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“She isn’t here,” Inara mutters.

I strap the swords to my belt, and the blades retract into the grips. I don’t walk to rejoin them but turn to leave. I’ll wait until they abandon this place.

This laboratory has endless rooms where I can hide, but I don’t make more than a few steps before I catch my boot on the leg of a table and a flask that has survived The Cataclysm rolls toward the edge much faster than I’m able to react. It slips through my fingers, falls onto the tiled floor and shatters into a dozen sharp pieces.

Valdus is the first to appear in the hall, followed soon after by Inara.

“Where did you go?” he asks in that voice filled with gravel.

“I went for a ride.”

“A ride?” he asks sharply. “While there are guards searching for you, you just took off without anyone there to protect you?”

“I don’t need anyone’s protection.”

“Valdus…” Inara starts, but never finishes her sentence.

I turn away, unable to stand the disappointment dripping from her furrowed features, and stack the shards of the flask back on the table instead. One slices through my finger, blood oozing on my skin, but I curl my hand into a fist with a hiss, concentrating on nothing else but the pain it brings.

“You can’t just take off. You’ve promised—” Valdus starts.

“She’s not a child,” Inara murmurs.

Anger is coiling through Valdus’s arms, making the metal squeak and cringe. “Weren’t you worried?” he asks her. “Didn’t you think for at least a moment that something bad happened to her?” Valdus lifts his arms and lets them fall back down again. “Don’t tell me you think that this is all right.”

“No, I don’t. But we all grieve in our own ways. Let her find hers.”

34

Idon’t know how long it takes for me to wake up from the slumber I’ve been living in since Inara forced Valdus to go back to The Broken Sands without me. The days have merged into one, passing by in a somber succession. Everything is a useless struggle. It’s a burden to force myself out of bed. To shower. To take the next breath.

In between endless stretches of solitude, Inara came to deliver some supplies. Valdus must have been the one driving the caravan, but he never showed up. Kyle came once with Zaria. Kyle’s usual chipper attitude was missing, and even Zaria seemed somber for a child. I haven’t uttered more than a word of greeting to any of them. How could I look them in the eye and pretend that it’s not my fault that Lara will never take another breath.

I find a curious comfort in the absence of words when Numair finds me on the rooftop one day. He slides into the seat on the parapet Lara had once occupied and offers me a bottle of liquor stronger than anything I’ve tasted before.

We drink in silence. The booze burns my throat, but it numbs my pain with each gulp, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

It’s only when there is only a small amount left at the bottom and the world fades at the edges that Numair turns to me. “You know you can’t hide here forever, don’t you?”

Strangely, he’s also the first one not to tiptoe around my feelings.

I shrug and take a swig from the bottle. The world around me sways, but I dig my fingers into the metal parapet, clinging to the last bits of my consciousness.

“The worst part of it all is, he’ll let you do it. He’ll let you hide from everything here. To wither in your grief. To let your wondrous gardens fade while you wallow in sadness.” Numair jumps down from the parapet, picking up the bottle from my hand and downing the rest of the liquor in one swig. “The question is, will you be able to live with yourself? Will you be able to look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that you’ve done everything you can? That you’ve fought for this desert? That you’ve held all the power in your hands and became a hero and not cowered at the first loss?”

I blink fast, holding the tears at bay. “It’s my fault— “

“No!” Numair throws the bottle against the wall. It shatters into a dozen shards and shines with the light of the full moon. His eyes closed, his voice comes in a whisper when Numair speaks again. “No. The fault lies on Magnar’s shoulders. All of it.”

“Am I just supposed to forget she’s no longer here?” I ask. “Like you did?”

“Who said I did?” When our eyes meet, I see the sadness that still lingers in his eyes. Dark and devouring. “Maybe I just got better at pretending.”

I hear him walk away, start the engine of his caravan, and leave while my gaze wanders over the silent desert before me. No matter how much alcohol I’ve ingested, his words have sobered me up.

No matter what Numair says, I know it’s my fault the rebellion suffered so much in the past months, but that doesn’t mean it has to keep suffering.

On trembling feet, I climb back down from the parapet and go back into the building. I’ve grown used to the shadows creeping alongside me whichever way I went. Today, I chase them away. I light as many candles as I can find, bathing the mist-filled greenhouse in halos of light. The flowers on the lemon tree have bloomed and withered, littering the earth at its roots and creating a path toward the dying shrubs and weeds.