“He tried to. Still does, apparently.” She sighed. “Until that night in The Sweltering Pig, I’d thought he might’ve finally given up on me. Might’ve finally let me know some peace. But then Raefe and his muddy little henchmen came busting in, catching me off-guard and off the wagon.”
She flexed her hands over her thighs. Fire burst in Cedric’s veins once more, though he kept it inside, his arms tightening around her. He himself had burned her twice on accident, and the guilt was still so great he couldn’t stop ruminating over it. He couldn’t fathom having chosen to do so on purpose.
Cedric turned his head, looking back through the trees as if he might be able to see the camp, might see whether the bastard was still there.
Briefly, he wondered how it might impact the accords were Cedric to murder a member of the visiting delegation.
Elyria’s melodic voice drew him back. “I should’ve known better than to return to Coralith in the first place,” she said, voice wistful. “But Artie’s always been...Well, let’s just say the grouchy old dwarf has been more of a father to me than Tartanis has in nearly two centuries.”
“How long has it been since you last saw your father?” Cedric asked.
“Not long enough and too long all at once.” She shrugged. “After the war...When the Revenant was born in the wake of the Shattering, he was eager to show me off. I thought maybe I’d finally earned his respect, his love. I only joined the fucking war effort because of him in the first place, you know. Granted, after the Great Betrayal, every Arcanian was ready to lay it on the line to defend the realm against Malakar and his cultists. It wasn’t as though I didn’twantto fight. But I was just so young.” She glanced up at Cedric. “I know that probably sounds funny to you.”
“I know a bit about fae lifespans.” He smothered the instinct to scoff, gentling his voice. Now wasn’t the time for pride. “You must have been only, what, eighty-some years old? Barely more than a teenager for your people, yes?”
She shrugged. “In human years, I’d have been, say, eighteen?”
Something sharpened in his chest at the thought of Elyria, fresh-faced and idealistic, joining the effort to protect her queen and country, only to end up equal parts war hero and war criminal. Forced to become the Revenant against her will.
Her soft voice broke through Cedric’s swirling thoughts. “He used to call me his dark star. Isn’t that poetic?” She smiled, a hollow sort of tilt to her mouth that didn’t reach her eyes. “He said I had gravity. That everything and everyone would fall into orbit around me.”
Cedric’s throat tightened.
“I hated it then,” she scoffed. “Hate it now. As if I’m something worth revolving around.”
The urge to protest roared in Cedric’s mind, but he didn’t get the chance to voice it.
“And anyway, I always knew it was fake. False platitudes meant tobend me into being grateful for his wisdom.” She settled into Cedric’s embrace, her cheek on his chest, his chin resting in her hair. The mark on his shoulder throbbed.
“But there’s this sort of sad truth to his words,” she continued, “that I hate even more. Because sometimes it does feel a little bit like I’m at the center of all this. That, as the Revenant, I became something so much bigger than myself. But I never asked to be. Never wanted this.”
Cedric swallowed, tilting his chin to plant a light kiss on the crown of her head. “What do you want?”
She didn’t answer for a long moment. She broke from his embrace, taking half a step backward in order to look up at him, something Cedric couldn’t name sparkling in her emerald eyes. “To find a light of my own now that I’ve mastered this darkness.”
Cedric reached for her again, cupping her face. “Then it’s your turn to burn bright, Elle. And if anyone dares to try and dim that light, you?—”
She surged forward and kissed him.
Not soft. Not shy. Not tentative.
Not like she was at war with herself over whether to do it, or like they were running out of time, or like this was some sort of goodbye.
It was more like coming home.
Elyria pressed her lips to Cedric’s, her body molding against his. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pulled him into her. She clung to him like the forest was about to fall away. Like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
And maybe he was.
Because celestials knew she was that to him. His anchor. His tether. Cedric would never say it aloud, would never put voice to the words for fear of the reaction it might invite from Elyria. But shewaslike gravity.
She was the sun, and he was simply lucky to be in her orbit.
When they finally broke apart, Elyria whispered, “We’re really in trouble now, aren’t we?”
“I’m the one in trouble. You simplyaretrouble.”
“Yes, I think perhaps I’ve heard something like that before.” She let out a low chuckle. “Don’t think any of this means I forgive you for trying to trick my cat into liking you better than me, by the way.”
