My mouth opens to tell him to take me back now, this instant. But no words come out. Not even as he steps over the threshold. His voice carries to me one last time as he vanishes from sight, a low purr in the night air.
“Our choices are all we have in this life, Rhya. No one else can make them for us. So ask yourself what you want. Not Pendefyre, not me, not another living soul in Anwyvn.You.”
Chapter
thirteen
I lean against the feather-strewn desk in the corner of the aviary, eyeing the scarlet-plumed raven. He eyes me back, shrewd gaze all-seeing in the dull midday light. His talons are longer than my fingers, curled around the scarred wood perch like black blades. I take a calming breath before I summon the nerve to approach, imagining how easily he could scratch out my eyes, but he obediently lifts his leg, where a leather cord is affixed, for my use.
I work methodically, hyperaware of the sharp beak a handspan from my face as I bend in to attach the scroll. It is slightly crinkled—the parchment I found in the desk is old and curling at the corners. I think back over the message I scrawled inside as I slowly tie it in place.
Pendefyre,
I am safe. And, for now, I am staying.
I will see you at midsummer.
Rhya
A handful of words that had taken me hours to compose. I’d tossed and turned all night, agonizing over how best to respond to him. In the end, I went with bare facts, excising my feelings from the missive. It’s better that way. My feelings are too tangled to sort into rational sentences, an unruly knot of regret and remorse and rage, all of which is threaded through with irrevocable longing.
I miss him.
I miss his heat and his fire, his burning eyes and that way he looks at me—like I am the spark that sets his very soul aflame. But I learned the hard way that a fiery passion can sear the heart from your chest if you are not careful. I got too close, and it burned me out. Something inside me singed into ashes that day at Blister Bight. I fear I cannot rebuild it, even if I were brave enough to try.
Perhaps time away will lend me the clarity I need. Perhaps some space from the flames that flare so brightly between us will be enough to soothe the scorch—aloe on a wound that will never heal in his presence, for seeing him rips it open again and again and again.
Arriving in Llyr was an accident…
But it could also be my salvation.
Though it would be foolish to mistake Soren’s presence for a balm to one’s damaged soul. He pushed me last night—mentally, physically, elementally—crossing boundaries I am still furious about, overstepping in ways I will not soon forgive. He seems to enjoy meddling in my life, as well as testing my capabilities. And while a part of me chafes against that, another part, deep down inside, knows he is right.
If you go back to Caeldera, you go back to your cage.
I made more progress with my power in a single day in Llyr with him than in all the days I spent in Dyved combined. I amnot so pigheaded as to pretend otherwise. Nor am I able to deny that I have a lot further to go before I begin to approach mastery. And I desperately need to master my powers. There is no more time to waste.
For a war is coming, of that I have no doubt. The Midlands are poised on the brink of utter carnage. The Southlands are in worse straits. And then there is the not-so-insignificant problem of Efnysien. There is no telling how long it will take for the weasel to pop his head out of his den again so we might lop it off.
Before Fyremas, he had not been spotted for nearly a decade,Soren told me.
Pendefyre will not wait a decade. His need for revenge is insatiable. His anger is inextinguishable. It is only a matter of time before he launches a campaign into the black sands of the Husk Desert with his broadsword aimed at the Symmetria Keep.
The only question is: will Soren march with him?
Llyr and Dyved are allies in war, pledged to defend the Northlands against invasion. But this is untested territory. To seek out the enemy, to invade the most inhospitable stretch of Anwyvnian soil…
Soren himself said it is nearly impossible.
Where his stepbrother is concerned, his motivations are murky at best. He wants revenge, that is clear enough. But for what? How deep does his animosity run? Deep enough to take up arms with Pendefyre? Deep enough to set aside all previous failed attempts at conquest and try again?
I suppose we will find out in three weeks, at midsummer, when Pendefyre arrives here. I know him well enough to realize his upcoming visit to Hylios is about far more than attendance at a royal wedding. He will not squander the opportunity to sit down with Soren and sketch out a strategy of attack.
I do not know the King of Llyr half so well. I cannot saywhether he will be willing to wade into war. For now, I do not care. His willingness to teach me to wield my maegic is a far more immediate bridge to cross. Despite my initial resistance to the idea, long hours of restless contemplation in bed last night ultimately led me to a conclusion Soren no doubt reached the moment I tumbled out of his portal.
I have to stay.
Moreover…Iwantto stay. To train my skills, to improve my control. To learn from him any way I can. Only a fool would walk away from such an opportunity.