The temple unfolds before us, a riot of carvings leading us through a series of archways. We come out into open space, where in the centerstands a boulder of jagged rock shaped like a fist. Held within the fist, half-swallowed by the rock, is a gaunt man with a stubborn chin, a scholar’s brow, and familiar gray eyes.
My stomach clenches. “Pa?”
Pa raises his head. I draw in a sharp breath as tears prick my eyes. His cheeks are hollow and unshaven, his skin sallow, but worst of all is the look in his eyes, a look that says he’s lost everything, including his last shred of hope.
“No,” he rasps.
I cross the distance in a heartbeat, touching his stubble-rough cheek, brushing back his hair. “I’m here to save you, Pa, I’m going to get you out.”
Pa looks at me as if he’s drinking in the sight, as if he expects me to disappear. “Vesp, you should’ve let me go. Why couldn’t you listen, for once?”
His tone hits home, right into the heart of the small, disappointing child that still lives within me.
Pa looks over my shoulder at Izamal. “Who is that?”
“He’s—he’s helping.”
Grit crunches underfoot as Izamal steps closer. “Alcanar Vale—It’s an honor. We’ll get you out. The fifth needs you. We’re fighting back, like you did.”
“No, son.”
I circle the mound of rock, reaching for it.
“No! Don’t touch it. It’ll capture you as well.”
“What is it?”
“A living prison. The more I move, the more it closes in. You can do nothing. Leave, Vesper.”
“You’re my father. I can’t just leave you here to die.”
“You’re my daughter. Solisten to me, for Storm’s sake.”
Pa looks down at Ma’s locket. His eyes widen, a question in them:You still have it?
I nod.
“Don’t.” I hear the rest of what he doesn’t say:Don’t let anyone find it.
Gravel crunches underfoot as Izamal shifts. “Vesper, would any of your ikons work?”
Would they? Not as well as what Pa could do. “Pa, if you tell me how to break it, I could draw the ikon.”
The set of his face tells me he won’t give me a thing. It doesn’t matter. I set to drawing the ikon that turns things to dust, but the mound of rock absorbs my charcoal stub before I’ve finished my first line.
“Vesper. Go. And take your fool of a friend.”
Darkness falls over Izamal’s expression. “I’m not a fool.”
“Revolutionaries are always fools. I know your type, son. Your dreams are nothing but delusions of grandeur. You think they’ll worship you as their savior? First they’ll spit upon you for what you say. They’ll turn you out of their homes.”
Izamal flinches. His face is drawn, and his hands shake, and though his eyes are furrowed and furious, they shine with wetness.
“They already do, don’t they?”
I can’t stand Pa destroying Izamal’s last hope. “Pa, stop it. You can help him.”
“I will not. Vesper... Anyone can make a mistake, but only fools repeat them. Now go, before you throw your mother’s last sacrifice away.”