But Skye, she ain’t crying anymore, but the hurt’s still there, in the dark brown of her eyes, in the quivering curve of her lips, in the clenched lines of her face. Will she come out stronger? She’s already the strongest person I know, so what does that mean?

I tuck a hand ’round her head, pull her into my chest. For once, I’m the stronger one. I hafta be, for her. She lets me do it for a little while, until I feel her body tense up. She squeezes her fingers into fists, releases ’em, squeezes again.

And when she looks up, well…I’ve seen Skye hardened and raw and rougher’n prickler skin plenty of times ’fore, but I ain’t never seen her like this. Her eyes are dark and her chin like stone. Even with the dried tears on her cheeks, she looks unbreakable. And yet beneath the impenetrable fortress she’s desperately trying to build ’round herself, I sense she’s more broken’n shattered glass. I don’t know what to do for her.

“I’ll kill every burnin’ Glassy baggard there is,” she growls. “They started this war, but we’ll finish it.”

~~~

The trek back to New Wildetown feels longer’n it is. It’s like what we saw is sucking us back with each step. Three steps forward and two back. But still we soldier on. Skye’s starting to scare me with those eyes of hers, darker’n ever ’fore with her angry eyebrows so low over ’em it’s like they’re a part of ’em.

I feel awful for having given her a hard time ’bout Dazz when we were trudging through the desert ’fore. Even if it was just a bit of fun, I still shouldn’ta done it.

When the familiar three-peaked tower of rocks comes into view, I heave out a ragged breath and will my legs forward one at a time. Everything is suddenly catching up with me as I see the place I called home for a short time ’fore we left for ice country. It wasn’t that long ago, but it seems like miles and miles and miles and years and years and years. Lifetimes. Tears blur my vision as we pick up the pace.

All I want is to see him, to have a soft place to land, to have a shoulder to fall into, to cry into. Skye can have my shoulder, but I want his. I need his.

And then he’s there, emerging from a hidden break in the rocks, running, sprinting. Circ. Graceful and perfect and mine.

Feve’s right behind him, and as they approach I can see in their expressions that they can tell something’s wrong. Probably ’cause the tears on my cheeks are shining from a mile away.

I’m running. Skye and Wilde are, too, I think. Tristan’s the only one who’s still walking, or maybe just standing there, gawking. I don’t know, ’cause I’m too busy crashing into Circ and he’s holding me fiercely, tighter’n a clenched fist, like he was worried I wasn’t coming home at all, regardless of how many pieces I’m in. “Oh, sun goddess,” I breathe, ’cause even Circ’s love can’t bring ’em back. Nothing can.

Feve’s got Skye and Wilde, one in each arm, and it’s the scariest thing in the world to see Wilde so shattered, tears running down her cheeks, clinging to Feve like a wet shirt.

“They killed ’em,” Skye says, and I finally realize she ain’t crying. She’s the only one of us three not crying. “They killed ’em all.” And her words, they’re like the hard, cold ice in the mountains to the north, a home for a people who no longer need it. “It’s time for war.”

~~~

We’re setting in a circle. Lots of other folk are ’ere too, mostly just to listen, to hear the tragedy that Wilde’s recounting. The news from ice country.

I’m leaning into Circ and his arm’s ’round me, and it feels so searin’ good that it feels awful.

’Cause Skye’s got no one to hold her.

’Cept she does, ’cause our younger sister, Jade, is huddled up against her, and you know what? For once, Skye lets her, doesn’t push her away, doesn’t tell her to scram, like she always does if I try to show her affection. And I’m glad for it. So glad.

Feve’s asking questions of Wilde every so often in that low, warm voice of his. He’s got a baby in each arm and his wife, Hela, at his side. Feve the family man. Even after I witnessed it the first time, after we settled in New Wildetown, I could barely believe it. But it’s true, and I was shocked that the dark warrior was a pretty searin’ good father.

The odd one out is Tristan, whose eyes are shooting all ’round like darts, just taking everything in, looking like an alien wearing his mask. Answering any questions that are asked of him, mostly stuff he’s already told us. Where’d you come from? Who are you? Why are you here? Your girlfriend really went inside the Glass City alone? To help us? And you swear you’re not a Glassy? His voice sounds strange through the mask as he answers each one.

He looks so out of place it’s almost funny, and I might laugh if I felt like I could.

But laughter’s just not something any of us got in us right now. Maybe tomorrow.

~~~

When all the questions and the conversating pretty much ends, me and Circ go for a walk. I need to be with him right now. Just him. Even if only for a short time.

He’s got his fingers laced in mine and I’m grizzed at myself for enjoying it so much. My footsteps are heavy and loud, while his are as graceful and lithe as one of the fire dancers who sometimes perform at the evening meal.

“Siena,” he says, his dark brown eyes even darker in the shadows, his skin like night. Under the cloudy sky, he could almost be a Stormer. “Tell me.”

And that’s Circ. Knowing me every searin’ bit as well as I know myself. Knowing when I got something to say and when I don’t.

“I’m afraid I’ll be a hot mess if I try to talk ’bout it,” I say, squeezing his hand harder just to make sure it’s still there.

In less time’n it takes Perry to hurl an insult, Circ’s got me in his arms, carrying me, like I’m some helpless little doll of his.

“Put me the scorch down!” I hiss. “I got two feet like everbody else.”

But he just laughs, goes right on carrying me, and I don’t fight him too hard, ’cause it’s kinda fun and kinda what I need.

We go to the left, into darker darks, through some sorta cave cut into the side of the canyon. I feel us rising…up, up, up…twisting one way, then t’other, Circ’s strong arms holding me like I’m as heavy as a Totter, which ain’t that far from the truth.

I breathe him in and he’s the desert and the heat and a bit of that crushed prickler-flower powder I gave him one time as a gift. He said it was a gift for a woman, but now he uses it more’n any women I know.

When we emerge from the dark I lose my breath, even though he’s been the one doing all the work, ’cause the sight is beyond imagination. We’re high up, unimaginably high, looking out over the vastness of fire country, spreading wide and dark and mysterious under a cloud-filled sky.

Still carrying me, Circ sets himself down and holds me on his lap. “I wanted stars,” he grumbles.

“Never mind the stars,” I say.

Circ looks into my eyes and the warmth and familiarity of ’em are too much, too much. I duck my head into his shoulder and my body shakes, tears trailing silent tracks down my cheeks. “Why are they doing this?” I sob. “What’d any of us ever do to deserve this?”

There are no answers, so Circ stays silent, just holds me, his cheek against my hair.

When the tears stop falling and I’m able to pull away to look at him, his eyes are glistening. He considered Dazz and Buff friends, too. Fought beside ’em, travelled to foreign lands with ’em. Never again.

“Everything’s so burnin’ screwed up,” I say. “We’re the only thing that’s right.”

“No,” Circ says.

“No?” I echo, feeling fresh tears well up. We’re not right?

“Not only us,” Circ explains and I blink the tears away. “Your sisters. Wilde. Feve. My family. Everyone down there, sitting around that fire. They’re right, too. We’ve got something—a world, a life, a happiness—worth protecting.”