The flat pebble collided with the Spout's smooth surface, creating a sequence of ripples with each impact—once, twice, three times before sinking. Henry let out a sigh and reached for another pebble.
"What was that, three? That's child's play; I got six once."
Without turning, Henry grinned, having sensed Ripred this time before he had spoken. "Look who's made it." Henry brandished his new pebble. "Six, you say? Then prove it."
"With pleasure," said Ripred, slipping out of the shadow of a nearby tunnel entrance. "Where's that flier of yours?"
"Patrolling." Henry tossed Ripred the pebble. "For guards . . . or rats."
Ripred caught it skillfully, then his ears twitched, and he sat on his haunches. Henry immediately focused his perception and made out the faint fluttering of wings—two pairs.
"Over here!" he called out to Ares and Aurora, watching them catch three figures dropping from a hidden opening in the ceiling, directly above the Spout. Shortly thereafter, the fliers descended onto the beach, touching down in front of Henry and Ripred. "I am glad you received my message." He greeted them. "Yet I'm afraid the things we must discuss are dire."
Henry frowned, observing that the gravity on Luxa's and Aurora's faces differed from the kind that he had expected. Luxa's hair was only loosely tied, and she wore a heavy cloak around her narrow shoulders, as though she didn't have enough time to get dressed properly. However, the most worrying observation he made was that she wasn't looking at him; instead, her eyes, surrounded by purple rings, deliberately stared past him. The concern on Gregor's and Ares' faces mirrored each other's; only Howard, seated behind Gregor, maintained his usual demeanor. Yet, like everyone else, he seemed to have been deprived of proper rest for days.
"How fare you?" asked Henry, creasing his brow. "Did something happen after your return?"
Gregor opened his mouth, then closed it again before sliding off Ares' back. Howard followed him, and one moment of tense silence passed before Gregor finally spoke. "We got your message," he said. "It's just—"
"This tunnel," Luxa cut in, making everyone jump. Ever so slowly, she mounted down, still without meeting Henry's gaze. "Know you who discovered it? Showed it to me?"
Her words took a moment to register, but when they did, a terrible realization hit Henry like a blow to the face. His eye widened as he instinctively looked for the hidden entrance, barely managing to hold his ground.
"It was . . . our secret," whispered Luxa. "Know you whom I mean?"
Henry saw neither Howard's raised brow, nor Gregor's pained scowl, nor Ares' lowered eyes. He paid no mind to Ripred, likely in the process of piecing it all together. He only saw Luxa and the emptiness in her face . . . and struggled with all his might against the impending raw panic.
"His name was Henry," said Luxa when he did not reply. She visibly struggled with saying the name—his name—so much that it stabbed like a knife into his heart. "Know you where he is now?"
Responding—confirming—sealing his own fate—hurt almost as much. "I do," said Henry anyway.
"Oh?" It was only then that Luxa finally met his gaze. "He is dead."
The silence that followed was overwhelming, squeezing the breath from Henry's lungs. He feared he might faint until a sudden, loud snort made everyone flinch. Another soon followed it, and then the cave filled with howling laughter that echoed eerily from the lake and the stone.
Henry whipped around, seeing that Ripred had dropped on his back, extending his limbs outward, and shaking with laughter. "Oh! Oh no!" He wheezed. "Oh, lad! You don't even need me to spill your secret, do you? Did you really just do that? Just like so?"
"Secret?" Howard chimed in, pushing to the front to stand between Luxa and Gregor. "What does he mean?"
"Howard," said Ripred with emphasis, suppressing the rest of his laughter. "Do you not pay attention to what's happening around you at all? It's comical enough that you all didn't recognize the lad, for you apparently grew up together, but come on! Cat's out of the bag now!"
Part of Henry was tempted to ask what a cat was, but he couldn't look away from Howard. A few silent heartbeats went by; Howard stared at him with a scowl, and Henry stared back defiantly, attempting to brace himself. In the end, he thought he could pinpoint the exact moment when Howard comprehended . . . and not only because it was also the moment when Howard's hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "You—!"
