The thread pulses again and something inside me pulls my hand to lift into the air, as if on instinct.
My vision slips and the room tilts and becomes blurry at the edges. The table, the firelight, and Azyric’s voice all recede into a kind of muffled background.
Suddenly, the thread splits into two and I see scenes playing out in front of each thread. I glance at the left first.
A beautiful forest tinged with the frost of a coldclimate.
Ilyria stands tall with drops of rain rolling down her face and dripping from the ends of her hair as she argues with three men I assume are fae, from the same pointed ears Sylvin has.
They frown at her before eventually the middle one nods. He reaches out a hand and she shakes it.
I watch a spark flare between them before the scene morphs to them pressing their lips together.
The scene fades completely and I glance to the other thread still playing a moment for me to watch.
It’s the same beginning of their meeting and in the same forest, but instead of staying to fight for the proposal, Ilyria tosses her dark hair over her shoulder and fades into a mass of shadows.
I watch a new picture appear. Sylvin and Azyric shout at each other, only a few inches apart.
“I told them to sign the proposal!” Sylvin shouts. “I cannot lie.”
Azyric seethes. “You are a master of bending the truth. All this proves is that the alliance is a lie. Why pretend our factions can ever unite under one cause?”
Once again the scene morphs.
The same dark stone that I’ve seen in the wraith’s castle appears and I know I’m looking at the exterior now. It’s missing chunks from the massive walls and the dark forest surrounding it is on fire.
My chest tightens as I’m left looking at the two split threads, glowing and waiting for me to reach out.
I can’t tear my gaze away from them, and then a voice breaks through.
“Wren.”
My name.
I blink but the threads stay.
“Wren!”
This time, louder. Urgent, as if someone is worried about me.
A warm hand settles on my arm as the cool touch of shadowy tendrils wraps around my ankles.
I blink hard, and the world snaps back into place.
Azyric’s hand is on my arm, steady, but not gentle. He grips me like someone truly worried.
His shadows flicker around his wrist, one of them curling toward me again before twitching back as I glance up at him.
They’re unsettled and so is he.
I blink, but the room feels wrong as I look around. My skin prickles as I try to decipher why. I’m still seated and the stew still steams before us. Ilyria looks at me with wide eyes and no threads in sight.
“Wren, what happened?” Azyric’s voice is low now, but tight. “It’s like you were gone.”
My gaze jerks to him. “What?”
“You weren’t responding.” His eyes narrow, searching my face. “You didn’t blink. You didn’t move.My shadows…” He stops and clears his throat. “They noticed first.”
