Chapter 119: Kiln House Four (3)

Her voice echoed through the building which made Alaric hurry after her.

"Shh!" He caught her elbow. "Whatever did this may still be nearby, and daylight doesn’t mean the Vestiges have all politely retired for breakfast."

Misha’s chest tightened again. Not panic this time but urgency. "I’m going to look for him. You can stay here and find a place to hide until I get back."

The words came automatically. She took two steps then stopped. No. That was stupid. Leaving him alone to hide inside a building that had just been attacked by something capable of breaking walls was exactly the kind of decision she had been blaming herself for minutes ago.

Misha turned back and opened her mouth to take back her words. "I–"

"Sweetheart." He stepped beside her. "I am absolutely terrified."

She looked at him. For half a second, his expression remained serious. Then a faint smirk appeared.

"I simply possess enough dignity not to abandon a grieving woman five seconds after holding her face dramatically."

There he was. Back. Somehow that helped more than she wanted to admit.

"Keep talking and I’ll leave you for the Vestiges."

His grin widened. "See? Much better. And here I was beginning to worry I’d lost my favorite source of threats."

The side of her lips twitched beneath her mask.

"Misha?"

Everything stopped when she heard her real name called.

It was not Gravekeeper, not Shana, but her real name spoken in a voice she knew.

Her head snapped toward the broken entrance. For one terrible heartbeat, she could not move. The voice from yesterday, the sealed door, and the Vestiges flashed through her mind.

"Twinfang." The daggers obeyed and flew back to her hands.

Then someone stepped into view. Blond hair dulled by ash, and a familiar staff-spear held loosely at his side.

’Caius...’ Misha forgot how to breathe. Not panic this time but from disbelief.

He stood there with a small cut near his temple, his coat filthy, but he was still standing with his golden hazel gaze locked on her.

Behind him came Astrid, her red hair tied back messily, loose strands stuck to her forehead. One sleeve had torn near the shoulder, and soot marked one side of her face.

Then Hiiro leaned around her, blue-white hair in a mess, and a dirty strip of cloth tied around one forearm.

Misha stared, her mind refused to accept it quickly enough.

Caius’ brows drew together as his gaze landed on her mask. "Misha."

Astrid’s eyes widened, Hiiro’s mouth fell open, and behind them–

a small face appeared.

Carl clutched the back of Caius’ coat with both hands. His cheeks were filthy and his eyes were swollen.

Something inside Misha broke. Not painfully this time. The tension she had been holding for so long simply gave way. Her blades slipped from her fingers again.

"Misha?" Hiiro repeated, sounding much less certain. The mask hid her face, but the cloak was unmistakable. He glanced at Caius as he moved to stand on his other side. "That is her, right?"

Her feet moved before her brain caught up. One step, and another. Then she was crossing the ruined room too quickly until she stepped out through the destroyed doorway.

Caius barely had time to lift his hand when Misha crashed into all three of them at once.

Her arms went around whoever she could reach. Caius first, then Astrid caught against one side, and Hiiro dragged into the other side because he happened to be closest. They stumbled from the force of it.

"Whoa–!" Hiiro made a startled noise.

Caius’ foot slid backward as he caught their combined weight.

Misha held tighter. For a second, none of them seemed to understand what was happening. Neither did she. Her forehead was pressed against Caius’ shoulder, the edge of her mask knocked awkwardly into him but she did not care.

They were warm. That was the first thing she noticed. Warm. Not cold flesh being puppeteer by black parasite threads. Caius was breathing, Astrid’s shoulder rose, and Hiiro’s pulse hammered where her hand had caught the side of his neck. Alive. All three of them were alive.

Misha’s breath left in a sound that was dangerously close to a sob. She tightened her arms around them. "Idiots."

Hiiro froze. "What?"

"You..." Her voice failed. She swallowed hard and tried again. "You absolutely fucking idiots."

Hiiro blinked over her shoulder toward Caius.

Caius looked almost as stunned, then his expression softened. Slowly, one hand came up and rested against Misha’s back as he returned the embrace.