He had braced himself, yet the seething contempt in Howard's eyes stabbed into his chest relentlessly. There was also disbelief, shock . . . and condemnation—so much of it that he was rendered immobile.
Hadn't he told himself that he had no more fear? Henry took them all in—Howard's furiously contorted face and his hand at the hilt of his sword; Gregor's anxiously entwined hands and his rigid shoulders; Ares' awkwardly averted gaze; the accusing gleam in Aurora's eyes and her protectively extended wing . . . And Luxa staring past him, her face void of any emotion or movement. Almost . . . dead.
He had told himself that he would no longer dread the revelation of his identity, that he needed no absolution, thought Henry desperately. Yet now that he was facing the condemnation that he had told himself he would not fear, he understood that this declaration had been a lie.
"What is going on?"
Thanatos' sudden landing in their midst startled everyone, as if they had not realized he had been gone. His flier looked between Henry's horrified face, the defensive group, and finally Ripred for confirmation. "Our lad here has apparently forgotten that only Henry would know about this place," snickered Ripred.
Thanatos' head whipped back to the group, then he leaped forward. His enormous wings unfurled protectively; something about the motion reminded Henry of their first encounter with the questers on the waterway . . . in more than one way.
Everyone staggered one step back. Howard's hand released his sword, only to ball into a fist instead. "Know you even who your bond truly is?" he asked icily. "What he has done—"
Before he could utter another word, Thanatos knocked Howard off his feet, pressing him down with his talon. "I know his true self far better than you," he hissed.
"Fine, keep your vow," Howard pressed out, struggling under Thanatos' weight. "Do pray that he also keeps his."
The low hiss out from between Thanatos' bared teeth sent a chill down Henry's spine. Howard cried out from how tightly his talons dug into his chest. "Speak not of things you do not understand!" cried Thanatos.
"Death, I beg you, cease . . ."
Only when Henry spoke weakly did Thanatos release Howard, drawing back again. "Any of you. I dare one of you to claim for yourself a right to condemn him!"
Howard sat up, coughing and gripping his chest, yet no one made a move to help him up. Gregor and Ares stared at him with concern, yet they did not rebuke him either. No one besides Howard moved at all. "I do," spat Howard. "I have a right to—"
"At ease, dears," Ripred cut in at last. Casual as ever, he strode forward, planting himself between Henry and Thanatos, and the rest of the group. "My dears," he addressed them again. "All of this is quite entertaining, yet we've actual relevant business to discuss, haven't we? Does anyone recall?"
All eyes were on him, bewildered, as if they had forgotten about the Bane and the war completely. It wasn't until Henry inspected Ripred's seemingly relaxed form more closely that he noticed the tense muscles beneath his thin, dark fur.
"Relevant . . . business?" asked Howard, pulling himself to his feet without leaving Henry out of his sight.
"Yes. Business," repeated Ripred. "The Bane? The war? Your canalization? Anything?"
One moment of unbroken silence passed, then Luxa sprung to life for the first time. She tugged on Aurora's fur, exchanging one look with her and ignoring everyone else, before announcing, "I will go."
"Go where, Cousin?" Howard interjected.
"You need the army to launch a surprise attack, no?" she asked Ripred, ignoring both Henry and Howard. "I will go then, and they will come after me. They will drive the Bane out, and Regalia will be safe."
"Wait, Luxa!" Gregor attempted to cut in. "You can't—"
"That's not a bad plan, Your Highness," said Ripred, and Henry couldn't help but agree as he stared at Luxa, mouth agape. It was far more coherent and clever than anything he had expected out of her at this point.
"It is madness!" exclaimed Howard. "You cannot put yourself in danger again! I forbid you from going."
"You cannot forbid me from anything," hissed Luxa, whipping around to Howard. "And I will go because I am the only one for whom they would send the army. Or can you guarantee that they will do it for you? Or perhaps for the Overlander?"
Gregor twitched, and Howard's jaw clenched. "Then I come with you," he pressed out.
"I do not need you!" shouted Luxa, brushing away the hand he extended toward her. "Remain in the hospital, Cousin, where you belong. That is an order."
