I intend to keep him with us. He needs a guardian in his life besides Osain, that great curmudgeon. And, to be honest, I need a distraction from the grimness of my thoughts.
Thankfully, the nonstop prattling of a thirteen-year-old proves a perfect remedy. These days, laughter fills rooms where, for months, there has only been quiet. Already, he treats Nevin like a little brother. We are, in this strange new reality, building a different sort of family. Not the one I’d pictured for myself, perhaps, but one I need all the same.
Which brings me to the second favor I must ask you.
I know you’re likely bracing for me to beg you to return home to Caeldera, or to give our beloved, pigheaded Pendefyre a chance to explain why he’sbeen acting like the king of fools when it comes to you.
(I’ll save that for my next letter.)
For now, I simply want you to promise me something. Promise me you will not waste time. Not an hour of it. Not a minute. Promise me you will live, Rhya. Fully, freely. Regardless of what anyone else says, or thinks, or expects of you.
If losing Uther has taught me anything, it is that life is cruelly short, and unimaginably hard. The losses never cease coming, no matter how intolerable. We cannot stop them. All we can do is try to make them worthwhile while we are still here on this earth. We can reap such immeasurable joy, it outweighs the inevitable pain.
I think of my husband, and though the agony has not dimmed, I would not wish it away. Even knowing I would lose him so soon, looking back at my life, I would not make any different choices.
How blessed was I to know a love so powerful, it is embedded in my very bones? How lucky to have shared a connection so deep, it remains even when my beloved does not?
That is my greatest wish for you, Rhya.
To live so authentically, and love so completely, no ending can erase your mark on this world.
Find a purpose that fills your soul, and people who patch the cracks in your heart. Find a joy that makes all this inevitable suffering worthwhile. Find a love that burns so bright, it lingers even when the world turns darkest.
Do it now.
While you still have time.
All my love,
Carys
My heart is thumping twice its typical tempo as I carefully fold the letter and tuck it into the pocket of my gown. Between my ears, a buzz of static erodes all rational thought as I rise slowly from the bench and start walking.
I cannot think.
More accurately, I do not let myself think. I am caught up in the urge to act upon my dear friend’s advice.
Tolive.
Livenow.
Before my chance slips away with the dawn.
Chapter
twenty-five
I hardly recall the long climb down the ladder that descends to canal level, my gown’s hem hiked high to keep from tangling on the rungs. But suddenly, there I am, on a darkened bend at the base of the Westerly Beacon. The roar between my ears matches the tremendous thunder of my pulse as I cut through the passage that leads outside the walls. It is so loud, I’m surprised I can hear the faint stirring of strange musical notes that call out to me, ushering me forward.
When I emerge into the night, I find myself staring at a wide marble staircase, approximately twenty-five paces in length, leading straight down into the sea. The steps are open at the fronts and hollow at the centers, allowing a rush of water to flow inside with each crashing wave, activating a cleverly designed network of organ pipes. The result is a haunting song of the sea that changes with the incoming tide—each swell creating a new melody, each step producing a different pitch.
I blink at the sea organ, eyes sweeping along the length of it.
There is no one here.
Not a soul around.
I want to laugh. I want to scream. What the hell am I doinghere? Gods, I was foolish to come, seeking answers to questions I’m too terrified to ask myself, let alone…