35

Behind me, the battawhale’s wheezes sound like an inverted roar, not bursting out of the mouth but pushing down into his gut.

I hurry toward the closest passageway.

The cavern, as bright as a garden in springtime, goes from vast to narrow as I scan the wet walls around me. My heart thunders in my chest, fear and adrenaline pressing me to keep going until I find—

That!

Tufts of elk hair spring from the dirt. Works as a bandage. That! Red flower. Sanguine hyssop. Stops bleeding. Pain relief…pain relief… I know this. I’ve done this before! I hurry down the corridor, fingers pointing at this plant and that flower, browsing as though I’m shopping at a market.

A rowdy bunch of green plants with purple blooms grow around a pond the size of a quilt. How do these flowers exist in this dark space? Perhaps, like hearing thoughts, this garden is a gift from Sybel. I don’t know. But as memories pop to the front of my mind, I do know that the plant at my feet is deadly nightshade. Too much brings death. Just enough brings relief.

I coat my hands with mud from the small pond and then cover them with dry dirt to form a shell around my skin—protection from handling this delicate and dangerous plant. With my dagger, I cut a few sprigs. With one rock as a pestle and a flat rock as a bowl, I grind the plants I’ve collected into a pulp, using water from the pond. When I have enough of the poultice—I don’t even know how much is needed—I take it back to the biggest room. The creature is still there, wheezing in the dark. When I look behind me, the entrance to the garden cavern is gone.

“I’m here,” I say, hustling to the battawhale. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.” I kneel beside the battawhale’s bleeding leg. “Here we go,” I whisper. After taking several deep breaths, I scoop some of the poultice off the rock and apply it to the gash on his leg.

The battawhale quivers, his wheezing quickening. But the green blood no longer oozes from that gash, and the creature stills.

I scoot higher to reach the wound on his neck, and I gasp at its violence. “Did I do that?”

The battawhale’s tongue pushes between his teeth, producing nothing more than a slurp and a suck—he’s trying to click, but the air to do so is escaping through the gash in his neck.

“Hold on.” I scoop more of the plant mixture from the makeshift bowl and cake it across the wound.

The beast shivers again, then sighs. A sad sigh of surrender that makes me ache inside.

“Don’t give up,” I whisper. “Please fight.” Somehow, I know what substances heal, but I’m not a healer. Maybe I’ve made his suffering worse. Teardrops tumble down my cheeks, and I use my shoulder to brush some away and the others fall onto my muddy palms. Another wheeze compels me to touch the otherworldly’s forehead. My wet hands leave behind a palm print made of cave mud and toxic plants. “I’m so sorry. I just… I didn’t… Please forgive me.”

The chest of the last king of his kind rises and dips…and doesn’t rise again. And now, he’s dead. My heart shatters, and I hold back a sob, hiding my face in the crook of my elbow. The light in the cavern dims as one fewer life fills its space.

I stand, keeping my eyes on the creature that is no more. Then I step away from him, my mind whirling. What have I done, what will Sybel do, what will Elyn do, why did I come here? Will Sybel know that I tried to save him? Will she care, since I was also the one who killed him?

With the beast’s death, my future has become as unknown as my past. Will my ending be the same as this creature’s? Alone in a dark, dank space, trying to breathe until I can’t?

Dejected and discouraged, I turn away from the dead battawhale. I’ve failed. I was supposed to save him but I couldn’t save him. I failed.

The cavern is now clear of saloroaches. The ceiling is still crammed with blue-glowing battabies, but not one moves. Are their fates tied to the battawhale’s? Is mine? Is Jadon’s?

I wander, my legs burning as if I’m ascending, and the scent of cool, fresh air draws me forward. I slow my step and force myself to remain upright, to not drop to my knees, to keep walking, to leave Azzam Cavern. I’ve lost the battawhale. I’ve lost Jadon. And I feel like I’ve lost something else: my will.

Finally, I glimpse a fragment of light ahead. A way out of this cave.

How will I tell Olivia about Jadon? Will she ever forgive me? But then I realize that Olivia may not be alive, not if the battabies have swarmed the cottage, angrier now that I’ve killed their king.

A sob rises in my throat as I reach the mouth of Azzam Cavern. I linger there, my vision wavering with tears as I blink at the canopy of trees blocking the sky and those orchids and…

At the edge of the forest, a cauldron of battabies swoops and circles near a cluster of low bushes, the only sound the flutter of their wings. I squint, trying to figure out their odd behavior. One swoops down behind the bush, and then, as it rises, another takes its place. Ice trickles down my spine. They’re feeding.

I burst from the cave, Fury held high. The battabies screech in warning, then ascend, circling higher, higher, like a black cloud. Before it joins the others, the last battaby drops a boot from its razor-sharp claws.

A man’s boot. Jadon’s boot.

“No!” My scream tears from my throat raw and harsh as I sprint to see what the battabies have left behind. Dropping my sword in the dirt, I gasp and fall to my knees.

Jadon lies there, pale, still…except for the pulse beating in the scoop between his clavicles. I close my eyes and inhale. He’s not dead. He’s not lost. He’s here.

I bend and put my ear to his ribs. His pulse beats, and his chest rises and falls. My tears dampen his dirty shirt. I want to touch him, but deadly nightshade still coats my dirty hands. I scan him from head to toe, and other than a bit of blood where it appears he hit his head and some scrapes and scratches, he appears unharmed. His clothes, with the exception of the boot, are intact. I lean closer to his ear and whisper his name over and over until he stirs. I hold my breath as he comes to and release that breath once his eyes open.

“Hey,” Jadon whispers.

“Hey,” I whisper back, then stretch out on the grass beside him, adrenaline zinging through my veins. He’s alive.

“I was…flying,” he says, brow furrowed. “But I don’t know how.”

The battabies.

“Did we do it?” he asks. “Did we burn the cave?”

My lungs are tight, and I can only shake my head.

He rolls over to face me. “We came here for nothing, then?” he asks, his voice raspy.

It doesn’t feel like nothing.

“Kai.” He’s looking past me with big eyes.

I turn my head to see what’s caught his attention.

The cave opening is filled with the massive figure of the battawhale. He’s alive!

My breath catches, and I try to rouse myself, but I no longer have strength or energy to roll onto my knees. I can only lie still and stare at the magnificent creature standing across the clearing. The only action I can make right now is bringing my lips together to make a pop, and then I pop my tongue twice against my teeth. “Tell me your name.”

The beast clicks, pops, pops. “Tazara.” He clicks, clicks, pops, pops. “We have met.”

“We have?” Confused, I try to lift my head, but then I see myself high up on a stone cliff overlooking the green sea revealed in my vision. I’m balancing on a ledge as Tazara flaps his great wings, hovering before me. My arm is outstretched, my hand placed against his forehead.

I gasp, recalling the feel of his soft fur against my fingertips. Fresh tears form in my eyes— I remember this —and Tazara becomes blurry until those tears slip across my face. My lips meet again to pop, and my tongue brushes my teeth to click, “I named you.”

Tazara bows his head, then steps back into the darkness of Azzam.