Chapter 24

T he eve before they were due to return to Sylveren, Dae had seen Ezzyn only from afar. He’d been in meetings with the new organization forming to combat environmental degradation—the Restorers of the Alliance, which she’d had to learn of from Zhenya, seeing as Ezzyn had never mentioned it—for most of the remaining time of the spring trip.

From what she’d gathered, it wasn’t so different from the work they’d already been doing. Multidisciplinary approaches to wellspring defense, but with an aim toward mitigating current damage and adaptations the kingdom could make from an endurance standpoint. Much larger scale than what she’d been working on with Ezzyn, but also a separate prong in the grand scheme of defense. One that operated apart from his research’s aim of aggressive, offensive treatment. It would open Rhell’s wellspring to foreign mages—to a much larger degree than the private kingdom had ever allowed—but greatly reduce its expenditures. A worthwhile trade, Dae thought, especially given the guardrails in place with representatives from the Order of Sylveren to act as oversight and intermediaries should conflict arise. Ezzyn, being stubborn, probably hated it on principle.

Not that she’d had a chance to ask him.

Dae saw signs of his having been in the field tent: piles of wards, notes on different techniques for applying the delayed fire spells, and her own work often not in the same place or state in which she’d left it. But of Ezzyn himself, Dae had to content herself with a few glimpses across the hall or a field.

Unease settled over her, seeping into the cracks so a taste of it remained despite her attempts to occupy her time. There were final reports to write, records to update, and ever so much packing to do. Copies of procedures and instructions and spell “recipes” to write and leave with the appropriate teams of Den’olm mages. By the time the farewell dinner came along, Dae was ready to trade the mind exhaustion and semi-permanent crick in her back from being bent over a rickety, makeshift desk for the bone tiredness and saddle sores of days spent on horseback.

Dae sipped at her drink, a mildly floral tisane, and nibbled at a bread crust. Zhenya had long since wandered off, citing a last task at Den’olm’s greenhouse. Dae had her doubts as to the veracity of such a claim but couldn’t begrudge her friend the escape. She’d have gone, too, if she could’ve managed it. Ezzyn had come into the main hall with his brothers at the start of dinner, but Dae had lost sight of him soon thereafter. He’d seen her at her far table, she was certain, but he hadn’t materialized.

Which wasn’t to say that she dined alone. A few businesspeople and politicians who’d come with the new environmental group shared her table. As did Brint.

“Now that I’ve seen the last leg of the river myself, I’m positive we can make the necessary adjustments,” Brint said. “Helm Naval’s new hull enchantments are very workable. Isn’t that right, Ana?”

“Again, you’ll need to confirm specifications with Calya and the chief engineer,” Dae said for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Our company’s liaison in Talihn is interested in how our ward packages will be used throughout the region,” one of the businesspeople said. Names had been exchanged, but that was hours ago, and Dae’s supply of cares had already been low.

“We intend to make regular trips in support of the restoration effort,” Brint said. “And Ana will be conducting further research in the affected areas. I’m sure we can beg a few updates.”

Dae fought to keep her smile in place when he dared to wink at her.

“My sister serves on the Council of Standards with your father,” Seleste, the woman Brint had introduced to her the day of the Restorers’ arrival, said. “Waterways, not Transportation, but we’ve worked with Avenor Guard several times in the past.”

A headache built behind Dae’s eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll be stationed anywhere in Rhell,” Dae said, though the rest of the table brushed that detail aside.

The others left for a nightcap elsewhere in the building, and Dae readily declined an invitation to join. To her dismay, Brint demurred as well.

“I’ll come by later,” he said. “Just want to catch up with my dear friend Ana.”

Dae watched as the room began to empty, only a few others scattered about the various tables. No one was within listening distance of her spot in the corner. Just as well, for she’d reached her limit of pandering to Brint. To spare Calya undue hardship, Dae had played along, kept potential business interests friendly, but she was long past caring what any of the Den’olm or Sylveren mages left in the room thought of her being short with Brint. The last few days had been uncomfortably close to her old life, Brint leaning on their shared family connections to pursue his own interests while she did little more than smile and nod.

