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I didn’t want Lorian anywhere near the water due to the risk of the “waves being coerced.”
He’d been patient soon after we’d arrived and I’d asked for all the mirrors to be removed from our rooms, but the moment I suggested he stay in the Fae Lands, we’d had a vicious argument.
In the end, nothing changed. Not only would he never leave my side during something so dangerous, but we needed him at the barrier. He was the most powerful fae alive.
Still, I couldn’t help but analyze the prophecy over and over again.
Sybella walked us to the courtyard and the waiting carriages, her eyes dazed as she reached for my hand. “After the war, when this is all over, and Lorian and the others go with you to the hybrid kingdom…can Piperia and I come too?”
My chest clenched. “Of course you’re welcome. I should have offered. I just assumed you’d want to stay here. But I’d love for you to come.” I reached out and hugged her, before pressing a kiss to Piperia’s cheek. She chortled, and Rythos wrapped his arm around Sybella.
“So would we,” Rythos said. “We should have made that clear. You want out now? We’ll take you to the border and arrange for safe passage—”
“No,” Sybella said. “Not yet. But when this is over…I want Piperia to grow up with family.”
“She will.”
Marth’s eyes were bleak, but he stepped forward, pulling Sybella to his chest. “We’ll see you soon.” He kissed Piperia’s head and stalked toward the carriages.
Movement flickered in one of the windows. Emara stood and lifted her hand. I waved back. Conreth had refused to speak to Lorian after the meeting, but Emara was at least trying.
Lorian said a few private words to Sybella, who smiled at him, her mouth trembling, eyes filling with tears. When they were done, her chin lifted in what seemed like resolve, and Lorian took Piperia from her arms, nuzzling her tiny head.
Within minutes, we were piling into the waiting carriages and heading toward the dock. As promised, Lorian had a ship waiting, along with a seasickness tonic for me.
And then we were on the open water, and Jamic’s eyes were so wide, Rythos was hiding a smile.
If it had been up to Regner, after years of captivity, the only time Jamic would have seen the waves would have been the day he died. I hoped he would get to see more. Hoped he’d get to see everything this world had to offer. But some tiny part of me was convinced we were still taking him to his death.
Madinia stood next to Jamic. This morning, we’d received another message from Vicer. Not only had Vicer used his contacts to distribute Madinia’s letter to the Eprothans, but Madinia had somehow convinced Caddaril the Cleaver to utilize his own network. And it was working.
Humans and hidden hybrids were questioning the priestesses. Demanding proof of Regner’s deal with the gods. My heart had pounded as Madinia had read the message aloud, and Lorian had silently stroked my back. The first stirrings of rebellion would be put down. We knew that, but guilt twisted my insides all the same. Hopefully, this was just the beginning.
News of what we’d done to Regner’s throne room had made it throughout the kingdom—as had the way Madinia had burned the sanctuary. A handful of villages had set their own sanctuaries and chapels on fire. Several of the priestesses had been forced to flee for their lives. Still more were missing.
Galon leaned against the railing with a faint smile on his face. He’d trained thousands of fae in the Bazinth over the years. The loss of it had to be tearing him apart, even as he attempted to hide it. Making my way over to him, I leaned next to him.
“I’m sorry.”
Galon’s dark eyebrows lowered. “Sorry for what?”
“About the Bazinth. I know it meant a lot to you.”
He sighed. “When you’re as long-lived as we are, you learn to let go of things.”
I doubted that was true. If anything, the fae I’d met seemed to clasp tighter to the things they loved.
At my silence, Galon gave me a rare grin. “One day, when you’ve taken back your kingdom, we’ll create an elite force of hybrids, humans, and fae. We won’t discriminate, except based on skill.”
I could almost picture that day in my head. When we would be at peace. It seemed both tantalizingly close and excruciatingly far away.
“Deal.”
Leaving him to his thoughts, I studied the horizon. My mind was a more peaceful place than it had been for some time. After the hours I’d spent sobbing, my grief hadn’t exactly lessened, but it was no longer tearing me apart. I was able to think of Cavis and Thol and Wila, my parents—all of them—without needing to lock those memories away. I could think of my village with sorrow and rage, but I didn’t let it eat into me the way I had been. Instead, I let it make me stronger.
It was ironic, really—the experiences that came the closest to breaking you were the same experiences that built you into someone new. Surviving one experience meant you were more likely to survive the next. And so it continued, life unfurling in a tapestry of trials.
“How are you, Pris?”
