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She shakes her head and releases me.
I draw my other hand away from her face and pace back and forth, unable to hold in my nervous energy. “You didn’t see what I did. Myrzeth ... he has unusual powers. The darkness listens to him. And he wields it like a weapon. I’ve never witnessed anything like it.”
Amyrah’s jaw sets defiantly. “I have a weapon of my own.”
I grab her by her shoulders. “Not like this. Please. I’m begging you, Amyrah. Think about your actions.”
She pries my hands off her and steps back. “I do, Belwyn. But I think about the cost of silence more.”
Dread slips into my gut. “What do you mean?”
“The solas. You have dealt with your own guilt for killing one. But the answer isn’t simply to stay your own hand when the time comes to strike. It’s in defending those who cannot do so for themselves.” She clutches the necklace at her throat, her fingernails biting into the tender skin, turning it white. “You keep telling me to think about myself, but what about them? Who will stand up and fight for them, if not me?”
I shake my head, desperate for her to understand. My words are strained, pleading. “It’s a fight you can’t win.”
Doubt pulls at her lips, like she fears the truth of my words. But with each breath the white fire in her eyes screams against it.
“Maybe you’re right,” she whispers, backing even further away from me. “But I can still be their voice.”
“Amyrah—”
“No, Belwyn. I won’t hide anymore.”
A curse rides my sharp exhale. I step toward her, ready to make her understand by any means possible, but I’m interrupted by the sound I dread most in the world: the haunting timbre of the hunting horn.
I have a brief glimpse of Amyrah’s wide eyes before she spins around and threads through the trees, without a lantern or a single method of defense other than her stubborn belief that her light will protect her. And even though I know I should go with her, I should do everything in my power to bring her back, I cannot.
Terror has sent out long, immobilizing feelers that root me to the ground.
36. Amyrah
AMYRAH
I RUN, PROPELLED BY THE SOUND that can only mean one thing: death to a sola.
I must stop this from happening.
The thought rages through the cells in my body, fills it so I experience every leaf and branch touching my skin as a crackle of energy. The whisper of wind in the treetops drives me. Faster,faster.
If I hurry, I can get to the sola before any of the hunters from Utsanek even have a chance to get organized. I can urge it to leave. And if that fails, I can stand and convince them to leave it alone.
My legs do not tire as I pass through bush and briar, as I skirt streams and scramble over boulders. The horn sounds again, spurring me on.
For such a time as this.
Perhaps this is what Father meant.
Perhaps this is the moment I wasmade for.
I taste blood, my lungs scream in pain, but I don’t care. I won’t let that stop me.
After more miles than I can guess, I see it ahead: the brilliance only a sola can give. I come to a racing stop, clinging to the rough bark of a tree to catch my breath.
Elyon, give me strength.
As I approach the light gasping for air, nervousness possesses me so my limbs begin to shake.
You’ve faced the kaligorven before. Remember the hope that came to you then. You are not alone. You’ve been made for this moment.