“It’s Anadae,” she snapped. “What are you getting at, acting like I’m still involved with HNE? Or saying—”

“Yes, yes, Anadae.” Brint raised his glass in a mock toast. “Calm down. It’s just business. I’ve made so many useful connections on this trip.”

“Lovely. You should tell Calya, not me. And stop implying I’ll get a Rhell fellowship. Your clients aren’t—”

“Why? You’re going to get it.” Brint snorted around his wine. “Sleeping with a prince will do that.”

Heat crept across her face. “What makes you think—”

Brint’s unimpressed expression would’ve made her laugh if not for the clamminess spreading across her skin. “I’ve seen how you are around campus. The way you look at him. You used to look at me that way, once.” His mouth twisted, a ruefulness on his face that had a disturbingly genuine quality. “Authority hasn’t been the kindest to you, has it? Myself included.”

“Ezzyn wouldn’t— It’s not like that. I stand on my own work.”

He gave her a patronizing smile. “That’s cute.”

Annoyance flashed up, striking through her indistinct fear. “He’s never used his influence on my behalf.”

“Oh, Ana.” Brint slowly shook his head, as if talking to a small child. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Anadae, Brint. That shouldn’t be—”

“He pushed your proposal for this trip. Pushed even harder for a fellowship next year. Half the investors with the Restorers were only convinced to sign on because he talked up your partnership and the results you’ve had.” Brint gave her a sidelong glance. “And the benefits of having a Helm on call.”

“No,” Dae said, voice flattening. “He wouldn’t say that.”

Brint’s shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “His kingdom is dying, and they’ve gotten the first sign of hope since the war. Hard to fault the man for doing whatever it takes.”

Cold washed over her, dousing her annoyance. Buoying the fear.

Dae batted it away, trying to rally her conviction. Brint had to be lying, yet Dae knew how desperate Ezzyn was to stop the poison. She closed her eyes against Brint’s damning words, but she couldn’t shake the image of Ezzyn’s cracked, bleeding hands.

“He was talking to the king about it a lot during the meetings. Look,” Brint said, expression open, free of the facade Dae had grown so used to seeing. “I know I was an asshole for a lot of our past, and I’m not proud of it, but at least we knew up front that it was always business first.”

This wasn’t a business relationship. She cared about Ezzyn as she never had for Brint. He cared for her; she was sure of it.

But … he’d been so distant, focused to the detriment of all else. Ezzyn in Rhell was unlike the man she’d known at Sylveren. At the school, they’d been working toward a cure, working together. Here, they might’ve landed something substantial, yet she’d felt held at arm’s length. Not partners, not even a close assistant, hardly better than any of the other mages with whom he was somewhat acquainted. More like a tool, a useful one—valuable, perhaps, but impersonal. And hadn’t the attraction between them led to nothing more than a casual arrangement?

“…need someone, you know, just to talk to, I’m always—”

“I have to go. Goodnight.”

Dae left, Brint’s reply a vague sound behind her. She needed to find Ezzyn. Needed to tell him of the feelings she’d been harboring, too afraid to voice them because she feared the changes such words inevitably brought. She needed to find him, needed to know. Know if Brint was still an enterprising liar. No, she already knew it, but she had to hear Ezzyn confirm.

He wasn’t in his house or the field tent, but she noticed one of the packing crates had its lid askew. It contained replacement wards with a layered ice charm like the one on her successful experiment, the spells bolstered but untried.

Dae went out into the night, steps slowing in the northeastern section of Den’olm as her eyes caught a lone figure illuminated by the telltale glow of magic.

Ezzyn knelt on the ground well past the latest boundary markers. Had his hands splayed across the tainted dirt. He gave no sign that he heard her calling his name.

“Ezzyn.” Dae went to touch his shoulder, a stunned gasp freezing her hand inches away. Red stains spread from his bandaged hands, dark lines emerging from beneath where the cloth ended around his wrist, snaking up his forearms.

Dae seized him by both shoulders and dragged him back. “Ezzyn, enough!”

