The day I left, Sorcha pulled that deliberate nonchalance back on like a coat of armor. He skipped his morning set with Prynn to stay with me. We checked and double-checked my things against lists I had made. He made me take an extra set of his clothes. Dirva and I had agreed to meet at the East Gate, and I’d said my goodbyes to the Natives and various members of Sorcha’s family the day before, so Sorcha had my last morning in the City all to himself. We smoked a final bowl together. We talked about how I’d miss pipeherb back in Rabatha. He asked to see my papers and scolded me for being honest enough to list myself as a shaper. I told him I hadn’t known better until I’d tried to leave the Empire.

“You didn’t know shit about anything before you got here,” he said, and I admitted it was true.

The seconds piled on top of each other, and the minutes flew by hideously fast, and then it was time to go.

I stood up, and Sorcha stood up with me. He handed me my pack. I studied the room, trying with some desperation to memorize what it looked and felt like, how it smelled, and the shape of our shared pillow. I looked at anything and everything but him. I took a step towards the door, and Sorcha slammed into me. He fell into me with enough force to send us both stumbling back against the far wall. He was raw, and he made me raw, too. He held me tight and planted a long, lingering kiss on my cheek. “Gonna miss you, Ariah. Damn it, I’ll miss you.”

“Sorcha, I…yeah. Same.” I held him back and took a deep breath. The smell of him—herb, and honey, and resin from his violin bow—flooded me. I was drunk with it, the smell of him. “Same.”

“You take care, yeah? Don’t go all silver again.”

“I won’t.”

“And, you know, don’t stay there if you don’t have to.”

“I won’t.”

He held me just a little tighter. He sighed into my neck. “Lor’s lucky to have you,” he said, and then he pushed me out the door.

PART THREE:

RABATHA: A RETREAT

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11