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Pyetar stiffened. “We have to hope they’ll stop Noshtiz in time.”

“And if they don’t?” she demanded, voice muffled against his coat.

He squeezed her tighter. “We can’t think about that. We have to fight with everything we have; there’s no room to lose hope. People thought the world was ending once cities started falling from the dakii. And yet, we live on.”

“So many people died, Pyetar.”

“You aren’t going to die,” he growled stubbornly. “I won’t let you.”

She almost smiled at that.

“Why aren’t you upset?” She sniffed, wiping away some of her tears. “Why aren’t you scared?”

“Iri…” He tipped her chin up with a finger so that she looked at him fully. “I’m terrified. I don’t know what to do either. The entire 18th is relying on me, and now we have to deal with a gods’ war? All I want to do is keep you safe. I don’t want to leave your side. But you say it’s not possible.”

“You know it isn’t.”

“If something were to happen to you…”

She shushed him, squeezing him back just as tightly. Pyetar lifted her into his lap. She let herself soak in his warmth, committing the feel of his embrace to memory. Slowly, the worst of her fears dulled until they were no longer cutting her. Until she could get some distance and look at them properly. Watch their interaction with Thelbiz again in her mind.

“Thelbiz said I should have been able to settle my magic.” Her fingers curled into a fist against his coat.

“Even the gods don’t know everything.”

She shrugged against him. It made sense that she was doing something wrong. That she was too weak to handle being double-forged. Why should she be able to figure out what no one else had? Her survival might have been a fluke, and now she lived on borrowed time. Still, Iryana couldn’t be sure. She had to keep hope that someone would figure it out.

Then her stomach growled.

“We should—” she started.

“Yeah, let’s make dinner.”

They were quiet at first, but her thoughts were still spinning. Pyetar dressed a hare he’d pulled out of a snare on the way back. Iryana gathered supplies to start a fire.

“How many poppies must there be in Istri with how many dakii there are?” she mused, stuffing some of the rabbit fur and shredded bits of birch bark into a neat ball. “I can’t fathom it.”

She grabbed her flint and steel, striking them against the timber until the sparks caught.

“If creating the dakii creates the poppies… I wonder what else happened when they were created.” The possibilities were endless. “The poisoned hot spring… I wonder if that’s like the poppies. If a god created something horrible in that cave.”

“I was wondering about that,” Pyetar admitted.

Iryana could do nothing to slow her spiraling mind, bending down to blow lightly on the embers until they grew into small flames.

“And if Noshtiz is returning, I bet that’s related to the rumor about the drained well.” She added a few more small branches to the fire, and the flames licked higher. “Can they take their magic back? Does it work like that?”

Gods, why did this only introduce more questions?

“Part of me doesn’t want to go back. I know I have Thelbiz’s mark, but will people listen to us?” Her voice caught. “I know we didn’t cause any of this, but having to tell everyone… I feel like I’ve doomed them all.”

Pyetar looked at her softly. “It’s a burden, a great one. But we’ll figure it out.”

“And...” Iryana squeezed her hands into fists before splaying them wide. “I’ve hardly felt like I’m ready to lead my clan, and now things are going to get so much harder. How am I supposed to manage that?” She shook her head. There was no use worrying about it yet. There was nothing they could do. “And to think,” Iryana chuckled, a bit unhinged. “We were so worried about what would happen if Karvek started a war with the brigades.”

Only the crackle of the flames responded. It was almost a good size.

“Pyetar?”