Last Stand (The Black Mage #4)(113)

I spent that night on the deck, pacing, staring up at the indigo sky and telling myself a thousand different ways I would convince Darren to live.

But each one ended the same.

“It’s my choice.” Darren’s fists clenched at his sides. He was still too weak to reach the cabin door or he would have found the captain himself. “Take me back to Jerar and let me pay for my crimes.”

“Priscilla wanted you to live.”

His eyes flashed crimson. “She made a mistake.”

“You can’t just decide to give up!” I slammed my palm against the door. The sting brought with it an odd sense of relief. “You want to make amends for your past? Execution won’t solve anything.” I slammed my palm again for the sake of feeling a different kind of pain. It was numbing. “You could help people. You are just too afraid to try!”

“Let me go, Ryiah.”

“I can’t.” There was a hole in the center of my chest. It was growing into an abyss and my heart was breaking with every plea.

“You can.”

I collapsed to my knees in front of him. “Please.” I didn’t even try to fight the tears; I was too blind to read his face. “I need you to fight.”

His voice was so quiet I almost missed his reply. “I wish you didn’t.”



*

Two days later, I went to collect the evening meal for Darren and myself, but when I arrived, I was informed the other passenger had already come and gone.

For a moment, I was relieved. Darren barely had enough strength to walk, but if he was hungry and had found his way to the galley on his own, that meant he was no longer refusing to eat…

But then I noticed the rations spread out on the table were next to a set of knives. “The salted pork was tough to cut.” The man followed my line of sight. “I offered to do it before he left, seeing how he could barely stand, but he insisted he would do just fine on his own.”

The pit of my stomach dropped. And I knew.

That morning, when I’d told him there was no way we’d ever return to Jerar, he’d been so furious.

I should have known.

My feet took off against the floor.

I raced across the deck, staggering into the hatch and into the passage below.

I ripped the door off its hinges.

And I stopped.

Darren was on his knees, shaking violently, his hands across his face.

His whole body convulsed with sobs.

The knife was on the ground. Unblemished. No blood.

He didn’t… He wasn’t…

I collapsed to the floor next to him without saying a word. My arms went around Darren’s neck, and I held on as tightly as I could. I felt every single beat of his pulse.

It matched my own.

I held onto him the entire night.

And hours later, he held onto me too.



*

The next morning, I helped transfer Darren to the bed. He had stopped shaking, but his eyes were bloodshot and his skin as cold as ice.

I settled the blankets around him and forced myself to wait.

I wasn’t sure what he wanted. I wasn’t sure who I needed to be.

The knife was still on the floor.

I stared at it, hating the object the way I had never hated anything before.

More than anything, I wanted to take it and every sharp object and throw them all out to sea.

But this had to be Darren’s decision. After last night, no matter how much I wanted him to live, he had to choose for himself.

I finally found the courage to speak.

“Do you… want it?”

Darren swallowed and a lump rose and fell several times in his throat. “No, I…” He forced himself to look away from the blade. “I… want to fight.”

Warmth exploded across my chest, seeping into every inch of my skin.

“I-I can’t promise… that it will be…”

My fingers shot to his, and I clenched them as hard as I could. It didn’t matter how hard it got. If he was willing to fight, I was willing to wait.

To stand by his side and take on whatever darkness awaited. Forever.

“We’ll do it together.”



*

It was two more weeks before we finally approached Borean shore.

The days were still hard. The nights were worse. Sometimes all I could hear were his screams… Sometimes all he saw were my tears. But we had something worth fighting for.

And nothing would take that away.

I knew it could be months, years, for the old Darren to emerge.

Perhaps when he did, he would be someone new. Perhaps I would be, too.

The sea here was green. I leaned across the rail, taking in the unfamiliar breeze. The air was musky and cloyingly sweet. From where I stood, I could see small specks of traders carrying loads along the sandy shore, crates of spice and bottles of rum. Trees towered just beyond the beach, and there were huts as far as the eye could see.

I had always wondered what the islands looked like. The descriptions in the Academy’s scrolls had hardly done them justice.

The one before me was breathtaking.

There was the soft creak of wood as someone took his place next to me at the rail. And even though it made no sense, even though we were miles from Jerar, he still smelled like cinnamon and pine and cloves.

Darren was still my home.