Page 63 of Blade of the Nightking

And as though the thought of him had summoned it, something tore through me—a wave of sorrow so crushing it stole my breath, rising too fast, too deep, my chest tightening around a grief that wasn't mine. My hand flew instinctively to my ribs, pressing hard as though I could steady a broken heart that wasn't my own.

I wasn't imagining it. There was no way. These emotions didn't belong to me.

Then it changed.

The sorrow twisted into something hotter, harsher, until anger consumed it entirely. It ripped through me with a force that made my fingers curl. I felt it all—raw and immediate, yet distant all the same, like standing too near a wildfire and feeling its heat without ever touching the flames.

The bond tightened.

Aedric was here.

And whatever he was feeling, I was feeling it too.

“Aedric?” I stepped forward, the name leaving me before I could stop it.

No answer came.

“He’s not here, Elowen.” Hamish’s voice reached me from behind, low and uncertain, but I was already moving, drawn deeper into the library. I stepped around shattered frames and squeezed through the narrow gaps between what remained of the shelves, the bond pulling me toward the great spiral staircase.

I glanced over the blackened railing, the steps circling down and down, disappearing in darkness.

“Aedric?”

Nothing but silence.

“Elowen.” Hamish was at my side now, his hand closing around my elbow. “There’s nothing down there.”

“Aedric's down there.” I peered into the depths beyond the reach of the light. “I can feel him.”

Hamish didn’t answer. He released me and drew his shortsword in one smooth motion.

“What are you doing?” His gaze was fixed to the steps below. I followed it.

Footprints pressed cleanly into the soot, their edges still crisp. Recent.

“Let’s go,” he said roughly, leaving no room for argument.

This time, I didn’t resist. He kept the sword in hand as we retraced our steps, moving back through the aisles, the silence pressing in around us in a way that felt almost aware.

Relief rose too quickly when the doors came into view⁠—

Hamish’s arm shot out, catching me hard across the chest. I stumbled back a step, startled.

Something moved in the doorway.

For one long, breathless moment, I thought it was a ghost. The figure drifted forward, quietly, dark robes trailing in soft, weightless folds that barely seemed to disturb the ash beneath it. Then I heard it.

Whispering.

Too soft to make out, the words spilled over one another in a fevered, unbroken stream.

Hamish cleared his throat, the sound cutting cleanly through the murmuring. The whispering stopped abruptly. The figure stilled.

Slowly, its head lifted.

Hamish’s grip eased slightly on my shoulder.

“Lady Levinica,” he said, unexpectedly gentle.