“It is still months away,” I say in a thick voice. “Let us first see if I survive Fyremas.”
My words are only meant to lighten the mood, which hasturned decidedly somber, but they jolt Penn into action. He pushes away from the stone parapet and grabs his helm. “We should be getting back. The sun is rising and it’s going to be a long day.”
I open my mouth to say something—anything—to keep him standing here with me a little while longer, to prolong this fleeting moment of transparency between us. But I have no earthly idea what to say, and besides, he is already in motion. I fall into step just behind him, a silent shadow following him back into the rock chamber. We bypass the dormant portal, now almost undetectable against the far wall, and move into a narrow passageway that leads deeper into the earth. It is so dark, I can barely make out the silhouette of Penn’s broad shoulders three paces ahead. But I can feel him there, even without sight, the bond between us tugging me along like a new colt on a training bridle.
When he stops at the end of the passage, I follow suit automatically. He lifts his hand and presses it against the wall. There is a brief red glow of a ward activating in the darkness. An instant later, I hear a deep rumble in the earth and the floor beneath our feet drops out. I shriek as my hands fly out and twist in the fabric of Penn’s cloak.
“Penn!”
“Relax.” Mirth threads through his voice. “It’s a lift, built into one of the old mine shafts. There’s a whole network of tunnels surrounding the crater. A few are still in use for storage and the like, but the rest are sealed off from the public.”
My hammering pulse slows somewhat as the lift lowers, a surprisingly smooth descent. I force my fingers to release their death grip on his cloak.
“My ancestors mined the earth around the old volcano for generations, but as Caeldera flourished into a more cosmopolitan city, the practice fell away,” Penn informs me. I get the sense he istalking mainly to keep me distracted. “Most of our gemstones and minerals now come from the foothills near the Cimmerian Mountains and the salt flats in the upper provinces.”
I nod, only half listening as I wait for the journey to end. Taking shallow breaths of stale air into my lungs, I envision open sky, clear dawn breaking through the clouds. Claustrophobia claws at me viciously as the moments tick on. At last, we thud to a stop at the bottom of the shaft. The earth beneath my boots is blessedly solid as Penn guides me down another short passage and, finally, into the light. I suck in a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity.
“I see a future career in mining is out of the question for you.”
I glance over at Penn’s sardonic remark. He is leaning back against the rock face at the base of the cliff, eyeing me with a mix of concern and amusement.
“I’m fine now.” I exhale a shaky breath, feeling steadier already. “I have never been overly fond of confinement.”
“Mmm. The deep earth is the antithesis to all that you are. You will never feel at home in places where there is no open sky. Just as I am not destined to turn my hand to sea captaincy. There are some things, for all our power, we cannot overcome.”
I ponder this as we make our way back to the palace, moving through the quiet streets of Caeldera as they slowly come alive. Dawn breaks in full, bathing the clean-swept cobblestones with light. Roosters stir awake and announce the start of a new day with creaky crows. Soon, their owners will emerge, bound for the mills and the forges and the storehouses that dot the lanes around us. But for now, all is quiet. All is still.
I had once thought I might never return here, to this place. Yet in this moment, it feels like an indisputable homecoming. If I’m honest with myself, that may have more to do with the man walking beside me than it does with the city itself.
I do not share this sentiment with Penn. But between us, the invisible tether sings with such strength, such surety, I think if I dare lift my fist from its tightly clenched position at my side, I might run a hand across it, pulling music from our taut silence like a finger down the string of a harpsichord.
By the time we reach the palace, my fists are clenched so tight with the effort to keep them at my sides, my fingers have lost circulation.
Chapter
Twenty-seven
The alacrity with which I fold back into life in Caeldera surprises me. In my time away, I gave little thought to how those I left behind might feel to learn of my kidnapping. I was so consumed by the blood on my hands, so convinced of my own unforgivable actions, I never once contemplated that my return would be one of open arms and raw relief.
But it is there in the wet eyes of my maids, blinking back tears as they draw me a hot bath and brush the snarls from my hair. It is there in the soft chuck of Jac’s fingers beneath my chin when he accompanies me down to dinner in the Great Hall. In Mabon’s muted smile, in Cadogan’s quick wink. In the way Uther gently pulls back my chair and takes a seat close beside me for the evening meal. In Farley’s snarky request that the next time I go and get myself kidnapped, I at least wait until his leg is healed enough to help with the rescue mission. Don’t I know he’s the best tracker in the Ember Guild?
They surround me in an impenetrable circle of protection and warmth, telling me, without ever telling me, that there is no blame for my killing of their comrade, no resentment for the taking of Gower’s life. This—their kindness, their understanding—is too much to bear with any stoicism. I almost wish Vanora wouldinsult me again, if only to quell the emotional tide threatening to wash away any sense of composure. I choke down mouthfuls of turnips and keep my watery eyes on my dinner plate.
For all I see of his men, of Penn himself I see little. I had assumed, after what happened in the Forsaken Forest, that things would be different between us. That the newfound transparency we shared on the parapet would continue, now that we are back in the palace. That the fiery passion we had lit with our hands and lips and teeth in that dark stretch of woods would reignite, stoked by close proximity to each other, day after day, night after night.
And yet…that moment that had changed everything for me has evidently changed nothing for him. He is busy as ever, kept occupied by the not insignificant matter of running a kingdom. The fleeting moments our paths do cross are few and far between.
There is the nightly glimpse of him at the far end of the banquet table, of course. The more rare sighting of him swinging a sword or hurling a lance in the practice yards when I pass by on my way to High Street each morning, Farley hobbling after me on his crutches. And then, later in the evenings, after dark, there are the long hours I lie on my pallet in the spire, still as stone, listening hard for the moment of his return.
The power in my chest coils tighter and tighter, a loaded spring, as I feel him approach through the bond and, eventually, hear the tower door creak open through the rafters. The muffled thumps of his boots hitting the floor. The click of a wooden chest opening and closing. The clatter of a scabbard returning to its rack.
These are all I have to live on—these ephemeral glimpses, these indistinct traces of existence. For he does not seek me out, not for training or for conversation. Certainly not for anythingbeyondconversation. It is as though he has erected an invisible perimeter around himself, designed specifically to keep me at bay. I am not sure why, or exactly when, it appeared…I only know that it has. And I am even less sure how to knock it back down.
I absorb this blow like it is no more than a minor perturbance, though in truth it is anything but. If Pendefyre regrets what happened between us, that is his prerogative. Not mine. If he wants to pretend it never happened…
Fine.
I can pretend as well as the next person.