It was Cedric’s turn to nod, but there was something sad about the movement that tugged at Elyria’s chest.
“The records are centuries old and, as with most things recovered from the ruins of Luminaria, not in the best of shape,” Cedric said. “Most names were not legible. But we were able to read the city of origin. Magister Yvan thinks the sylvans may have more complete records there, and with the accords in place, traveling to the Midlands is no longer an issue, so...”
That curling behind Elyria’s stomach quickly turned into a sinking feeling. “So...?” she prompted.
Cedric took a long drag from his tankard, draining it. “So, Lord Church is eager for us to investigate. Tristan and I leave for Elderglade in three days’ time.”
The world narrowed before Elyria’s very eyes. Ostensibly, she knew that their goals would eventually take them in different directions—hells, she’d even been the one to suggest this specific direction, hadn’t she? And they needed to find the princess. They needed to find the other half of the crown.
Still, with the reality of it now looming before her, a cruel carrot dangling from a string, it suddenly seemed far too soon.
Hadn’t she only just gotten him back?
“I see,” was all she could manage to say, twisting in her seat so she faced forward once more. She braced both forearms on the cool wood of the table as if doing so might steady the rising wave of unease cresting inside her.
Cedric moved closer. His thigh pressed against hers, his heat like a reassurance, and Elyria fought the urge to lean into him. Resisted the urge to inhale his charred sandalwood scent like it was the last time she might be able to do so.
“What were you going to say before?” he said, his voice little more than a murmur in her ear.
She tensed. “Nothing. It’s not important.”Not anymore.
“It is to me.”
“You’re drunk,” she said flippantly, still pointedly resisting the urge to look at him. “Everything probably seems important to you right now.”
“I’m not that drunk,” he said, “and everything about you isimportant to me.”
Elyria felt her cheeks heat, and she was glad she still had her hood up to help hide her reaction. “You can’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
Finally, she turned to face him again. “You know why not.”
He placed a hand on the table next to hers, his little finger darting out to cover her own, twining around it. “Please. Don’t. Don’t pull away again. You do this every time we start to?—”
“How can I not?” she whispered harshly, even as her fingers spread on the table, inching toward his. “There is no ‘we.’ There is nothis. You just said it yourself: You’ll be gone in three days.”
“You say that like we won’t ever see each other again.”
“There are no guarantees that we will.”
Cedric shook his head, his fingers weaving through her own. “You can continue to refuse to give a name to this thing”—he gestured between them with his free hand—“but you know as well as I do there is something here. Bigger than whatever distance might come between us. It brought us back together after the Crucible. It?—”
“There can’t be anything here. There is nothing between us.”
Cedric pulled back with a sloppy shake of his head, disentangling their fingers, and the sudden rush of cool air against Elyria’s skin felt like a slap. “And you callmea liar.”
She pulled her shaking hands into her lap. “I’m not lying.”
“If not a liar, then you are a coward.”
Rage bubbled up in Elyria’s gut, her shadows stirring in her chest. She slammed a fist on the tabletop. “What did you just say?”
“You are so determined to deny whatever this is. So scared of what it might mean.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not the one running from examining what certain things might mean, Cedric.”
“Yes, well, we aren’t talking about me right now,” he said, jaw tight.
