Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 65

“Jae!” Tal shouted.
She finally stopped at stared at him. “It’s the only way.”
“Are you sure?” Elan asked, then looked away guiltily. Of course it was the only way. She wouldn’t be talking like this if it wasn’t. She was the one who understood magic, who’d tried to restore the binding already. Whatever she’d discovered in the magic behind the mosaic must have convinced her.
But he wasn’t sure he could do what she was asking. He’d try—he’d search for the knife—but he had no idea where to start, or whether he’d even be able to destroy the knife if he did find it. It sounded like the knife was magic, too, and he was no mage. Only Jae was. Without her, the idea of breaking the Curse seemed impossible. And Jae giving her life after all this just wasn’t fair.
But she finally answered him. “Yes. It requires a life.”
A life. Hers. Unless…He felt like he had when he’d spotted the sandstorm on the horizon. The dread was sudden, the danger definite. But instead of running, he had to face it. “What I mean is, forgive the question, but does it have to be you? Your life?”
Jae was quiet for a long moment, and Elan knew the answer before she even spoke. “It doesn’t have to be, but—”
“Then I’ll do it,” he said.
Jae and Tal both stared at him, and the words he’d just spoken echoed in his own ears. He’d said it without thinking, but it resonated inside him, felt right. He’d lost everything. His status, his position. His family—maybe, maybe Erra would help him, but their father would forbid it if he found out. And more than all of that, he’d lost his faith.
Before he’d come to Aredann, his family’s history had been as sure as the sun in the sky. He’d believed their every move had been driven by necessity, had been justified because they protected the world from chaos and the desert both. The Highest families had kept the peace, and when they’d been cruel, it had been because they’d had no choice.
But it had all been a lie.
The Closest hadn’t started the war. The Well had been theirs, and they had suffered for generations because Elan’s ancestors were thieves. That his ancestors had started the war was bad enough, but that they’d forced the world to forget that, to believe they were guiltless protectors, was worse.
Everything Elan knew about the world had changed, and there was nothing left he could trust—nothing except Jae, who had told him the truth, and who had the power to right the Highest’s wrongs. The world needed her, but the sun would still rise tomorrow if he died.
“I’ll do it,” he repeated. “You’re the only one who has magic, and we don’t really know what it will take to break the Curse. You can’t die here, and I can. It’s as simple as that.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, but she was still staring at him, her eyes wide and her voice soft. It wasn’t the way she usually looked at him, from behind a blank mask or with a sneer of disdain. But her face hardened, and the moment passed. “The sacrifice needs to be from the Wellspring Bloodlines, to link them back to the Well and restore its binding. If we had someone else here, maybe, but…it has to be me.”
Elan didn’t even have a chance to feel relieved—relieved or disappointed—before Tal said, “Or me. We have the same blood.”
“No.”
“Jae—”
“No,” she repeated. “You’re the only one I care about saving. If you die, the world can turn to dust for all I care.”
“But I care.” Tal reached out, grabbed her hand. “Elan is right. You have magic. That means you’re the most important person in the world. You can change things, change everything—”
“But I don’t care about that if you’re not—”
“Listen to me!” Tal yelled, and Jae yanked her hand back as if she’d been stung. “Back there, in that world, I can’t even talk, but here and now, you have to listen to me. This isn’t about you, or me, or any one person. This is about all of us. All of Aredann, all of the Closest, and—and the Twill and even the Avowed. Everyone. If you die here, we can’t be sure that Elan will be able to break the Curse—he’s not a mage. You are. You’re the world’s best hope, and if you die here, everyone else might die, too.”
“Maybe they deserve to.” Jae looked defiant, the way she had when Elan had tried to talk to her after she’d killed Rannith.
“But maybe they don’t,” Tal countered. “You’re not the only one who’s been hurt, Jae. But you had your revenge. Rannith is dead. You used your power to kill him, and maybe you were right to do it, but for every Rannith out there, there’s…there’s someone like you were, powerless and scared and angry, who deserves better. I’m willing to die to give them a chance, but it’s meaningless if you won’t help them.” Tal stared at her, and she all but squirmed under that fixed, fierce gaze.
Finally she murmured, “It’s meaningless if I lose you.”
“No,” Tal breathed. “It means everything to me. To know you’d be free—that Gali could be free, safe, happy—that everyone else could, too. You can protect them. You and I can give them that, together. But not if you throw your life away.”
“You’re willing to—”
“But I’m not. You said it was a sacrifice. Coming from me, it’s a gift. From you, it’s a death sentence for all of us.”
Jae’s angry mask was crumbling in front of them, her shoulders shaking as she repeated, “No, no, Tal, please,” over and over. He held her hand in both of his as she shook.
“There must be another way,” Elan said, desperate, even though he knew it was pointless before Jae’s head shake confirmed it. If there had been another way, she’d never have planned to sacrifice herself in the first place.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Tal said, pulling Jae close as her eyes finally went glassy and damp. “I’d do anything to stay with you, but if one of us has to go, let it be me. I trust you to carry on, do things I never could. Please, please let me do this for you.”
“But what if—what if— Without you, I can’t, I don’t care,” she gasped. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect you, and now—”