Page 6 of Heart’s Rescue

I nod. He’s right. This changes absolutely everything.

Aloserin leans forward and puts his hand on my shoulder again. Okay, now it’s getting awkward.

“Go,” he says. “Take care of your brother. But know that we’re going to have to talk.”

I step backward, away from his grip. “You know where to find me,” I say.

With that, I touch the hub and teleport. And teleport. And teleport again. Our little village at the World’s End is as far from Crystal City as it’s possible to get. Someone with insanely strong magic, pure magic, might be able to make the journey in two hops, but for me, it’s five. Five exhausting, nauseating hops, stopping at every teleportation hub there is.

Voids below, I hate teleporting. It was only tolerable the first time around because I could imagine how painful it must have been for the monster.

Finally, the standing stones of the World End’s teleportation hub and its scattering of ramshackle outbuildings waver in my vision. One of which, Kara's barn, is now nothing but kindling, thanks to me and my void-damned magic. But it’s not like Kara will care. Her face flashes through my mind, her pale eyes open and staring at the roof of the world, her guts splattered across the snow. She looked like her own death had come as a surprise.

Voids. I sink to my knees in the snow and retch. When I finally force myself back up, the glowsoft orbs snap out. Nighttime. I blink, waiting for my vision to adjust as fear skitters across the back of my neck.

The glowsoft never went out when I was a kid. They would dim, of course, mimicking the patterns of that mythical fire that crosses the sky in the Worlds Above, but they never went out. Of course, that was ages and ages ago. What was once unthinkable is now just nighttime.

I trace my way past the shuttered windows of the World’s End pub as tiny, hard flecks of ice begin to rain down from the ceiling of the world. Somewhere, someone is sobbing. The noise seems oddly amplified by the darkness and falling ice until it sounds like it’s not a solitary person but the entire village who’s mourning.

Great. Comforting thought, that.

Twenty paces past the village center and there it is, our little shack, the furthest building in the furthest village in the Outer Ring. I grin at its two little windows glowing brightly against the snow. Private. Just the way we like it.

Well, just the way I like it, at least. Phaedron would like to live in the very heart of the Crystal City. And we will, right? Just as soon as he joins the Royal Guard. But—

Phaedron’s arm in the snow. His blood, black against white in the failing light, pooling around my legs.

I sigh, suddenly feeling more tired than I’ve ever felt in my life. Aloserin was right, the prim little bastard. This monster just changed everything. I blink at the little windows of our little house, which are now flickering through a haze of exhaustion.

No, it didn’t change everything. I still have Phaedron. We still live here. We still take care of each other.

With another sigh, I push open the door. Warmth envelopes me like a hug. I shake off my cloak and hang it beside the door. Phaedron’s bed has been dragged into the middle of the room, and he’s propped up on a stack of pillows that I’d swear didn’t come from this house. His right sleeve hangs empty in a way that makes my chest hurt. He’s still pale as death, and when his eyes open, they’re thick and glossy, making me think Charay’s given him something for the pain. Something strong.

“You look like hell,” Phaedron says. His voice, usually sweet as frost wine, now sounds like he’s rubbing pebbles together.

I sit down to tug off my boots, then reach inside my cloak. The monster’s crown is cold against the palm of my hand.

“Brought you something,” I say.

I lay the crown down on his lap. Phaedron stares at it for a long time, then leans back and looks at me with a goofy, painkiller grin on his face.

“How ‘bout that?” he says. “You got the monster.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well, just let me know if you need a hand with anything else.”

I watch as his numbed brain slowly gets my unforgivably awful pun. His smile fades, his lips twist into a frown, and then he grins at me again.

“Go rot in the void,” he replies, quite amicably.

I walk to the far wall and open the pantry door. This is Phaedron’s realm; he does all the cooking. My one and only allotted space in the entire pantry is the bottom shelf, where we keep the booze. I grab the closest bottle, twist off the cap, and settle onto the floor beside Phaedron’s bed.

“Rowan,” he says, in a voice that’s almost a whisper.

I take a thick swallow of cheap rotgut. It burns all the way down. “I’m here, buddy.”

“Glad you’re home,” he slurs.

I take another swallow, fire chasing fire down my throat, and then I turn toward my brother, toward the absolute screaming emptiness on the right side of his body. His sword arm. He’ll never—

I can’t think about that right now. I lean my head back against Phaedron’s bed frame.

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too. Get some sleep, okay, buddy?”

I take another pull from the bottle. Heat spreads through my core. My fingers and toes start to feel numb.

“Get some sleep,” I mutter again. “The monsters are gone.”