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The town gate creaked open under Drake’s hand. He doubled back to grab Silver’s reins, then led her through. The wagon fit easily through the gate — he’d built it that large on purpose, after all. Seeing his work in use normally gave him a warm feeling of accomplishment. It probably would again, eventually.
Today, though… all he could think about was the reason he was back early. Alone.
(“We should split up.”
“What? No, I’m not leaving you —“
“Stay here.”)
The town constable gave him an odd look as he passed, but he ignored it. The man could get the news later. Drake quailed at the idea of repeating himself until the whole town knew, but Aspects above, he wasn’t about to make Laila and Durrant do it.
(Ygin’s familiar voice, raised in a distant roar — until it abruptly cut off, and Drake knew, he knew, that that would be the last he’d ever hear of his best friend.)
Silver’s steps kept a steady rhythm, even as Drake faltered. Just past the Barkleys’ (“he’s not allowed to have fun, you know that”) was the last turn.
He cleared the corner. The Steelmacher house stood there, looking just as it had when they left.
(“Little Eagan was disappointed he couldn’t come with… you’ll have to make it up to him.”
“Oh, you know I will.”)
Drake backed the wagon into its place, then got Silver settled, and then he couldn’t stall anymore. “Why does it get to be me?” He’d asked himself that question so many times over the past week.
(“One of us needs to make it back to Eagan and Zarra.”)
In the end, though, the question was useless. He was the one.
For the first time in years, Drake knocked on the door and waited for someone to meet him.
The sound of rustling was followed by Laila. “Drake! You know you don’t have to knock,” she chided gently.
“I know.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Laila bustled him to a seat on the couch, retrieving something from the mantel on the way. “You made good time, we didn’t expect you for days yet.”
Drake hardly heard. She sat down next to him, and he marshaled a breath to deliver his news and break her heart.
She spoke first. “Ygin’s alive.”
Drake blinked, barely comprehending. “What?”
“My Ygin. He’s alive.”
Drake only stared, adrift.
Laila gently settled a hand on his knee. “I know why you’re back early. You were separated on the third, yes?” He nodded mutely. “He came here that evening and told me about it. An adventure’s chosen him, it seems. The kind that doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“He’s —“ Drake had to swallow. “He’s alive?”
“Yes.” Laila opened her arms. Drake let himself collapse into her embrace, let himself fall apart in his best friend’s mother’s arms, let himself — finally — cry.
Eventually he pulled himself back together with a great, shuddering breath. “How? I heard him —“ He cut off, the memory of that chopped-short roar still awful.
Laila’s eyes narrowed. “He made it sound like someone teleported him out, but he was awfully short on details. I let it pass... what exactly did you hear?”
“He roared — I must have been a hundred yards away by then, but I could hear him roar... and I could hear it stop, all at once. I suppose that could have been when he was teleported...”
“Perhaps.” She didn’t sound especially convinced. “Oh!” She reached behind her. “I brought this over, and then I forgot — he wrote you something.” She handed Drake a folded piece of paper.
His name in Ygin’s handwriting stole his breath for a moment. He opened the letter with shaking hands.
Drake,
First — I’m alive. I’m sure Mother has told you already, but I’ll say it again anyways. I dearly wish I could tell you in person, but it’s looking like that won’t be possible.
Second... I don’t know when I’ll be able to come home. Apparently those monsters were after me because I’m one of the very few people capable of stopping them. I won’t be safe to be around until we do.
I won’t be able to be there for Eagan and Zarra.
You know it pains me to admit that, but it’s the truth. I’m aware this is massively unfair to you, but I must ask you to stay with them. I’m likely to be going into a great deal of danger.
I am entrusting Zarra to you. If I can’t be there myself, there’s no one I’d rather have with her, including her mother. I know you’ll do well.
If I don’t
Ygin
“Your son fights dirty,” Drake informed Laila, looking up.
She laughed softly. “I’m aware; what is it now?”
He passed her the letter. “I’d been halfway thinking of training myself up and going off to join him, but...”
She read it quickly, eyes flicking over the paper, then gave a mock-offended huff. “Over me and Durrant, even? The very nerve!”
Drake laughed, rusty and unexpected, for the first time in a week. Laila almost succeeded in hiding a triumphant smile.
“He said almost the same thing to get me to let him go, you know — ‘one of us needs to make it back to Eagan and Zarra.’ I knew then, too, that he was trying to keep me safe, but he was right — and he still is.” Drake took the letter again, touching the scratched-through line at the bottom and feeling the fear in the words. I will. Whatever you were going to ask of me, I will.
He could feel the weight of Ygin’s trust, no less real for its purpose, and it was impossible to disappoint. He would have followed Ygin anywhere, had he not asked Drake to stay.
So be it. Drake would be the one who stayed, and when Ygin returned he would find all aright.
Laila cut into his thoughts with a cough, leveling a gaze at him. “Now, I trust you’ll stick around long enough for me to feed you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Drake sat straighter, and his stomach rumbled. He laughed again and followed Laila into the kitchen.