When she entered the portal yesterday at Blister Bight, her intentions were to return to Caeldera. Until I hear otherwise, I will assume those intentions have not changed.
I swear to the gods, if you are in some way preventing her return to me—
There is a dark blot of ink where the words abruptly taper off. As though his quill rested on the parchment for a long stretch while he gathered his thoughts. As though he had not quite known how to ask for a favor from his oldest enemy without resorting to threats.
In the end, he did not.
Only a handful more words stain the page, tacked on near the very bottom, just above the official seal of Dyved.
Just…send her back here.
Give her back to me.
Please.
It is thepleasethat breaks me. The formidable Pendefyre of Dyved, begging. BeggingSoren, no less, a man he loathes.
Begging for me.
I know what that plea cost him. I know the weight of it. I feel the weight of it, too, behind my eyes. A burning precursor that couples with the bone-deep exhaustion already eroding my composure. I cannot hold it back, not for long. Sorrow swampsme along with a hot flood of tears that blur my vision, rendering the page unreadable.
All the feelings I’ve been suppressing since I stepped into that portal yesterday return with a merciless vengeance.
Pendefyre.
Blister Bight.
The fight in the rain.
Our broken potential.
Our precarious future.
I cannot even think of crafting a coherent response to the letter.
Not now. Not yet.
I am grateful Soren possessed enough compassion to leave me alone. Losing the battle against my melancholy is horrendous enough without him here to witness it.
Clutching the scroll tight to my aching chest, I run back to my dark, cozy suite inside the villa and bolt the door. But even the heavy wood paneling cannot keep out the sound of the storm that splits the skies outside my balcony windows, nor of the torrential downpour that pelts the tiled roof overhead as I sink down onto the veined marble floor and press my forehead to my knees to muffle my sobs.
Chapter
twelve
I’m running.
Running so fast, I am practically flying, my strides lifting me into the air higher and higher with every desperate bound. Something is on my heels, closing in. Chasing me across this unfamiliar terrain of sand and ash.
But I am faster.
I move on wings of air.
My blood sings with the very wind.
Until my foot comes down, one faulty bound, and the earth opens up beneath me. Swallowing me whole. Plunging me into darkness. The walls close in around me, shuddering, shaking—
I wake with a start, jolting out of the disturbing nightmare. As the haze of sleep clears, I realize the shaking is not confined to the realm of dreams. The doors of my balcony are rattling, the wardrobe on the far wall knocking violently against the indigo sandstone. My ears pick up the faint wail of a warning siren being blasted across the city by the beacons.