Tell the Wind and Fire(72)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


I woke with the flame-pale light of early morning turned into the dull fire of day. The first thing I saw was the sword hilt as it rested on the pillow. Close by on the pillow, on the other side of the sword, was Carwyn’s sleeping face. His dark brows were drawn together as if he was worrying, his lashes resting on his cheeks. His fingers were curled a fraction away from the blade, as if in his sleep he was stupid enough to reach out.

Right face. Wrong boy.

I looked at Carwyn, and I thought about Ethan.

He had gone into the Dark city, and now the Dark had risen up against the Light. He was in the center of what must have been chaos, buried for less than two weeks but not born to be buried, not raised to deal with the Dark. Anyone in the Dark city might have recognized his face and killed him because he was a Stryker, and even though he must have known the risks, he had walked into the heart of the Dark city for me.

I’d thought that Ethan might be in danger from Carwyn. Now, even worse, he was in danger from a whole city.

I remembered Aunt Leila’s face, and the utter lack of pity in her eyes. I could not stop her. Neither light nor dark, wind nor fire, love nor mercy, would ever stop her.

It felt like everyone I loved either was threatened or was a threat themselves.

Penelope and Marie were safe, though. They, my father, and Carwyn were the only ones in this bright city that I knew were safe.

I had to know who else was.

I was sure the schools were all shut, but that meant my school friends should be at home and able to answer me. I climbed off the bed and started sending messages, letting friends from school know that I was alive, and asking if they were safe. Those who did not respond I called.

Nadiya did not respond to the messages I sent, and she did not pick up her phone.

“Who are you trying to reach?” Carwyn asked.

I jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to face him. Propped up slightly by one arm behind his head, he was lying comfortably alongside the sword, as if it was his ideal bed partner.

“Nadiya,” I said. “You remember my friend from the club?”

Suddenly I remembered him asking me how well Ethan knew Nadiya. Asking me if I was sure that they did not know each other well.

From the look on his face, I saw Carwyn remembered it too.

“Vividly,” Carwyn drawled. “She was so very friendly. Remember when she pretended she wanted to buy dust, when really she wanted to drag me—sorry, Ethan—off, away from you? Do you know that she whispered in my ear that she wanted to speak to me alone? Do you want to know what I think?”

“I’m glad you asked,” I said. “Because I really don’t.”

“Too bad. I’m going to tell you anyway. I think your friend knew Ethan a lot better than you realized. I think that your perfect boyfriend was cheating on you.”

“I know that he wasn’t,” I snapped.

That didn’t mean that I thought Carwyn was lying. He didn’t have any reason to lie. I didn’t think he wanted to hurt me anymore, and if Nadiya had spoken to someone she thought was Ethan that way, his interpretation was fair based on what he knew. He just didn’t know Ethan like I did.

If Ethan knew Nadiya better than he had let on, if they had a secret between them, the secret was not what Carwyn thought.

“I’m going to see her,” I said abruptly. “You can wait here. Or you can leave, for all I care, but you’re not coming with me.”

Carwyn stretched indolently, as if he was perfectly comfortable and might settle back down to sleep. I hated him for the stupid pretense, as if anyone could rest while the city burned. I hated him for being able to pretend so well when I found that I suddenly could not pretend for a moment longer.



The subway was not working. I stopped and stared at the entrance, baffled. The subway had been the one constant in the two very different worlds I had lived in, running through both the Dark city and the Light, though not connecting the two. It was a chain that had been broken but still remained, thrumming with the same energy in both cities.

Now the reassuring rattle and rumble, the heartbeat of the city, was quiet.

I had to walk a long way to get to Nadiya’s place, exhaustion and the hungry magic sickness burning through me. I stumbled as I walked, and as I walked I saw things I would rather not have seen.

The city was not much changed. There were only small details, here and there. They were like the subtle signs, the pallor and trembling, of someone who was dying from internal injuries—the smell of smoke in the air, the far-off sound of a child screaming, store windows that were broken but not shattered. The cracks in the glass caught the sun, so the windows looked as if they were wrapped in vast spider webs made of light.