational. “The mender wasn’t sure you would wake at all. ‘Complete enervation.’ Even if you did regain consciousness, he thought there could be damage—your mind might be gone.”
For no real reason, she nodded again.
“So, do you think you’ve lost your mind?” he asked, voice dropping slightly.
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“Good. It’s good to hear that. I was losing mine, by the way.”
Karys gave another weak smile, gaze downcast. She ran her fingers over the weave of the blanket.
“What now?” she said. “With the separation, with … with everything.”
Ferain drew closer to her.
“We try again,” he said. “We do it better. Winola saw Nuliere’s workings through the Veneer; she thinks she’ll be able to adapt the herald’s process. Make it safe. My father’s contributions were nothing special, so we’ll easily be able to replicate those.”
Karys was quiet for a few seconds.
“How long had Nuliere been talking to him?” she asked.
“Since before we left Boäz, maybe earlier. It’s hard to be sure.” Her shadow flickered, a tiny movement not fully repressed. He slipped back to the foot of the bed. “I would have forced the full truth out of him, but you were … well. I couldn’t draw on you at the time. We left him at the house, and I haven’t seen him since.”
There was an edge to his voice. With a wince, Karys pressed herself up straighter, sitting with her back against the headboard. “He wanted to save you.”
Ferain’s composure cracked. “Embrace, don’t defend him.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s—” He breathed in. “My father doesn’t matter. Should never have mattered, and I was stupid to think … doesn’t matter. The important part is that you’re awake now. I don’t care about him.”
Karys pressed her lips together. An excellent liar—but not quite good enough for me to believe that. Rhevin’s betrayal had cut Ferain deeply. She wondered how many hours her shadow had sat alone in this room, turning over their conversations.
“Fathers, hm?” she murmured. “No good on either side of the border.”
Ferain gave a small huff. “Apparently not.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He shook himself. “Yes, I’m fine. And this is all just a setback. Winola’s new theories really do seem promising. This morning, she spent forty minutes telling me about interdimensional overlapping.”
“Then she’s back to normal?”
“Almost, I think. According to her, the experience was extremely instructive—so if all else fails, we should try putting her on drugs more often.”
Karys laughed. At the end of the bed, her shadow shivered, a ripple travelling through the darkened edges of Ferain’s silhouette.
“It’s just a setback,” he repeated, softer. “There will be enough time. We don’t need Nuliere and we don’t need my father. Next time, it will work. I know it.”
The fierceness of his quiet conviction made Karys’ heart ache. She should not believe him, but she did, and she was going to miss him more than she could stand. Shake his hand and say goodbye; that was how it needed to be. The rest of her life without hearing his voice. She would be practical, she would survive as she always had, but she knew that there would never again be anyone like Ferain. There would always be an absence where only he fit.
She breathed out, and raised her gaze to the ceiling.
“Write letters,” she said.
Her shadow hesitated. “Letters?”
“Once I reach Toraigus. Anything you send will probably take months to arrive, but I’ll have the time to be patient.” She lowered her eyes again. “Promise that you’ll write to me.”
There was a long pause.
“You don’t speak Toraigian,” said Ferain.
His response was so bewildering that, for a moment, Karys thought she had misheard him.
“Well, I’d prefer correspondence in Continental,” she said, “but I was actually planning to pick up the language once I arrived.”
He shook his head. His voice was oddly guarded. “Sure, but it will still take months before you can communicate properly.”
“And?” Her face warmed. “I know a few words. It can’t be that hard.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Karys wished that she had not started this conversation. “Then I’ll pay a tutor. Look, I just wanted you to keep in touch. It isn’t even that important.”
Her shadow did not move.
“I can speak Toraigian,” he said.
She gritted her teeth. “Yes, congratulations, that’s very nice.”
“Will you stop being so obtuse?” he snapped.
“I’m not being obtuse; you’re the one making stupid comments when all I wanted was the occasional—”
“Do you really need it spelled out?” he asked, cutting her off. “Fine. Watching you die on that table was the worst moment of my life. I couldn’t reach you, and I couldn’t stop it, and it was happening because of me. Then you wouldn’t wake up for two days, and I didn’t know if you ever would.”
“I don’t … what does that have to do with—”
“Now you want to sail off to Toraigus, and leave me behind again,” he said. “You’ll force me to lose you a second time.”
Her throat constricted. “I don’t have a choice.”
“No. But I do.” Her shadow shrugged. “You’ll need a translator. My Toraigian is perfect.”
Karys shook her head, unable to speak.
“No?” he asked.
She was suffocated. “You can’t.”
“Oh, but I can. Ilesha made the enquiries, and my inheritance will be enough. More than enough, once I cut off my useless bastard of a father.”
It was too much. Karys’ hands trembled, and she buried them in the blankets. “Toraigus is a prison. You aren’t going to—aren’t going to—”
“Do you not want me to come?” he asked.
A sound of despair escaped her throat. “Once you reach the island, you won’t ever be able to leave.”
“I’m familiar with Toraigus’ immigration policies. Knowing them was actually part of my job description.”
“Your life is here. Ilesha is here.”
In the face of her emotion, Ferain remained steady. “My life is wherever I choose to live it. As for Ilesha, she has her family, friends, and ambitions in Varesli. You would have nothing in Toraigus.”
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Karys, do you want me to come with you, or not?”
She was silent. Too cruel, he could not torture her like this. She had made her peace, she had laid it all to rest, and now he came along and ripped the ground out from beneath her.