"Luxa, stop it!" cried Gregor suddenly. He brushed past Howard, yet froze when Luxa shot him an icy glare.
"You do not give me orders either!" she hissed.
"Neither do you. Not to me, anyway," Gregor shot back, then recomposed himself. "Don't you remember what we talked about on the flight back?" he asked in a quieter voice. "I told you that I'd fight this war with you. That means by your side. If we're going into battle, I'm doing it with you."
"He is right." Everyone flinched when Henry spoke for the first time.
"Stay back!" yelled Howard, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword again, yet Henry forced himself to focus only on Luxa.
"I know that you feel as though you must do everything by yourself," said Henry, trying his best to maintain an uplifting tone. If he relinquished it now, he himself would plummet into despair. "What did I tell you? Insist not on battling alone. Especially not for the fulfillment of a vow that we have made together."
Her head snapped up, and though her eyes turned toward him, they appeared distant. Henry's spine tingled with concern as he noticed the mist in her normally bright eyes.
"He's right, Luxa," urged Gregor. "We're all here to help you."
"I need none of your help," she said, her voice laced with so much ice that Henry shivered. "I need nothing from any of you other than that you recall your places. Your place is here, warrior."
Gregor flinched back. His mouth opened, then closed again. "And yours isn't?" he said in a voice that was almost breaking. "Like yours isn't!" he called.
"No one will blame you if you treat the vow you have made with him," Howard shot a glare at Henry, "as though you have made it alone."
"Leave me!" she shouted in reply, swatting all hands away. "I order all of you to stay here. So I order!"
"I said you can't order me to do anything!" called Gregor. She opened her mouth to speak, but Gregor didn't give her time. "I'm not leaving you alone. And I don't care if that makes you mad, Luxa. Get mad! Don't talk to me! I don't care. Because what's it matter?" His voice cracked. "I don't live here. I'm just visiting. That promise I made you to fight this war with you? That's just a favor. Not something I owe you. Because when it's over, I won't be your "warrior" anymore. Then I'll leave you alone all you want. I'll be sent home, and we can forget we ever knew each other! Okay?"
The last word hung in the air, and in Gregor's eyes, Henry saw astonishment over his own outburst, then immediate regret. Yet the most concerning part was that Luxa had not even flinched. Her face was as blank as before when she slowly turned away from him.
"Luxa, someone . . . must show us the way," Aurora chimed in suddenly. "Without them, we would not find the Bane."
Luxa shot her bond a pensive look. "I suppose."
"I will show you the way," said Henry, and she flinched again, suddenly looking so lost and frail that he had to fight with himself not to walk up and hug her, assure her that he would always protect her. Suddenly, the thought that he may never hold her again stirred fear within him.
One moment of unbroken silence went by. "I cannot deny you this even if I wanted to," mumbled Luxa eventually, without meeting his gaze. "I cannot deny your vow. And you have always been a . . . reliable ally, Death Rider."
"Luxa, have you lost your mind?!" interjected Howard, dragging her back by the arm. "He is—"
"The Death Rider, Howard." Luxa ripped her arm out of his grip, speaking calmly. "Who else would he be?"
Howard scowled, looking back and forth between Henry and Luxa. "This is out of the question," he blurted out eventually. "I forbid you from going alone with him. If you go, I will come with you. And I will listen to no contrary commands."
"So will I," said Gregor next to him, his voice laced with an undefinable emotion. "We all go. As we always do. Right?"
"We all go," concurred Henry. "If you insist."
"But—"
"We're a team," urged Gregor, cutting Luxa off. "We're all a team. We—the questers. Isn't that what we said before?" He almost pleaded. "Let's just go, and let's not fight anymore. Please, let's just go."
Luxa gave him a long look, then she shrugged. "You are right when you claim that you don't live here and that I cannot command you. So do as you please." With that, she whipped away and mounted Aurora. The golden bat hesitated for one heartbeat, then she lifted off. Moments later, she disappeared into the mound of a tunnel leading away from Regalia.
