“Nothing,” Elyria said, rather quickly. “I think perhaps young Avery went a bit heavy-handed on the scented oils, is all. The smell is...strong in here.”
Cedric sniffed the air and suppressed his inclination to shrug. He rather liked the smell of lavender. It reminded him of his mother.
Elyria sighed. “Or perhaps I’m just finding it difficult to let go of the fact that they put all this effort into preparing for our arrival, when we ourselves didn’t know we were coming here until Sephone and Raefe showed up. Nothing about this place has seemed entirely normal since we arrived, and it’s throwing me off.”
“Do you want me to?—”
“No, no,” she said firmly. “It’s fine. A problem for tomorrow. You should get some rest, Lord Victor.” She grinned, though it faltered nearly as quickly as it had come on. “You have another long journey ahead of you.”
The reminder had that tether in Cedric’s chest going taut, twisting in a way that was almost painful. She was distancing herself again. Pulling away when all he wanted was to pull her into his arms.
He hesitated. “If you need anything?—”
“Yes, yes, thank you, Sir Fussbudget. I will call on you if I need you.”
A smile tugged at his lips despite the feeling gnawing at the edge of his instincts. “Goodnight, Elle.”
Her reply only came when he reached the threshold of the room, though the words danced in his mind as if she had whispered them directly in his ear. “Goodnight, Cedric.”
35
TROUBLE
ELYRIA
Something wasn’t right.
Elyria wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, fighting against the lull of sleep. She knew she should rest, should let herself fall into the void and hope that her nightmares didn’t find her. But there was something on the edges of her consciousness that nagged at her, almost as if in warning:Do not fall asleep.
Beside her, Sid let out a low huff and tucked her nose under one paw. Elyria rolled over, curling her body around the cat, brushing her fingers through her fur. Sid felt unusually warm, and Elyria found herself shivering, coming to the rapid realization that the room around her had gone cold.
And not just cold but . . .
Too quiet. Too still.
Elyria’s brow creased as she trailed a path through the soft smoke at Sid’s nape, and she shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her thoughts. It was the middle of the night. Of course, it was quiet. Of course, it was still. The tavern downstairs had long since fallen silent. The patrons had dispersed, the rest of their group retiring upstairs, the innkeeper and his assistants done with their duties for the night.
And yet . . .
It felt as though the entire room held its breath. Even the hearth that Elyria would have sworn crackled with low flames only minutes ago had gone cold.
The whole space was unsettling, and Sid’s rolling shadows and even breathing were Elyria’s only reassurance that she wasn’t trapped in some kind of bizarre dream.
Her own shadows, normally restless under her skin, stirred sluggishly at the edge of her thoughts. Like they indeed were dreaming.
Too quiet. Too still.
She should sit up. Check the window. Grab her staff. Should beckon her shadows, invite the thrum of magic into her veins, readying herself for whatever this was.
But her limbs felt leaden. Like a strange sort of pressure had settled over her body, weighing her down. Making her slow, sluggish. She blinked unevenly, sleep still pulling at her heavy eyelids, trying to lure her under.
She wanted to let it.
She would have.
If it wasn’t for the pang she felt behind her ribs—deep, sharp, sudden. A phantom string being plucked in the hollow of her chest.
Elyria bolted upright, one hand pressed to her sternum. The tether in her chest flared, ringing like a struck bell, slicing through the sleepy haze in her mind.
