“Moya. Moya, wake up. We must go now.” Ahn clutched her shoulder, giving his guardian a firm shake. When she didn’t respond, he sank down onto one knee and looked into her eyes.
Eyes that were glassy, staring at something further down the path. Moya shook so hard that her teeth rattled in her head.
“Source, what is happening?” He dug in a pouch at his side until he found a packet wrapped in cloth. With care, he unwrapped the contents—wads of plant matter compacted to form large pills. He picked two of them and turned to Moya, resolute.
“I’m sorry about this.” The apology fell on deaf ears, but Ahn couldn’t help offering it all the same. In a quick, precise motion, he shoved the first lump of nightmoss—a powerful antidote, rare and profoundly foul-tasting—between Moya’s lips, pushing it between her cheek and teeth.
Nothing happened.
Ahn rocked back on his heels, waiting. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he struggled to keep from trembling. He was terrified for Moya. More than he’d ever been for himself.
“Blech!” Moya stirred where she half-lay, half-sat on the dirt. She coughed, groaned, and then just sagged in place.
“Good. Good, you’re conscious. I know it’s awful, but I need you to eat this other one—chew it into mash and swallow it down. It won’t be nice,” he added, voice softening.
“Don’t care. Want it out of me,” Moya rasped, and grabbed the nightmoss pellet from his hand. She chewed, gagged, and chewed some more, her face contorted in disgust, but Ahn couldn’t help noticing her skin-tone was warmer than it had been a moment ago, that her eyes were clearing from the fog that had blurred them.
She gulped down the last of the nightmoss, cringing.
“Wait a moment, then drink this. I promise it will help.” Ahn offered her a bottle of his most precious restorative—the kind made with extra honey and cinnamon, and the rarest healing herbs in all Ahra.
“Mmph.” Moya drank greedily, a bit of the fragrant liquid dribbling down her chin. She stopped to take a breath, and Ahn waited, watching her intently.
“What?” she asked, looking self-conscious.
“You noticed me staring at you in utter terror, which means the nightmoss worked,” Ahn said, giddy with relief. Ahn’s fingers lingered a heartbeat too long against her shoulder, his relief palpable. Moya held his gaze, silent gratitude passing between them, clearer than words.
“I was dying, wasn’t I?” Moya met his gaze, eyes clearing slowly, her voice raw. “You saved me.”
Ahn’s heart skipped, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest.
“Of course I saved you,” he murmured softly. “But I was a little too close to losing you, I’m afraid,” he added. He didn’t want to hide the truth from her.
“Thank you,” Moya whispered, voice rough. She grabbed his hand, gazing at him with such intensity that his face heated. “Thank you for doing that to save us, but still being you.”
Ahn bowed his head, no words at the ready for the emotions thundering along with his heart.
“Archmage Miir said you were good, and good at what you do. I should have trusted her.”
“You are right to be wary of aethermagic,” he said simply. He retrieved a feverbane bandage from his pack and dabbed at Moya’s wound as gently as possible. She closed her eyes while he worked, barely breathing.
“There. That should help,” he said. The wound was clean, already closing thanks to the powerful healing draught.
“Are you… Are you well?” Moya drew herself into a sitting position, looking more like herself.
“Tired, but none the worse for the wear. I bet those Awakened creatures came from the mausoleum north of the temple. It’s half an hour brisk walk. Perhaps we’ll get to the temple before the next wave. And hopefully Zander and the rest of them will return with reinforcements.”
“I see,” Moya nodded. She didn’t move, watching him with a strange expression.
“What’s wrong?” Ahn prompted, misgiving building at the strangeness of her gaze.
“Just a moment ago, just before I passed out, I saw a woman. A woman who looked familiar. There was snow everywhere, and blood. Ahndras, was she real? Was it just the poison?”
Ahn stood with effort, turning to face the direction Moya had been gazing moments ago.
“Honestly? I don’t know,” he replied, voice sounding like it had come from someone else.
“You don’t know?” Moya watched him, tense.
“I told you there was someone who caused me great injury. She was another aethermage, one who worked with me at a nasty site in the North, close to Dominion territory. Archmage Miir sent me in as reinforcements, it was so bad. Well, that woman was the source of the corruption, it turned out. Dark, dark magic from somewhere worse than the void.”
“What happened?” Moya was so close to him he could feel her warmth. She reached out, gripping his shoulder painfully.
He didn’t move or force her hand away.
“She destroyed the leytemple I was supposed to protect. It nearly killed me and the other leymage I was helping, and both of our guardians were in hospital for weeks. She was in the temple when it shattered. She died that day. At least, that’s what I thought.”
Moya didn’t answer. Her eyes were huge, her lips parted in a silent exclamation of horror.
Ahn continued, shuddering. “Her magic always brought a nasty bite of winter—icy, bleak. And the other night I dreamed she was still alive.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you say something?” The accusation in Moya’s voice hit Ahn like a punch in the face.
“What could I say? And I really thought it was just a dream. Maybe it still is, and you just sense her darkness through me. Aethermages can—”
“Can leave scars of their own kind,” Moya cut in curtly. “I know her face, Ahndras. I know her because she hurt me, too.”
“What? How?” Ahn asked, the words rougher than he’d intended.
“That aethermage who nearly killed me, who caused the accident at the leytemple that was my last guardian posting before I left that life? Lady Larkwing was what she called herself. I’m lucky to be alive.”
“That can’t be,” Ahn said quietly. “She died. I thought I was free.”
“So did I,” Moya said, and Ahn registered the press of a warm hand on his arm. Moya leaned closer, voice gentle but firm. “But you’re not alone, Ahn. Not anymore. We have each other, and we will never let her hurt us again.”
“No,” he agreed, strength and resolve deepening his voice. “I’ll see to it personally that she never hurts another soul again.”
Lizzie Sinclaire 