“Look at me,” he said. “Tell me to stay in Eludia, if that’s what you really want. But look at me.”
She turned her head away. Outside, thin rain pattered against the window pane.
“What I want isn’t…” She swallowed. “I made my choices, and I’ll live with their consequences.”
Her shadow rolled over her legs, spreading across the blankets on her other side, placing himself within her line of sight.
“Then let me make mine,” he said. “Do you want me to come with you?”
It was too much.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The tension in her shadow fell away; every hard angle relaxing, softening like the mist at dawn, fading to pale translucence. Karys had never seen him respond that way before; he seemed so light. He laughed, and the hair lifted from the nape of her neck.
“Was that so difficult?” he asked.
She found her voice again. “That doesn’t mean you should—”
“Oh, be quiet.”
She sputtered. Her shadow spread out over the lower half of the bed, formless and radiating. Karys could not draw her eyes away from him.
“I take it back,” she managed. “Stay here.”
“Too late now. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
He sounded so pleased, so infuriatingly smug. An unwilling smile tugged at the corners of Karys’ mouth, and she covered her face with her hands to block him out.
“I can’t stand you,” she mumbled.
Ferain laughed again. His happiness felt dangerous; it had the warmth of a dream. Karys tried to imagine a future in Toraigus—not alone, but with him—and found that she couldn’t; she only knew that to lose her bright, fleeting fantasy would obliterate her completely. It was wrong, it was selfish, and Ferain would resent her for it in the end, but the possibility still hung in the air, shimmering. She lowered her hands.
“You would really do it?” she asked in a small voice. “You would follow me to Toraigus?”
“To the end of the world,” he replied.
The gentle, open sincerity in his voice brought Karys up short; her mind ground to a halt, thoughts evaporating. She was spared from having to reply, however, because at that moment, the door creaked open.
Haeki walked into the room, her hair and shoulders damp from the rain. “The mender was out, they told me to…”
She faltered, seeing Karys sitting upright in bed. Her lips parted and she made a short, startled sound.
“Told you to what?” asked Karys.
“To … to come back later.” Haeki took a few quick steps toward her. “You’re awake. Embrace, we didn’t know if you—how long?”
Ferain flowed over to meet her. “About ten minutes after you left.”
Up close, Haeki appeared battered and tired: the bags under her eyes heavy, her nails bitten short. She glanced toward the door. “Figures. Do the others know?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll tell them.”
“Haeki, wait.” Karys wrested her legs out from below the blankets. Her muscles protested the movement, but there was no real pain, only residual weakness. She put her feet down on the plush white carpet beside the bed, and felt better. “I need to talk to you.”
There was the apprehension again, the old walls rising. Haeki backed toward the door. “Later. Winola and Ilesha—”
“Don’t run away.”
“I’m not running.”
Karys looked up at Haeki, and saw the girl she had always known: bold and wilful and reserved, burying everything that hurt, bruised by her own wanting. Fishing drowning rats out of the pool, walking through the moon-touched surf at night.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not sure I could catch you right now.”
A flicker of feeling. Haeki folded her arms.
“As if you ever could,” she muttered. “Karys…”
“I need to make something clear, that’s all.”
“Then say what you have to say. The others will be—”
Karys spoke, matter-of-fact and sure. “Your herald is a liar. Your Favour is the least important part of you, you deserve so much more than Nuliere, and she is a fool to call you worthless. She was never the only one who wanted you—I did.”
Silence. Haeki’s face had gone rigid.
“Oboro as well, obviously.” Karys ran her bare foot back and forth over the dense pile of the carpet. “I never stopped missing you. And I’ll always regret leaving you behind in Boäz.”
For a second longer, nothing. Then Haeki moved forward, and slowly sat down on the bed next to her.
“You should be angry,” she said.
Karys wavered, before leaning sideways and resting her head on Haeki’s shoulder. The way they used to sit, sometimes. On the beach, counting pearls, talking about nothing.
“Sorry,” she said.
Haeki turned, and pressed the lower half of her face against Karys’ hair. Her voice dropped. “I’m the one who’s meant to say that.”
Karys shook her head slightly. Haeki’s breathing grew uneven.
“I thought she wanted you back,” she said haltingly. “I thought that she would accept you in the end. So fucking stupid. I was so—”
She broke off. Her rain-damp hair was cool, and her body exuded warmth. She smelled a little like almonds. Her mouth remained set against Karys’ head, hard, as if she needed the pressure to hold her words in.
“I didn’t know what Nuliere was going to do,” she whispered. “I swear I didn’t know.”
Karys sought Haeki’s hand, and wove their fingers together. “Never thought otherwise.”
A faint tremor. Haeki swallowed.
“Ever since I left Boäz, I’ve felt lost,” she said. “I’m running, but you’re so far ahead, and I can’t catch up.”
Karys made a sound of admonishment, and squeezed Haeki’s hand.
“I’m right next to you, idiot,” she said.
Haeki’s laughter caught in her throat. She pulled away, her hair falling forward to conceal her face. “Watch yourself, Eska.”
“Or what?”
Haeki stood up, her head angled to the side. “Just watch yourself. I’m going to tell Winola and Ilesha you’re awake.”
With that, she hurriedly left the room, her feet light on the floor. The door swung shut after her. Alone again, Karys touched her hair. Haeki’s warmth lingered.
“She deserves to know about Toraigus,” murmured Ferain. “You have to tell her.”
Not yet, thought Karys, and let her hand fall back to her lap.
She would. But not yet.