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Imogen walked through the rebuilt streets of Aretia. Only the moon and a few lights spilling from windows illuminated the otherwise empty streets. Her steps slowed at the corner where her favorite bakery used to be. Her gaze lingered on the street across from it, where she remembered walking with her sister. As usual, the tightness in her chest threatened to fan the rage she carefully kept simmering.
The silence of the night was a welcome reprieve after the last few days. Having lived through the downfall of the apostasy, Imogen had thought nothing could come close to it. Losing her family, her home, her friends, her horses. But being ordered to do damage control, to keep secrets from the people she deeply cared about, to sit and wait… The chaos that unfolded after Draithus wasn’t just about the future of Tyrrendor, the missing eggs, the venin increasing their ranks with their own, or the devastated city. What weighed most heavily on her were the fifty lives hanging in the precarious balance of a political agreement between the leadership and the new duchess. It was like being back in the uncertainty of her teenage years, wondering whether they would come for her that day, the next, or the day after that. Even after Xaden made that deal, the feeling that they were all living on borrowed time never left her. In the beginning, it had consumed her, but now it fueled her. She was a woman of action, and being told to sit and wait was suffocating.
Malek’s temple was the last place she wanted to be, and yet the imposing building stretched before her, shrouded in gloom. She hated these temples with a special kind of rage. Even with the gigantic pyre burning inside, darkness clung to the walls, reminding mere mortals whose house they were entering. Not only had Malek taken the souls of her favorite people, but that damn fire had destroyed everything that remained of them. It was kind of convenient that those who died were completely wiped away, along with their belongings. Their words forgotten, their questions unanswered, their challenges erased.
But she wasn’t at the temple to pray or seek any kind of divine guidance. She was there for the hazel-eyed rider who occupied most of her thoughts. It was impossible to miss his broad shoulders and unruly curls on the first bench by the pyre. Every few seconds, he tipped an amber bottle to his lips. A messenger had brought word that Lieutenant Tavis had demanded to be alone at the temple, much to the dismay of the priest and his acolytes. Another situation Imogen had taken responsibility for. Garrick taking time to go to the temple when everything hung by a thread, and evicting everyone from it? It was bad. Everyone else had been taking time to process their losses, but Garrick had shouldered everyone’s needs and responsibilities without question or reservation. But he must have reached his breaking point after hearing yet again how quickly the motion to execute the marked ones had been brought up, how lightly they discussed the lives of children. She knew a part of him was being consumed by his best friend’s perceived betrayal. Both were mourning the loss of their best friends, even if she couldn’t figure out whether it was easier to grieve someone who was actually dead or someone who was still alive.
“Do you remember what the triangle of fire is?” His voice was raspy, his eyes still fixed on the flame. Of course, they’d been taught at Basgiath how fire worked. It was an important element to consider when in a complicated relationship with a fire-breathing dragon.
“Yes. Fire needs three things in order to burn. Fuel, a heat source, and…”
“Air,” Garrick whispered, slowly closing his fingers. At the same time, the huge flame began to dim, the darkness creeping closer to them.
“Garrick… what are you doing?” He kept his gaze firmly on the dying flame, his closing as he pulled the air out of the flame. “Stop that! We have enough to worry about. We don’t need Malek’s wrath, too.” Imogen grasped his hand tightly, stepping in front of him to make sure his focus shifted to her.
“Fuck Malek. He takes everything from us!” he seethed. “Liam Mairi, Tracila Cardulo, Karina Cardulo, Eoin Tavis…” The conviction in his voice slowly faded as he named each person.
“Stop!” Imogen pressed her hand over his mouth, sparing them both the pain of hearing more names. There was so much loss between them, so many names.
“I’m so fucking tired, Imogen…” He looked up at her, unguarded, revealing his heartache, exhaustion, and helplessness. It was the same look that stared back at her in the mirror, the same feelings that slammed into her armor at any given moment.
“I know… But you said you wouldn’t leave me. So don’t leave me.” She leaned her forehead against his.
Everybody left her. When Garrick had said so confidently that he wouldn’t leave her, her heart had grasped those words tightly and tucked them away safely in the corner he had so stubbornly carved out for himself. It was a vow she wouldn’t be ashamed to throw back at him in times like this, when he needed a reason to keep fighting. It was enough to steady him, enough to bring some shine back to his eyes. It was hope, the unspoken possibility that someday, if they ever got there… Tension returned to his toned body. His hands, no longer limp at his sides, wrapped around her waist and pulled her toward him. He buried his head in her neck, taking a much-needed deep breath and letting it out in a long exhale, no longer with resignation but with renewed purpose.
“Let’s go home.” The simple words, whispered against her skin, made her smile faintly. Some other day, she would think about the way his lips had grazed her skin, about how his breath had felt like kindling a fire inside her.
The gods were a fucking joke. Garrick Tavis believed that with absolute certainty. Wherever they were, whoever they were, they didn’t care about him, the woman holding his hand, the home she was leading them to, or the people who lived in the city they were crossing. The gods probably didn’t care about the dragons either, since the dragons paid them no deference. Garrick was sure the gods sat on their mighty thrones and regarded them as entertainment, pushing them around like pieces on a game board. So fuck the gods.
Although, maybe not Amari, because having Imogen in his life had to be more than luck.