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Back Into the Dying Light Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. BEFORE
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. BEFORE
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. BEFORE
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. BEFORE
  25. II
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. III
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. IV
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. AFTER
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. Newsletter Sign-up

Before Ephyra could think about what they had just agreed to, the god transported them in a flash of bright light.

37

ANTON

“Deal me a hand.”

Anton didn’t look up as he collected the cards on the table before him. He and the Wanderer had just finished their last round of canbarra, their nightly ritual since setting sail for Pallas Athos.

But this was the first night Illya had caught him at it. The Wanderer had already departed for bed, and Anton wondered whether Illya had just been lying in wait for this opportunity.

“I’m not playing cards with you,” Anton said in a clipped tone.

“But we always have such fun,” Illya replied, sidling into the room. “Don’t you remember how we used to stay up at night, playing cards until nearly dawn? Every time you won you’d get so excited. You were so proud of beating me. Of course, I was letting you win most of the time.”

“I remember the last time we played cards,” Anton retorted. “You were holding me prisoner in Nazirah.”

“Are you still upset about that?” Illya asked.

Fury ignited in Anton’s gut, fast and hot. “Am I still upset that you tortured me and almost got Jude killed?”

Illya looked contrite, which only made Anton angrier. “After everything we’ve been through these past few weeks, everything I’ve done to help you … I thought perhaps you’d see that I’ve changed.”

“Please,” Anton said with a humorless laugh, “please don’t tell me that’s why you’re helping us.”

Illya shrugged, bracing his hands on the back of the chair the Wanderer had vacated.

“You told me you changed once before, remember?” Anton said. “When Ephyra and I went to meet you in Pallas Athos. You said you were there to apologize.” He didn’t need to remind his brother that it had been a lie.

Illya’s golden gaze was steady, sincere. “Maybe deep down, I meant it.”

“Whatever you felt deep down counts for nothing,” Anton said. “Do you know what it was like for me? To have the only person who ever cared about me treat me the way you treated me? You made my life a nightmare.”

“I know,” Illya said quietly. “But if there was any way I could ever earn your forgiveness for what I did … for who I was back then—”

“You don’t earn forgiveness, Illya,” Anton spat. “You either get it, or you don’t. It’s not up to you. You can’t just do good thinking it cancels out the bad.” He swiped at his tears furiously. “You want to help us, then fine. But I don’t owe you my forgiveness.”

Illya’s jaw clenched. “So none of it matters, then? Nothing I do has any effect on how you see me? I’ll always be the monstrous older brother who tormented you, is that it?”