Gregor took one step toward his bond, but Ares seemed pensive. "If we all go, how will the army know where to find us?" He spoke for the first time.
"We may write a note," mused Henry. "But whatever we do, we must act quickly before Luxa and Aurora lose us. Fly after her, and have no worry for me. I will handle this, then meet you up ahead."
"You? How will you deliver a message to anyone in Regalia?" asked Gregor.
"I may enter through the turtle and covertly leave it in the sight of a guard," replied Henry. "It is risky, but if either of you go back now and are caught, you lose your chance to leave again." He swiped a few loose hair strands out of his face and forewent mentioning that he also craved to be away from them all, even if only for a little while.
"Be careful," urged Gregor with a creased brow. "Ripred, you can track us, right?"
"Anytime," confirmed Ripred. "I'll watch the lad for you; don't worry."
Henry didn't even have the mind for a retort. His gaze trailed back and forth between Gregor's grave face, Ares, who still couldn't meet his gaze, and Howard, who looked like he was moments from snapping. He strained himself to keep it together. "I shall be careful," he said with a smile that he hoped retained a semblance of encouragement. "Have no worry for me. I can perceive and predict any movement in my surroundings; recall you?"
"Okay." Gregor drew in a deep breath, then let it out again. "Okay. Just catch up soon, please." He latched onto Howard's arm to drag him toward Ares. "Let's go."
"Halt." Howard ripped his arm out of Gregor's grip. "Halt. Halt." He took one step toward Henry, disregarding Gregor entirely. "Are you all . . . serious?" Taking a moment to assess the group, he then directed his fiercely gleaming eyes straight at Henry.
Thanatos behind him gave a low growl, but Howard didn't let himself be intimidated this time. "You!" he shouted, drowning out all the surrounding noise. "I am not believing my ears when you speak like this. We will have a talk about your involvement in this later, Overlander," he hissed in Gregor's direction. "But you." He swiveled back to Henry, taking two steps toward him and placing a pointed finger on his chest; it trembled with suppressed rage. "Know you what I should do? I should have you arrested on the spot," he spat. "I should summon the army here and arrest you the way you should have been arrested two years ago." Howard took one last step forward and firmly gripped Henry's collar. "The fact that you actually have the nerve to come here and face us again. Face Luxa again. The nerve!" he yelled, shaking him.
"Watch yourself!" hissed Thanatos behind them.
"You are not only a traitor!" screamed Howard, disregarding everything else. He was physically weaker yet taller, and although Henry thought he could break free if he tried, at that moment, he hadn't the strength or will to fight back. "You are a conniving liar and deceiver who will no longer pretend to be anything else!" screamed Howard, shaking him again. "You will no longer use your lies to infiltrate our circle! You will stay away! You—"
"Stop!" Before Thanatos, who had already readied himself to drag Howard off his bond, could leap, Gregor latched onto Howard's arm. "Stop!" he yelled again, tugging Howard back. "He's not a liar. He's helping us!"
Howard snorted, brushing Gregor away. "Your heart is far too soft and forgiving." He scoffed. "Do not be a fool. You know who he is, and so you cannot trust a single word from his mouth. The same mouth that—"
"How can you still say that?" called Gregor. "You know that he saved us. He protected us so many times. He saved your sister!"
Howard flinched.
Gregor grabbed his arm again. "When we talked about why he's part of us, you said yourself—that he saved your sister. That she owes him her life. Didn't you say that?"
"I didn't know—"
"But it doesn't matter!" cried Gregor, tugging at Howard's sleeve. "Because nothing's changed. Tell me, what has changed since you said that? Whether you call him Death Rider or Henry . . . what changes?"
Howard's furious stare bore into Gregor, yet he clenched his jaw shut as he reluctantly let the Overlander lead him to Ares. Before mounting up, he shot one final glare at Henry, then pointed a finger. "Stay away!" he screamed. "Stay away from Luxa! From all of us!"
No one said anything anymore. Not Ripred, not Gregor, as he tugged Howard onto Ares, and not Ares himself, who didn't meet Henry's gaze yet again. He merely unfurled his wings and lifted off, disappearing in the same direction as Aurora.
