Chapter 21

Thelia

After three moons of trekking across the hills of my ancestors, through their abandoned cities and ruins, we spot the glittering metal roofs of Dezha on the horizon. We’re tired and thirsty and starving.

Thanks to the thick coating of Magic around me, I’ve healed far more quickly than anyone expected; instead of riding in the wagon, I get to approach the city walls on Parlor Trick’s back. I may never be my old self again, but I’m a new Thelia Finegarden—with one handsome scar down my face to remind me of where I came from, and another down my side to remind me of someone I loved.

There’s no wall around the city, as if the Northern Republic doesn’t fear outsiders the way the Holy Kingdom did. Dirt becomes neat cobblestone. The houses are squat, their walls made of hardened clay, their roofs reflective metal.

Every street corner has a market stall, and people seem happy. Well-fed. Children play with their pets, and older people chase loose chickens around. I wonder, as we often did around a campfire, what Melidihan looks like now. Abandoned? A new elven hub, bustling with life?

I don’t want to think about whether anyone else made it out. My cracked soul can’t handle the possibility that they didn’t.

A few people stop to stare as we pass through with our shabby wagon. “You’re taking us to the Prime Minister, right?” I ask Bayled.

He laughs. “No, we won’t meet the Prime Minister. We’re only ordinary citizens, remember?” We stop in front of an unremarkable large building. As we enter, a woman in a long blue coat rimmed with gold tassels approaches us.

“How can we help you at the Ministry of Records and Licensing?” I’m glad that Bayled taught us some Keshar on the way so I understand some of what she says.

“I need to look up my family records,” Bayled says. He nods to us. “They’re foreigners, so they’ll need citizenship paperwork.”

I end up with a tiny booklet containing my name and birthplace and a small medal I can pin to my chest showing that I’m now a Citizen. It’s simpler than I’d thought for us to sell off the majority of the Bellisares’ valuables at the market. By nightfall, we’ve had a marvelous dinner of foods I’ve never imagined, and we’re ready to turn in.

We take rooms in a small inn. The owner looks at us curiously but doesn’t comment on our clearly foreign appearance.

Bayled, Parsifal, and I huddle in the common room for wine and dessert. “I learned something surprising in Records today,” Bayled says, pulling something out of his new coat. He looks just like every other Citizen—it’s as if he never left. “You remember my father’s merchant business, before my mother was called away to serve as a diplomat?”

“He did pretty well before he and your mother came to the Holy Kingdom, right?” I say, sipping a strange, spicy wine with ice cubes in it.

“Right. It turns out the business still exists, and it’s run by his old partner. We should visit her and see about work.”

I choke on my wine. “Work?”

Parsifal laughs at me and I scowl at him. Bayled’s also grinning, but he’s too kind to mock me, even if I deserve it. “That’s how we’ll get on here. We should use the money we made today to find a place to live. Then maybe we can start rebuilding the family business.”

I sigh into the glass. I knew all this when I agreed to come here, but it still feels as if some part of me—the part of me that Mother raised and trained into wanting only one thing—is disappearing into dust.

When we’re done talking and drinking, Parsifal helps me to our room. We lie on top of the sheets because it’s much too hot. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to this,” I say.

“Within a cycle, you won’t even notice.” Parsifal leans over and lightly kisses my cheek. We have our clothes off before I notice the small pink light hovering outside at the window.

“Percy?”

He looks up and gasps. “I’ll let it in!” He thrusts his hand up in the air, and the window opens on its own. The tiny pink wisp flies in, circling the room once, then twice, as if getting a feel for us. It drifts down to the small table beside the bed, where our oil lamp burns. It must have found us by the coating of Magic we still carry. My heart surges, beating a thousand times a second. Hoping.

“Is Sapphire with you?” I ask it. Parsifal kneels beside the table. The wisp doesn’t speak, but it settles down at the base of the lamp like a cat finding a comfortable spot to sleep. I look out the window again, begging Melidia that I’ll see Sapphire’s unmistakeable head of blue hair.

There’s nothing except for the late-night dock workers, and a few drunk women kissing and walking home together. Parsifal returns to the bed and wraps his arm around me. We lie there, watching the wisp sleep, its light slowly fading.

I know that Sapphire is alive. That’s enough for me.