Keko could not say anything for the shock, unaware she’d affected Aya in such a way. Unaware that the Children even had such a choice.
Griffin exhaled.
“But you disturbed something you should not have,” Aya went on, her face darkening, “and caused offense to the Earth. My people will not kill you, but you will serve us Within. Your magic will not work down there and there is no sun. It was the will of the Father, who rules us. I am truly sorry.”
Keko finally turned to face Griffin, and she was nearly knocked over by the fierce protest in his eyes and the terrible tension in the coil of his muscles. She saw everything on his face—their entire tumultuous history and the future that would never be. She saw it all, and couldn’t help but be grateful for ever having experienced and known him, for however brief a time.
“No,” he said. The single word of defiance came out harshly, though the look in his eyes was tender and soft. Then he reached out and yanked her to him, enveloping her in his arms. She had to concentrate very hard on keeping her fire under her control. When she went Within, she wouldn’t have to worry about that struggle anymore.
“Let me,” he whispered in her ear, low enough that Aya couldn’t hear. “Let me tell her the truth.”
Keko merely shook her head, her face against his neck. “Before you,” she said, just as softly, just for him, “I thought love a weakness. Before you, I thought only fire and fists mattered. I was wrong.”
She pushed away, and he reluctantly let her go. Though his hands were at his sides, she could still feel him reaching for her.
“I love you,” he said between gritted teeth, his eyes filling. And then again, “I love you.”
Those words—the ones she feared and longed to hear, finally spoken in his voice—painted themselves over her skin. She would never be able to wash them away, nor would she ever want to.
She touched Griffin’s face with great sadness and aching loss and all the love she’d been gathering and storing her whole life, awaiting the appearance of this man. She could not look upon those three years apart from him as a waste. Instead she chose to look on the time they were given as a blessing.
She kissed him, quick and chaste. “And I love your stars.”
With the reminder of his vow, his head dropped forward on his neck, his chest heaving. One hand came up to dig his thumb and forefinger into his eyes.
This was her time.
Keko turned to Aya. “It’s done.”
Without hesitation, Aya snatched her in arms made of skin and stone, and whipped Keko’s body around. The Source fire wanted to be let out, to fight, but Keko kept it in check. She would not oppose this.
Griffin’s head snapped up, his face a mask of terror and despair, his arms reaching for Keko, his feet grinding up dirt as he lunged. Keko saw her name on his lips but could not hear him for the roar in her ears.
Aya threw Keko against the rock, and she braced herself for impact, for pain. But there was none. There was only the vision of a hopeless Griffin charging after her, and a sickly, strange sensation of a hard world going spongy all around her.
Then all went black and silent as Aya took them both deep into the earth.
TWENTY-TWO
The rock bit and ripped at Griffin’s fingertips as he futilely tried to scrape his way Within. The blood didn’t matter, the pain was inconsequential. Aya had taken Keko into the earth because of Griffin’s actions, and nothing he could physically do would ever dig her out.
Something he could say might bring her back, might allow him to trade his life for hers, but she’d carefully reminded him of his vow and he was forced to hold true to his stars, as ever. Just as he would hold true to Keko, because in the end he believed wholeheartedly in what she’d done for her people, even though it felt like his soul had been buried along with her.
Great stars, she was gone. Inside this wall before him. Hidden. Taken.
She’d called him selfless. She’d told him she admired him, but she’d been the one to anonymously give such a gift to her people.
Her disappearance would likely be explained—and her whole existence therefore diminished—by Chief telling everyone that she’d thrown herself into the ocean. Keko had told Griffin back in Utah that in the eyes of Chimerans, dying purposely by water was the ultimate cowardice. And yet it was one she was willing to live with if it meant peace for innocents.
And he was the selfless one?
With a great bellow of anguish wrenched from the bottom of his diaphragm, he smashed a final fist into the rock. The shock of agony rippled up his arm. His body collapsed right there on the path, his back against Keko’s invisible prison door. He’d dislocated two fingers on his right hand, and with a grim numbness he popped them back into place.
He refused to do nothing. He refused to just allow this to happen. Once upon a time Griffin Aames had been the shadowy guy who lingered along the back wall and took orders. He’d had to either live with their consequences or watch, helpless, as the appalling results of his actions unfolded. No more.
He was no longer peripheral. He was the goddamn Ofarian leader and he believed in action when a purpose called to him. For the past five years that action had come through politics, but this could not be fixed through the Senatus. Magic would bring no solution. Neither would brute force or a personal plea to the Children.
Below, in the valley meadow, the Chimeran world came alive. A beautiful, intimidating chorus rose up. Hundreds of Chimerans chanted in sharp, harsh voices. Griffin got to his feet and peered over the tangle of lush, drooping greenery at what was laid out before him.
Row upon row of Chimeran warriors filled the meadow in perfect lines. Bane stood alone, front and center, facing his fierce men and women, leading them in the synchronized movements that were half dance, half challenge. Their brown skin gleamed in the new sunlight, their faces chilling masks of open lips and bared tongues. Timed with some unheard tune, they stomped their feet and slapped their arms and legs. Their deep warrior rallying cries echoed throughout the valley.
Even at this distance, Griffin saw Keko in every movement. He could see her standing in Bane’s place, her body strong and commanding, her voice imperious, her fire awe-inspiring. He saw everything Chimeran that she loved and fought for, all that she’d lost when she’d taken such a risk all those years ago and had given herself to him.
Kapu. That was him to her. Forbidden. Taboo.
With a rousing shout, the warriors’ dance of intimidation ended. Bane roared something to them, the words lost to Griffin at this distance, and the warriors’ lines broke apart. They started to spar with one another, using arms and legs and fire. They possessed such tremendous fighting skill, using techniques he’d never seen and movements he appreciated.
The chief’s house loomed over it all.
When Cat Heddig had come here months earlier to beg for peace on Griffin’s behalf, she’d described the balcony on the second floor where the chief had watched his people train. That balcony was empty now. Chief—likely clothed and ashamed—hid in the confines of his walls.
His absence revealed to Griffin exactly what he must do to try to get Keko back.
He scrambled back down the steep slope into the thick foliage surrounding the meadow. If he could, he’d march right through those Chimeran lines, but he had to think of Keko, what she would want. What was best for her survival and rescue. Revealing his presence was not part of that.
He jogged over the uneven terrain his feet and legs were starting to become accustomed to, ducking under giant leaves and passing through clouds of fragrant blooms, until he came again to the back garden of the chief’s house. He stomped right across it—culture and diplomacy be damned—and threw open the glass door.