He’d been pushing too hard, had long since passed the point where a minor healing would suffice to undo the damage he’d wrought. Such concerns were easy to push away as he poured his fire into the earth, ignoring the sting in his hands until the pain faded to the background. Jeron had ordered Ezzyn back to Sylveren to finish out the term, unmoved by his discontent with the containment measures they had in place for Den’olm. The mages here were fine, but he’d seen the poison break through too many times. It happened when he’d been present, too, but that was easier to stomach than the thought of Den’olm falling because he was safe on the other side of the mountains, too far to react.

Ezzyn let himself go numb to the poison licking at his skin. It was worth it if he could buy them any more room, even an inch, anything to add to the buffer zone.

Jostling broke his concentration, and with it severed, the sense of pain roared back in. He cursed, both at the interruption and the cramps seizing his fingers.

“Ezzyn, enough!”

Anadae.

“What?” he snarled, freeing himself from her grasp.

“What?” she echoed, exasperation plain. “Look at your hands!”

“I’m fine.” Gods all fucking break, why did no one else understand what was needed? “There isn’t much time. I have to— Anadae!” She’d grabbed the wards he’d left on the ground and started back toward his field tent. “Get back here.”

“The enchantments on these aren’t done.” She kept walking, tone clipped. “If you place them now, you’re just wasting people’s time and magic.”

Wincing as he got to his feet, he stalked after her, shaking out his hands to try and expel the tremors. “Then you can fix them in the morning,” he said. “The spells will hold enough. We could gain ten, twelve more feet for the perimeter if I can clear enough ground tonight.”

Dae dropped the wards back into their crate. “We’re leaving in the morning.”

“All the more reason to—”

“Ezzyn.” The sadness in her voice, the defeat, the pity, made him bristle. He’d heard it from everyone else a dozen times over, and now for it to come from her… He was the only one who saw the sacrifices Rhell required.

He turned away from her and dug through the standard first-aid kit kept in every field tent. He found the generic healing ointment and upended it straight onto his bandages, hissing as it worked a mild cleansing on his raw skin.

“None of you will do what it takes,” he muttered.

“This camp is full of people working to stop the poison every day! You aren’t alone in this.”

“You mean the darling Restorers of the Alliance?” he said, all but choking on the name. “The precious Rhell Accord that will serve us up a slow death?”

“I mean the people here, day in and day out, working themselves to the bone just as you are. The ones who’ve been here for years, because they care and it’s their kingdom, too.” Dae came to stand before him, hands reaching out. Hesitating.

He wanted to lean into her touch. To accept her comfort and her optimism.

It was a weakness he couldn’t afford. He’d allowed himself too much already.

Ezzyn flinched, not a dramatic motion but plain. Clenched his jaw, let his hands ball into fists so the pain of his wounds grounded him. So it kept him from going to her and soothing the hurt that crossed her face at his rejection.

Forgive me, he almost said. I didn’t mean it.

“I’m willing to give my life for this place. This camp isn’t full of such commitment,” he said coldly. “I’ll do whatever it takes. Who else will say the same?”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Only stared at him, a shadow falling over her face. “Did you use your influence to get my proposal accepted?”

Ezzyn stiffened. “What?”

“Did you tell your brother about me? Did you imply that my”—her voice wavered—“my family would provide support for my research?”

The truth would be so simple. Freeing. He could head this off before it spiraled into something unnecessary. Something dark, irreparable.

“Who told you?” Ezzyn said.

His resolve nearly crumbled at her sharp inhale. “Is it true?”

He didn’t answer, eyes locking with hers as he waited.

“Brint.” Her expression begged him to deny it. “He said…”

Ezzyn didn’t need to hear the rest. Brint fucking Avenor. He couldn’t seem to be fully rid of the worm, or was it Anadae who would never be free? But in this, perhaps Avenor had given him a way out. Unintentionally, but Ezzyn was weak. He cared for Anadae too much, was too cowardly to leave on his own. She helped him believe in impossible things, made him willing to rely on faith. He would never be able to focus on the work that had to be done if her comfort was a refuge. She offered it freely, cared for him.

But if she didn’t?

She cared for him, yet the doubts lurked. His silence had confirmed as much. Now all it would take was a nudge.