Henry stared after them, unable to avert his gaze, attempting to process what had just happened. His head spun from Howard's shaking and from everything that had just occurred. His mouth opened and closed.
He had wanted not to depend on their approval, thought Henry, dazed. He had wanted to be impervious to their rejection, and yet . . . he was not. A wave of shame crashed into him, making his head spin more.
"Henry, take ease," said Thanatos behind him, nudging his side. "Take ease."
He could not take ease, thought Henry, as he remained standing there, frozen to ice. He could only think that he was not impervious because he was still that fool—the Henry of Old. He who had made himself a traitor for the sake of false promises. Because no matter how much he craved to be rid of him, he could not.
"You are not dependent on their absolution," said Thanatos soothingly. And although Henry knew that he was technically right, at that moment, he thought that, judging by the way their condemnation felt, he might as well be.
***
Henry pulled himself into the secret entrance and watched Thanatos dip back down toward the Spout and Ripred, who had promised to wait for him. His mission was clear—he had readied a note, and he would deliver it, come what may. He would do this, and then he would follow and protect the others just as diligently as he had done before.
Technically, he knew he didn't have to. Because everything was different now. They still need you. Even if they'll now pretend they don't. Henry saw Ripred's pensive gaze and heard his words, which he had uttered before Henry had departed. It was true, he thought, clenching his jaw. Now, if he protected them, he would no longer be welcomed or appreciated. He wouldn't be a part of them—only an outsider who may eventually discover a way to be tolerated, but nothing more. Never again.
They still need you. The words reverberated in his head, and Henry did his best to make himself believe them. For one moment, he stood there, then he turned away with a scowl. Instead of lamenting what had already happened, he should carry out his mission and then . . . Henry straightened out his back. He had allowed himself to dream for long enough. Perhaps waking up was long overdue anyway.
The moment he took one step away from the edge, he was staring at the turtle—the smiling one. Slowly, he reached out—had it shrunken? No, he had grown, Henry thought, and stuck his hand inside its mouth to pull the lever.
In an automated fashion, he proceeded up the steps, briefly considering the potential presence of people in the old nursery. Yet even if—Henry reminded himself that he would hear them long before they could spot him.
Soon after, he pulled himself out of the gaping turtle shell and found himself in an empty, dark room, with only a dim light seeping in from under the closed curtain. For one moment, he stood still, allowing his echolocation to pick up every shape and every nook and cranny of this room. This room—it was suddenly unsettling to be here and see things in this way. The last time he had been here, he hadn't had this skill yet. He hadn't been here in . . .
The reality of his current location suddenly struck Henry like a bucket of cold water. He hurriedly sought cover behind the turtle as a squadron of guards passed by outside, and could only think that he was here—in Regalia, in the palace. Once the squadron had passed, he stepped out from behind the turtle, only to be faced with . . .
There it was. Still here, of course. His eye had grown accustomed to the dim light, enough for him to discern the mural. Despite knowing it was not the moment for reflection or hesitation, he found himself unable to shift his gaze. It wasn't as high up on the wall as he had remembered; he even had to lower his gaze a little to see—Henry raised a hand and traced the century-old lines carefully—his own image. He realized that something within him had not fully comprehended until this very moment that it was, in fact, him on this wall; it had always been him. There was the flaming sword, and there was the image of Death, looking like a flier with a skull mask—Thanatos.
Pensively, he trailed his finger over the flier's wing until it reached the skull. A memory suddenly cut through the haze of time, and he sharply turned his head in the direction of—was it a real memory or a fragment of his six-year-old imagination?
Yet before he could press the mask for confirmation, he was startled by movement and brightness close by the curtain.
"I knew you would be here today," said a familiar voice. "I knew you would be here, brother."
Henry whipped around so quickly that he nearly stumbled. And in the lantern she held in her spindly hand, he took in the face of . . . She was so gaunt, he thought, and her skin so colorless. Slightly taller, with unkempt hair and a nightgown draped over her slender frame, reaching just to the ankles of her bare feet. After all, it was bedtime in the palace. "Nerissa . . ."
