Kaan hesitates, his hands appearing heavy at his sides. “Has anyone played it since—”
Korie releases another scream—shrill enough to stiffen my spine.
Siharna presses the instrument against Kaan’s chest and lets go, his hand coming up to grip its neck as she spins, charging from the room in pained sways.
Kaan stands statue still, looking down at the lute in his blood-crusted hand. He opens his mouth, as if he’s about to speak, then bites down and moves up the stairs, wearing a stoic sort of silence—sturdy despite his pain.
Composed despite the discord. The death.
About to sing a little girl to sleep despite having half the world resting on his wounded shoulders.
And I wonder how I ever believed not falling in love with this male was an option. How Ieverbelieved I was capable of pulling myself from his atmosphere.
He makes it to the mezzanine, disappearing from my line of sight as Korie continues to cry. As Pyrok and Roan continue to root through the cupboard, quietly bickering while I stand by the door, looking at the ground, the walls. Unsure of what to do with my hands, my feet …anything.
And then Kaan starts to play. A slow, tender tune that lilts down from above and strums the frayed strings of my heart, rattling me to the core. Makes something inside me creak, groan and—
Shift.
My feet move of their own accord. Up the stairs, across the sparse mezzanine, past Korie’s bedraggled minder, who dips her head as we cross paths.
Coming to a flood of warm light spilling from an open doorway, I place my hand on the frame and peer past into a thoughtfully furnished room swept in yellow tones, small handmade Moltenmaws and bundled moons dangling from the ceiling. And beneath the majesty of a beautifully sculpted headboard, Korie’s tucked amongst a creamy quilt, thumb in her mouth as she hiccups through tight breaths, the skin around her big green eyes mottled red from her tears.
I shift enough to follow her line of sight. See Kaan on the ground with one leg stretched, brows pinched, loose lengths of hair framing his strong features, back to the wall despite the pain he’s surely in. A mighty warrior carved straight off a bloody battlefield and placed in this small room of soft colors and shapes, cradling the precious instrument as though it has a heartbeat of its own.
An odd sense of familiarity fists the contents of my chest cavity, lurching it all into the back of my throat. Like I’m looking at a painting I’ve seen before but can’t remember when or where. I just know I’veseen it.
He looks up.
Our gazes meet with the force of clashing stars … then he opens his mouth and sings. A robust baritone unlikeanythingI’ve heard before. Bearing the depth and sturdiness of Bulder’s voice, softened with a raining sadness that’s soul deep.
Raw.
Agonizinglybeautiful.
My skin prickles, eyes sting. Every muscle in my body aches to buckle down into a ball and fold around my swelling heart like a parchment lark. A feeling that only intensifies as he breaks my gaze and looks at Korie with all the tenderness of a dragon guarding a clutch of eggs.
My gaze drifts to the youngling, her breaths deeper, blinks slowing. Any sadness gone from her face. And for some unknown reason, it all just …
Hurts.
The entire visionhurts.
I turn from it, moving down the stairs with quick and silent steps, past a frowning Pyrok now nursing a basket of suspicious-looking bottles. I’m out the front door before I pull my next breath, filling my lungs with a gulp of cold air that does nothing to ease the rising pressure in my chest. A pressure that feels like—
My Other.
Shit.
I charge across the courtyard. Order the guards to let me out as things inside me begin to bang about. As something …loosens.
Panic rises in unison with the bulging pressure of whatever is currently bludgeoning toward my surface.
“Creators,” I mutter, tapping my boot against the ground, watching those bars rise slower than the aurora. Half convinced these guards are about to become Other chow.
Perhaps if I don’t look within, she’ll just … stay where she belongs?
I grit my teeth and pace back and forth in short, sharp turns until the bars grind up just far enough for me to drop to the ground and roll free. And I sprint, climbing the jagged stairway two steps at a time, just breaking past the cage of snow-covered trees when that pressure explodes with the cracking, sloshing sounds of my shattering icy lake—
