“Of course.” At my silent direction to Rawk, he returned us to Woodcourt, landing in the same spot in the courtyard as when we had first taken over the home.
Loelle alighted first and led me into the room that must have once belonged to Kestra’s mother. Tenger lay in the wide canopied bed, heavily bandaged and sleeping. He looked peaceful, but maybe too peaceful. Tenger was dying. Loelle leaned over him, nudging his arm until he awoke. He eyed her first, then me, then mumbled, “Leave us, Loelle.”
She obeyed, and I sat in a chair beside him. He managed a weak smile before mumbling, “Believe it or not, I almost defeated Joth, that little brat.”
I smiled too. “How was that?”
“I attacked from behind, but I needed one more strike to finish him. Before I could do it, he got a hand on me. His pull on my strength was so strong, I could not even breathe.”
“I know the feeling. Kestra used that same trick on me once, though it was not as awful as what Joth did to you.”
“He intended to kill me, and it seems he’ll still get his way.”
“No, sir, you’ll recover—”
“No, I won’t. We both know that, and I didn’t bring you here to discuss my funeral.” Tenger paused, closing his eyes and resting for a bit. When he opened them again, he said, “Kestra completed her task.”
“Yes, Endrick is dead. The Dominion has fallen.”
Tenger nodded. “I killed Sir Henry once, you know.”
I tilted my head, unsure of whether I’d heard him correctly. I couldn’t have. While it was true that Sir Henry was dead, Tenger had not caused it. Harlyn had been responsible for the death.
“There is no more threat from the Dominion,” I said. “But we need to figure out how to stop Joth.”
“I have a theory about the corruption. We can stop it. I think I know …” His eyes rolled. “Sir Henry was dead.”
I touched his arm, pulling him back to this room, if only for a moment longer. “Sir Henry is dead, Captain, but tell me about the corruption.”
He barely mumbled the words, “Our plan is correct. Kestra cannot live.”
I sighed. For all the hope I had felt, we were exactly where Tenger had been for months—that after completing her quest, Kestra would have to be killed for her magic.
“Captain, do you know how to save her?”
“Save her,” Tenger whispered. “Simon, you must save her.”
“Tell me how.” I shook his arm as his eyes closed. “Captain, tell me how to save her!”
His eyes fluttered, as if he was trying to wake himself up. I shook his arm again, desperate for those final words. But his arm went limp a
nd mouth sagged open slightly. He was gone.
Even as I sat there beside him, I could not make myself believe it.
Captain Tenger and I had fought alongside each other and, on a few recent occasions, against each other, but I had always considered him a great leader. Now that I was a leader myself, I realized how many decisions I made were because of something Tenger had taught me.
I glanced outside and, with the breaking dawn, saw a softly falling snow, but I saw no beauty in it this time. Antora was a diminished land because of Tenger’s absence. Trina or Gabe, or maybe Huge, would take over as captain of the Coracks, but none of them would ever match his greatness.
I stayed with him for several minutes, running through my mind everything he had said and finally concluding that he had been confused. He could not simultaneously order me to save Kestra and fulfill the Corack plan to kill her.
I walked from the room and stared at Loelle, who had been sitting in a chair waiting for me, as if helpless to do anything more for Tenger. That pricked at my temper. “I thought if we brought someone to you, if they were still alive, that you could heal them. Why didn’t you heal him, Loelle?”
Loelle’s head was hung low, and in the softest possible voice, she mumbled, “Joth attacked him personally, which introduced a poison to his body that he could not sustain without a presence of magic as well. I could not save him from that.” She stared up at me, her eyes hollow and tearful. “If that little bit of corruption killed Captain Tenger, I no longer believe it is possible to save Kestra, or to save my son.”
“There must be something we’ve overlooked.”
“Maybe. But I think we must also accept the possibility that all we have done is make things worse. And that nothing we can do will ever make them better.” She closed her eyes, shutting me out, mumbling to herself. “I believe we have lost.”