“None taken!” the sylvan yelled back from inside.
“It’s not just that he mentioned the sylvans, it’s that he mentioned one in particular,” said Cedric.
Thraigg sucked in a breath. “Zephyr.”
“He said something about how Malchior never should have used that, er, well, what Jocelyn said.” Cedric cleared his throat. “What if he really diduseher, if she only took the crown because?—”
“Who cares?” Elyria said indifferently. “What excuse could she possibly have for doing what she did?”
Cedric bit the inside of his cheek. “Is it really so impossible to imagine someone doing the wrong thing for the right reasons? Or vice versa?”
Elyria’s face fell instantly, as though a hundred different possibilities as to Zephyr’s motivations were flitting through her mind for the first time. Or perhaps she was thinking about a lifetime of having to make those choices for herself, time and time again.
The thread in Cedric’s chest twanged, something that almost felt like regret pulsing down it.
“Speaking of the prisoner,” Elyria said, shaking her head and rolling her shoulders back. “He’s ready too?”
“Unfortunately,” said Jocelyn. “Still babbling in the back of the wagon. I slipped a dose of somnium seed into his water skein earlier though, so hopefully he’ll have knocked off again by the time they leave.”
Elyria rose slowly, brushing crumbs from her lap as Sid leapt off and padded toward the nearest patch of sun. “And Tristan has actuallyagreed to accompany him? Them?”
“Begrudgingly,” Cedric replied. “He’ll be sulking inside until it’s time to leave.”
“What about Ollie? What has he decided?”
“He says he will accompany us to the Midlands,” Jocelyn said with a sigh. “Also somewhat begrudgingly.”
Elyria shrugged. “I told him he was welcome to accompany Tristan and the rest back to Kingshelm. It’s not too late for him to change his mind.”
“It’s not too late for any of us,” Jocelyn said, turning the words into something of a song—a joke.
Elyria’s answering glare made it clear enough she didn’t find it funny.
The guard lifted her hands in supplication. “Fine, fine. I won’t mention it again. The last thing I’ll say is that if these events have taught us anything, it is that we are weakest when split up.”
And with that, Jocelyn handed Fjaethe and Polonius’ reins to their respective riders and slunk back toward the stables, Thraigg trailing after her.
Cedric pursed his lips. He, too, hated the idea of their party separating, but it wasn’t as though they had other options. Even after Young Shep’s best efforts, Sephone had yet to regain consciousness. Thibault’s injuries, likewise, were too great to be able to continue on to Elderglade.
Irritation bristled down Cedric’s spine at the fact that the stubborn bastard refused to let Shep do more than the absolute basics to heal him. It seemed that seeing Shep reverted back to his true sylvan self was simply too much for Thibault. Which, of course, made sending him back to Kingshelm an even more sensible choice.
Still, the extent of the injuries everyone had sustained in the night had Cedric thinking about the conversation he’d had with Tenny just before leaving.
“I wish you could come too.”
“You’re only saying that because you know I’d be handy to have around.”
How right he’d been. Not that there’d have been any way to predict an ambush of this magnitude, but Cedric did lament how lacking his own healing abilities were. He’d never stopped to wonder why his mana training rarely included it—why Lord Church had never encouragedhim to work toward becoming a saint, like Tenny.
He also lamented having left things in any way unfinished with her.
Did you though?asked a small voice in his mind. Cedric chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about the cheerful way she’d waved him off in Kingshelm. Thought about the pep in her step and the fact that she didn’t bother looking back at him. Tenny did not act like a woman waiting, and Cedric had never been gladder of the realization. Perhaps Lord Church’s discussions with Cedric aboutintentionstruly only ever were about his own.
“You still with me, Ric?”
Cedric lifted his head to find Elyria trailing her fingers through Fjaethe’s mane, watching him with an expression that fell somewhere between amusement and concern.
“What?”