“I can imagine what he said,” Ezzyn sneered. “He’s one to talk, considering all of the business he tried to make up here. Classless.”

Anadae shook her head, dismay etched on her face. “You lied to me. You lied. You said you didn’t have anything to do with the proposals.”

“I’m a prince of Rhell,” he said, softly, with a touch of true remorse.

“I told you that I wanted to earn this on my own.” Angrily, she dashed unshed tears with the back of her hand. “You knew it! You knew what this year meant to me.”

He did. Her old fears, the insecurities he’d once poked at with contempt, hadn’t been overcome. They’d only lain dormant, and perhaps he was as much to blame as Avenor. Two specters from her past, the old life she’d given herself a year to break from.

Tightness twisted his chest. He bit his tongue to keep silent as something bright and hopeful in her died before him.

“Why?” she said, the word a broken thing in her mouth.

It was easier this way, if she hated him. With the right words, he couldn’t be forgiven, even if he asked for such later.

“I let myself be distracted…”

“By me? Is that what I am, a distraction for you?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What?” Disbelief and confusion colored her tone. “What are you saying? You’ve been so, so off this entire—”

He forced a derisive sound. “Because you know me so well? Mutually agreeable fucking was nice and all, but let’s not pretend it was anything more. A few months of sharing my bed for an hour doesn’t make us close.”

“I know that you’re worried about Rhell,” Anadae said, struggling to keep her voice even. “But this isn’t—”

If only he’d met her at a better time, one where Rhell’s fate wasn’t so dire. Or if he wasn’t the only one willing to pour blood into the ground if that was what it took. Never before had he been with someone who tried so hard for him, for the chance of them. One who would call him to task but not abandon.

But Ezzyn was built a certain way, and Anadae, in the end, was like the rest. Like his brothers and the head mages at Sylveren and so many other magical groups and institutions. Garethe called it the long-term, people who believed Rhell could endure a slow process. Ones who would settle for mere containment and brand it as victory. Ezzyn knew what would happen with such complacency. Containment could be breached; hadn’t they seen as much already? Years of thinking they’d stalled the poison, yet it always found a way to creep back in, continue its unrelenting drive toward the wellspring. They needed to strive for a cure, always. If he let Anadae in, he would lose his conviction, be swayed by her view because he trusted in her. With her, he didn’t feel as if he fought for Rhell alone.

Solitude kept him sharp, and Rhell needed him with a razor edge. Even if he cut indiscriminately.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he repeated. “How could you, when you’re so obsessed with running from anything to do with the Helm name.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“Family isn’t easy, Anadae, but it is simple. Either the word means something to you, or it doesn’t, and such loyalty can’t be taught.”

She stood frozen, pain so open on her face. Whatever feelings she’d carried for him slipped away. Ezzyn had her. He could all but taste her devastation. It made him sick, yet still he pushed, for there was no going back.

“You’re afraid. Of your image, how things look, as if the vapidity of the capital matters in the Valley. You’ve been there a year, and you’re still afraid of your inadequacy,” he said. “You always have been. Don’t snap at me about what the year was supposed to mean for you when you never gave it a chance.”

A huff of ugly, humorless laughter jerked her frame. She glared at him, mouth trembling, but her icy tone was dead even. “You are such a bastard.”

Ezzyn held himself still. “You already knew that, sweetheart.”

“So much for wanting to be just yourself with me, just a man, not a prince.” Disgust twisted her face. “Was all that bullshit, too?”

“I—” Ezzyn swallowed hard, made himself appear dismissive. “I wanted to fuck you again. You were a distraction, but I’ll admit you were a welcome one. At the time.”

“You’re full of shit, and a liar.” There was anger in her eyes, but something despairing, too. Something resigned.

He made himself shrug. “We’re perfectly unsuited, Ana. I’ll always be tied to Rhell, and you’ll always be a Helm. I’m just not fighting it.”

Anadae walked past him and went to the tent’s entrance, pausing at the threshold. “Never speak to me again.”

Ezzyn remained standing by the table long after the sounds of her footsteps faded away.