Edging a few steps closer, she held the lantern up to get a better look at him. When she did, her pale violet eyes widened in shock. Her reaction took him aback at first, but then Henry processed how he must appear to her—his rugged clothes, the much too long hair, the eyepatch, the scars . . .
"Nerissa, it is I!" urged Henry in a hushed voice.
She squinted her eyes. "Henry . . . ?" she asked tentatively, disbelievingly. He didn't have it in himself to blame her for it.
Henry gave her a crooked smile. "I may not look quite like I did two years ago, but it is I. It is still I."
Only then did recognition flash in her eyes, and she nearly dropped the lantern before setting it down. "Henry!" she exclaimed joyously, and then she sprinted toward him with open arms.
Henry caught her in a tight hug, inadvertently lifting her off the ground. She barely managed to suppress a squeal of delight, her arms encircling his neck as he spun her around, battling back tears of happiness.
"Brother! Oh, brother, I feared for you so much! You have no idea. The visions, Henry, I could not see—!" she stammered and Henry steadied her on her feet while keeping her close. As he held her, he couldn't ignore the stark reality of how thin she had become. Despite being only two years her senior, she felt more like a child in his arms than the grown woman she was now.
"Nerissa, I am well," he soothed. "You must not fear for me. But did you not see that? Did you not see me here today?"
"I saw you." She nodded. "And every time I see you, I see blood. I saw loneliness and fear. I saw pain. I saw rage and sorrow and blood . . . painting white sand red."
Henry's grip on her tensed; his mouth opened, then closed again. "I faced darkness, loneliness, and pain," he said after a while. "I saw blood painting white sand red. And I reaped the gain. Did you not see this as well?"
Nerissa nodded. "I had so much fear for you," she mumbled. "I saw your gain, and yet I had fear."
"You must not fear for me." His hand gently swept over her hair. "I told you that I had no plans to die." Henry released her, holding her at arm's length. "Didn't I tell you?"
"Didn't I tell you there are evils beyond death?"
He smiled crookedly again. "You were right as always. But I may handle all evils. They all might be turned into opportunities, lessons . . . Every hardship. Even exile. I have become quite skilled at it."
"You have always been." Nerissa returned his smile somberly, then took a step back. "Oh, Henry!" She clasped her hands over her mouth. "Is this really you? I know it is you, but . . . Oh, your eye . . ."
"What, are you saying I do not look handsome in an eyepatch?" he teased, straightening it out.
Nerissa smiled, then grew serious again. "You have changed so much, and yet you are still shielding me from your pains."
"And you have not changed at all." Henry sighed. "I hope you are wary of trying to carry your burden on your own."
"I manage."
Henry scowled. "Only because I am no longer in Regalia to care for you, this does not mean that I cannot find ways to make certain you are not left alone with your burdens. I will not allow it."
"And what of your burdens?" she retorted. "With whom do you share them?"
"With my bond," replied Henry, upon which Nerissa grew silent.
"I am relieved to know that you are not alone out there," she said after a while. "I have seen it, and yet I am still relieved by your words of confirmation."
"I wish I could introduce you." Henry smiled, then his smile fell. "Think not that you are alone," he urged. "Leave me not with the fear that you are alone here."
"Oh, fine." She sighed. "I know I can escape your attempts to protect me as little as the rest of them. As little as I can escape my visions."
"Cease trying to escape your visions!" exclaimed Henry, gripping her shoulders again. "Have you still not learned to use them? They led you to me. They are your gift. A gift to be proud of."
"Yet another thing I knew you would say." She smiled somberly.
"Perhaps a thing you ought to listen to," grumbled Henry. They had never seen eye-to-eye about this, and as much as he knew that she wouldn't listen, he couldn't help but try anyway. "But how are you faring?" he asked instead. "You are not unhappy, are you?"
"I am faring better than you," retorted Nerissa.
"You may not fall for lies easily, but you are not a skilled liar either." Henry waved dismissively. "I say care for yourself, for all our sakes!" He shook her. "Let others care for you."
