Was Amara that obvious, that Cilla detected a change in this fraction of a second?
“So … running wasn’t Amara’s idea,” Cilla signed.
“You have to tell her to go.” Amara felt her expression change but couldn’t tell how. She wanted to claw at it. “I won’t force her. I’m just giving her the option. Making it easier. Listen. I know her parents’ names and what they look like. They lived in Bedam. If we go there, we can find them. They’ll have to hide her or return to Eligon, but she’ll be safe.”
Her parents. Amara had never considered that option. All she remembered were words that weren’t Dit, said by voices she couldn’t place. The words had to be Elig; the voices had to be her parents’.
How come Nolan knew, and she didn’t?
She still couldn’t leave. Her parents could be dead or could have moved hundreds of miles away. Jorn would track her. He’d find her. Or maybe Ruudde would, the moment she set foot in Bedam.
She couldn’t.
“I’m leaving now,” Nolan said. “I’ll keep watching in case she needs to heal. Earlier, when she told me to leave, I swear, I didn’t know what’d happen.”
Cilla’s lips pursed. “If we tell you to leave, you leave. And you don’t take control unless she asks.”
Nolan nodded. He clawed at the blanket of her bedroll—then her body sagged. She had to remind herself to sit up, to lift her hands, wake the muscles he’d left unattended.
“I can’t go,” Amara said. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
“Jorn killed Maart,” Cilla signed, and she didn’t even seem ashamed of having that name on her fingers. Amara shut her eyes too late to miss it.
Maart. Maart. She sang his name in her head, the only place she could keep it safe. She didn’t want to decide on another name. Not yet.
“We’ll go together,” Cilla signed. “We’ll find your parents.”
“Why do you want to come?” Amara knew the answer before she finished asking.
“He. Killed. Maart.” Cilla’s eyes hardened.
And, oh, Amara knew Cilla was right, she knew, but part of her could not help thinking, That’s what it took? That’s how far he had to go?
“And he’s working with the ministers. Our enemies. You’re the only person I can trust.”
“And you need me to survive.”
“Yes. And I need you.”
It was as though the word hate had never been on Amara’s hands. It changed nothing. She sat there, her fingers on the edge of her boot. If she stayed, she’d need to remain useful to Jorn. She’d be stuck with Nolan.
If she ran—she might have a chance. And Maart had wanted her to. If she’d gone with him before, he might still be alive.
Her hands dropped from her boot. “We’d need to cross Jorn’s detection spell.”
Cilla’s face broke into a smile. Just like that. From hard eyes to that lit-up smile that made Amara love and hate her more at the same time. “We’re safe. Jorn never reactivated it. He went straight back inside after … He seemed really out of it.”
“He’ll still track us. He has anchors on us—must be our clothes or boots, or your medicine.”
“We’ll take the airtrain to the harbor and get out of Jorn’s reach before he notices. I don’t know how far he can track an anchor. Leaving the island should be enough, shouldn’t it?”
Amara couldn’t believe she was discussing this.
Cilla’s smile faded. “If you don’t want to go, don’t. You’re the one who should decide.”
“But you want me to.”
“Yes. I want you to.”
No, Amara wanted to tell Cilla. No. I don’t want to go.
She took her other boot. “We’ll find a ship, then. I’ve already packed money.”
“I’ll get my things.” Cilla bolted for the bag where Jorn kept Cilla’s medicine, both the kind that stopped her monthly bleeds and the kind that sped her clotting. She’d need the brush for her teeth, of course, and her clothes, her knee and elbow pads …
The smile might have gone, but as Cilla packed, her every movement contained a barely restrained excitement. Was this an adventure to her? She could take the risk of running. She’d get off easily if they were caught. Maybe her only punishment would be watching Amara’s.
Amara pulled her boots back on. It didn’t matter. She’d made her choice. She felt … relieved. It would work or it wouldn’t, and either way, all this would come to an end.
She took her knife from her boot and pricked her arm. A drop of blood welled up. She smeared it away, finding the skin underneath whole. “What about you?” she asked Nolan. “Is this just an adventure to you, as well?”
No answer came.
21
It’s not an adventure, Nolan wrote. He’d woken from his millionth nap, sitting uneasily in his desk chair. And it’s not about feeling guilty. It’s about making it right.
He chugged more knockoff Coke. It was four in the morning. He had school soon. Mom would be furious. Few things were more important to preventing seizures than a regular sleep schedule.
Amara blames me. Prob should. I didn’t mean to, but it’s still my doing. Should help FIX IT now. Fuck own life. Can’t ignore this. My fault. I still don’t get what’s going on with me but
Ok, I think this is what’s happening. Nolan underlined the word several times. I’m a mage, or whatever the Earth version is and I can transport my mind into someone else. (Just Amara? Others if I try?) I used to do it without meaning to & now I can control it.
I looked this up: When people blink, something happens w/ our brain, turning on & off diff sections to rest for a split second. So in my case, when brain rests when I blink & sleep, something else happens too. I go to Amara.
So what’s in these pills that wasn’t in the others? And which part of my brain sends me to Amara? I guess my drs would know, all those weird EEGs from when I was a kid prob show which part of my brain is (in)active when I’m in her mind.
Ok, leaves me where??
As long as I take the pills, I can stay out of her mind. So I only need to stick around until she’s safe w/parents. Then ??? I take pills the rest of my life & hope I don’t focus on Amara too much b/c I’ll go by accident? What if she needs to heal? Do I keep checking?
He drained the last drops of his pseudo-Coke can but didn’t get up yet to find another. He should’ve just brought up a full six-pack. And what happens with Cilla? he wrote.
What happens with Amara?
22
The airtrain was nearly empty. It only operated at this hour to take fishers and market workers to the harbor, and many of those had either already left or didn’t need to work until sunrise. Cilla and Amara climbed on right as the train was about to leave.
Every second they rode took them farther from Jorn. Amara stared at the passing landscape: the forest where lightning had struck the other airtrain, dunes and farms and heathered hills, gray fields stretching far with nothing but cows, and, near the treelines, a handful of deer. The unnervingly steady drone of the dawnflies’ whistling followed the train on its trip.
“Nolan. I’d like to talk to you,” Amara signed. She sat at the window, where no one but Cilla could see her hands.
No answer came. Nothing but the train’s pneumatic hiss and the dawnflies outside.
“You can take control, can’t you? Here’s your permission.”