Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(74)

“Do you even know how to shoot?” Meredy calls, heat rippling through her voice.

I don’t so much as glance at her as I stride over to the line that marks where the archers should stand.

Hurrying over, Meredy snatches the bow out of my hand and grabs an arrow. I’ve never seen her glower at anyone quite like this before, and I have to squash a sudden urge to laugh. Best not to tempt her into aiming at me.

Meredy’s lips remain pressed into a thin line as she takes aim and releases the bowstring.

“I’m angry that my brother’s dead and I never really got to know him!” Her words ring through the still night as the arrow sails straight to the center circle of the painted target, but I’m too distracted to be properly impressed. My head spins at her sudden confession.

Meredy studies the target with a satisfied smirk, and as the proud archer’s words echo in my mind, I realize there are a lot of things I want to shout into the night, too.

Clearing her throat, Meredy thrusts the bow at me. “Your turn. But don’t you dare snap the string or try anything stupid. This is the only one I have.”

I nod and take aim, resisting the urge to taunt her with a comment about my poor archery skills. I’ve only practiced with a bow a few times, years ago, with Simeon and Master Nicanor. I’d forgotten how much strength is needed to pull the string back and hold it, how much concentration is required to line up the arrow tip with the target.

The arrow flies wide. As I watch it, willing a breeze to correct its path, heated words tumble from my lips. “I hate that your mother tried to keep me from Evander!”

“Don’t get me started on her.” Meredy grabs the bow back, pressing her lips together like she’s trying to keep from grinning at the sight of my arrow lying in the dirt.

She takes another perfect shot. “I was never what my mother wanted me to be, and I never will be.” Her second arrow sticks beside the first.

Her face is as calm and proud as ever, while my heart’s picking up speed and my blood is running hot.

I think of Evander as I aim my next shot and release the bowstring. Of King Wylding and the other missing Dead. I imagine my arrow gaining speed, catching fire, and plummeting straight into the heart of the rogue necromancer.

I think, I’m sick of not being able to protect anyone I care about, no matter how hard I try. But something stops me from saying it aloud.

The arrow hits the very bottom of the target, and a flicker of pride curves my lips.

“Not bad, Sparrow.” Meredy’s eyes seem to shine brighter than usual as she takes the bow back and assumes the archer’s stance. “With some practice, you might be as good as Fir . . .” She falters, blinking hard. “Firiel.” As though saying the name took her by surprise, she sinks slowly to her knees and sets her bow aside.

Her shoulders quake. She bites down on her trembling lower lip. And a sob escapes her, a desperate sound like an animal caught in a trap.

I half sit, half fall down beside her. I don’t know what I expected to be hidden under Meredy’s stiff smile and porcelain skin. Certainly not pain deep enough to destroy her from the inside, though perhaps I should have seen it all along. She’s lost even more than I have.

Meredy’s crying gets louder, drowning out the small night noises of birds and deer and the wind in the trees. It’s the kind of cry that shakes her from head to toe, making her fingers curl and her whole body seem to shrink inward like she wants to disappear.

But I don’t want her to. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her against me and holding her until her angry cries become soft, hiccupping sobs.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“Before I met you, it wasn’t hard to be heartless.”

I stroke her wine-red hair. It’s not quite as silky as I’d imagined, but it’s thick and smells faintly of vanilla and cedar chips and something I can’t name, something that might just be Meredy, and I love the way it tangles around my fingers like it doesn’t want to let me go.

“Odessa?” Meredy draws back, gazing blearily at me. Her face is splotchy and damp, her lower lip raw where she must have bitten it.

And yet, somehow, she looks more beautiful than ever.

“Odessa . . .” She puts a hand on my arm, and I realize I’m still holding her.

We break apart. I hastily turn my head, hoping the night air will cool my burning face.

I don’t even turn back when Meredy says, “You didn’t have to do that. I just—” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I want to tell you what happened. I want to be strong like you and live with the memory instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. We share Evander, and now I want to share Firiel with someone, too.”

“All right,” I whisper, tucking my hands in my lap.

“Firiel loved to explore the wilds, maybe more than Lysander and I did. She never trained as a mage, but she had greener eyes than mine. I used to tell her she’d make an excellent beast master.” Fresh tears splash down Meredy’s cheeks as she talks. “A few weeks ago, we went to visit her family’s manor in southern Lorness. She asked me to wake up early with her one morning. Said she had something special to show me.”

She pauses and sniffs, dabbing her nose with her shirtsleeve. I meet her eyes to show I’m listening, and she continues in a hoarse voice, “It was so foggy that morning, I could barely see the ground right in front of me. I told her we could go see whatever it was some other time, that it wasn’t worth either of us tripping and breaking our necks, but she insisted.”