Astrid recovered next. Her lips parted as though she wanted to say something. Instead, she simply wrapped one arm around her. "Misha."

The sound of her name nearly broke what remained of Misha’s composure. She squeezed her eyes shut behind the mask. She had rehearsed every terrible possibility because believing the worst felt safer than hoping. She had not prepared for this, for their warmth.

"I... I thought you were dead." The admission came out muffled against Caius’ shoulder. "I thought–"

She stopped as her throat closed. Her fingers tightened into Caius’ coat when she recalled yesterday’s voice behind a sealed door, and the three bodies behind her, all of it tangled together until she could barely separate one fear from another.

Caius’ hand moved once across her back, slow and grounding. "We’re here, Misha. "

Astrid tightened her arm around her. "All of us."

Hiiro finally seemed to understand that this was not a moment to make some ridiculous joke. His arms came awkwardly around the group. Then, because he was still Hiiro–

"You know," he muttered, "I always knew you liked us."

Misha made a sound. It might have been a laugh, a sob, or even a groan. Probably all three. She pulled back just enough to smack him on the shoulder, hard.

"Ow!"

"You’re alive." Then she hit him again.

"That’s usually the part where people say congratulations!"

Misha hit him a third time and the boy looked scandalized.

"Why am I being punished for surviving?!"

Astrid’s mouth trembled, then she smiled softly and a quiet laugh escape her. Even Caius gave a quiet exhale that might have been amusement.

Misha stared at them. Aside from the cut near his temple, she noticed a bruise darkened one side of Caius’ jaw. Astrid looked exhausted enough that her eyes had shadows beneath them, and Hiiro was favoring one leg despite pretending otherwise.

They had small injuries, proof that they had been somewhere, fighting, running, and surviving.

Misha reached toward Astrid, her hand settled against the girl’s shoulder.

Astrid glanced down at it, then back at her. "I’m okay."

She nodded. Misha could not trust herself to answer. Then her gaze moved to Caius and he gave her a small nod before she could ask.

Hiiro spread his arms dramatically. "And as you can see, I remain devastatingly intact."

Misha’s eyes narrowed. "You’re limping."

He flinched and immediately straightened himself. "No, I’m not. This is just how I walk."

"You were not walking like that before."

He paused, then grinned sheepishly. "I’ve developed a style."

Misha almost laughed again. Goodness gracious, she had missed his stupidity.

Hiiro brightened like he had won something. "There! See? I knew she missed me!"

Astrid sighed. "That is a remarkable interpretation of being tolerated."

Then a movement behind them caught Misha’s attention. Carl.

The boy stood half-hidden behind Caius, staring past Misha toward the bodies inside Kiln House Four. His face had gone pale.

The world had given Misha three people back, Carl had lost three. Her joy soured instantly around the edges.

She crouched in front of him. "Carl."

His eyes shifted to her, his lower lip trembled. "I..." Then he looked over her shoulder again. "My mom..." His voice cracked. "L-Lysa... Grandpa..."

Misha’s throat tightened. There were no words big enough to fix that, no sentence she would offer that would make the room behind her less real. None of it would give them back so she did not insult him with one. Instead, she opened her arms.

Carl stared at her for one second then broke. He launched himself into her chest hard enough to push her backward but she caught him. His hands twisted into the front of the cloak as the first sob tore out of him so violently his whole body shook. There was no restraint in it, no twelve-year-old trying to act old enough to protect his mother. He was just a child, a terrified, grieving child with no reason left to pretend he was brave.

She wrapped both arms around him. "I’m sorry..."

Carl buried his face into her shoulder as his fingers clutched the cloak tighter.

Misha closed her eyes as tears threatened to spill from her eyes once more. "I’m so sorry."

Behind them, nobody spoke.Misha held the boy while he cried for the people she had failed to save.

Her grief did not cancel her relief and her relief did not betray the dead.

Misha lowered her head against Carl’s black hair and held him tighter.