"You are not here to tell me this, are you?" she said wistfully.
Henry gritted his teeth. "I am here to deliver a message. And to tell you that you are utterly horrible and that I will haunt you in your detested visions until you listen to me."
"Give your message to me," said Nerissa with a faint smile, disregarding his warning entirely. "I will make certain that it reaches Vikus."
"Sister, I will haunt you!" exclaimed Henry, and she laughed.
"You already do." Her laugh abated. "You are always with me when I face something that I feel uncomfortable facing alone. And now . . ." She glanced at him from head to toe. "Now your light is not merely shining. It is blazing. You appear as a rogue, yet you shine like a valiant."
Henry laughed. "I try my best."
"To protect us, I know," said Nerissa. "With the Overlander and with Luxa."
Henry's smile abated immediately. "I do what I must."
"No." Nerissa shook her head. "You used to do only the minimum required, but now you're going above and beyond." She stared at him incredulously for a heartbeat. "Know you how proud I am of you? Of who you have become? You have become so much."
"I am proud too," said Henry with a wistful smile. "Of myself and of you, Rissa."
She tensed, and a flicker of vulnerability dashed across her features. "When have you last . . ."
"Shortly after our parents lost their lights," said Henry grimly. "Shortly before I forbid myself from brandishing mine."
A single tear made its way down Nerissa's cheek. "Give me your message," she said after a long pause. "And worry not for me. Care for yourself, Henry, please. I cannot see beyond the war. If I am already burdened with these visions, I desire to at least see the outcome of all this, but alas, I cannot. You must promise me to care for yourself."
He nodded, handing over the scroll.
"You must care for yourself the way you care for the others. They need your light, Henry. Even if they deny it. We all need your light. If we would not have your light to shine upon us . . ." Her jaw clenched. "I wish not to imagine what would be."
"I will care for everyone," assured Henry, recalling that Ripred had said something not unsimilar back at the Spout. "And I will care for myself if you will do the same."
Nerissa sighed. "Lest you haunt me?"
"Lest I haunt you." He patted her head. "I shall not be stopped. I have told you before, and I'll tell you again—I have no plans to die. By now, life has thrown so much shit at me that the world itself would have to end in order to bring about my demise."
Nerissa managed a smile, then she embraced him again, and Henry suddenly became painfully aware that this might be the last time he would ever see her.
"You must promise me something else, Rissa," he said quietly. "Promise not only to let yourself be cared for but also to care for Luxa in my place. For Hazard and Vikus. For . . ." He cut himself off, feeling a stab of pain when he acknowledged the dreadful finality of this goodbye. "For them all," he whispered. "For all whom I love. I love them all. And I love you. I will always carry you in my heart; you know I will."
Nerissa released him abruptly. "You speak as though I will never see you again!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking.
"Promise just in case," said Henry, placing a hand on her head again. "You said yourself that you do not know."
"But Henry!" she wailed.
"My place is no longer here," he cut her off. "I am an outcast now, and I know not whether I will ever be anything else. I must know that they are all cared for, even if I shall never see any of you again."
Nerissa lowered her gaze. "I knew you would say this," she whispered. "I hoped that you wouldn't, but I knew . . . that this might be my final opportunity to lay eyes on you, maybe ever." Fresh tears glistened in her eyes when she looked back up. "I promise," she said. "I cannot replace you and your light, valiant. But I will do my best. And I will carry you in my heart as well. I will cherish your memory in my mind and in the minds of those who still love you."
Henry hugged her tightly one last time, battling his own tears as she sobbed quietly into his vest. "I must go before someone finds us here," he mumbled, then let her go, turning toward the turtle. "If you deliver this message successfully, you will have saved us all."
"I will."
Henry gave her one last crooked smile. "I know. Fly you high, Rissa."
"Fly you high," she whispered back. "And shine brightly, Henry. Never cease to shine brightly."
It was the last he heard from her before she fell silent, and as Henry closed the turtle's shell, it felt like he was sealing it for eternity.