My death … It would tear us apart again. Something I’m brutally aware of. But I’ll never be content so long as Slátra’s still in pieces. If Raeve had all Elluin’s memories at the forefront of her mind, I’m certain she’d understand why I can’t let this go. Becauseshewouldn’t.
I look back toward the bog.Waiting.
The first Moltenmaw that emerges from its nest is bright azure, almostthe color of Raeve’s eyes. It shrieks as it tears free, a responding sound coming from somewhere amongst the heavy clouds overhead.
The nest is only bare a moment before a purple, pink, and red buck plummets toward the bog, landing on the mound before the opening. He moves gently through, careful not to stand on anything important before he spins and drags his tail within the gnarly sphere—almost entirely hidden away. I barely glimpse him through the opening: rolling the eggs, feathers fluffed as he tucks the treasures beneath himself and settles in for the coming dae.
More and more of the dams emerge, but not the one I want.
Tension blisters the underside of my skin, until finally, the pink dam pushes her long pale beak free of the nest’s opening.
I feel her guttural squawk in the pit of my heart. The grieving scream of a beast with a hole in her chest that’ll never be filled.
She tips her head, looking to where her furled mate rests just past the shifting clouds …
Another squawk, softer now. Like a quiet hello that falls on deaf ears.
If only she knew I was listening. That I know how much it hurts.
If only I could take her pain away.
The air chills so abruptly, my next exhale whitens like the Mists.
Líri’s eyes snap open—wide. She appears to look straight through the window that, given the runes, I’m certain she can’t see through.
Her front legs push up, claws shuffling back along the branch until her shoulders are much higher than her head. Submissive posturing that deepens as her wings droop. Almost like a—
Bow.
I frown, my heart smashing to a halt when I realize Raeve is standing beside me, staring out the window with her loose hair dashed around her shoulders.
I’m about to speak when I notice her eyes are not her own … butblack, pricked with thousands of luminous specks.
“Moonbe—”
In the distance, a Moltenmaw screams, snapping my attention to where the pink-colored dam is pushing from her nest. Wings stretched, she crouches low and launches into the air, heaving skyward.
My stare latches on to the single soft-colored egg sitting in the bowl of her nest, next to a luminous silver shard. Small, though it still shines with so much light it glints in the smoggy gloom.
My heart pinches.
Raeve moves, feet and legs bare, motions feline as she makes for the swirling stairwell. She descends without a single look in my direction, and every hackling instinct tells me something’s not right.
I grab my muddy cloak and jog after Raeve. Barely make it halfwaydown the stairs before I glimpse her snatching one of the many exit vials from a shelf in the wall.
She smashes it against the wood, illuminating the concealment runes.
Fuck.
The exit slurps open, and two larks flutter through.
Raeve snarls and shrinks back from the bright world beyond the safety of the tree.
Using her hand to shield her face, she appears as though she’s about to step out despite her odd aversion to the light, then pauses, looks down at her bare feet, and angles her head to the side.
Quick to pocket the larks before they even have a chance to bump against me, I power down the final curl of stairs and leap onto the bottom landing. “Moonbeam, what are—”
She grabs her boots and stabs her feet in them, handling the laces like a youngling trying to mash a knot into place. With a huff, she stuffs the loose strings down the side and charges out into the forest—too fast.
