“This one says ‘lover’ too,” I say. “Vahlo, born of night, and his lover Vayla, born of day, did give their gifts to the world, their dual magic entwining, binding them together eternally.”
“These aren’t the Codex,” realizes Ronan. “They’re the apocrypha.”
“The same apocrypha Zara found?”
“It must be.”
There are dozens of journals in the chest. My mother filled them with not just her diary entries but plans, receipts, records of her travels. The answers we’re seeking must be in here somewhere, but it will take us ages to read them allandthe apocrypha hidden underneath.
In truth, I’m a bit afraid to read my mother’s journals. Not just because of the implications for myself and Ronan regardingwhatever the Shadowbound Prophecy means for us, but also because I’m afraid of what I might learn about my mother. There was a time when I would have given anything to have found this, when I would have wanted the chance to know her better more than anything in the world.
But now, after meeting Ronan and learning of what her people did to him, I’m not certain I want to know anything else about her.
Seth doesn’t share my qualms. This is everything he’s ever wanted. “We have to take them,” he says. “All of them.”
We cram the weapons from the other chest in with the journals and the papers from the desk. Ronan assures us Karis won’t insult us by searching the chest when we take it, and he’s right.
“I guess we know what we’re doing this winter,” says Seth as we walk up the path to the cottages. “Who’s up for a little light reading by the fire?”
Chapter Thirty
Six Months Later
Iawake in a pool of blood.
“Godsdammit,” I mutter, careful not to wake Ronan. I slide out of bed, cringing at the terrible wet feeling between my legs. Thank the gods Taran left us some water in the washbasin. If I had to trudge out into the yard to draw water up from the well right now, I might actually scream.
My cycle has come early again.
I soak my soiled undergarments and my nightgown in the basin, cleaning myself and putting on fresh underwear, this time pinning in the pad I should have been wearing just in case. I’ve just started scrubbing out the stains when Ronan slips in the kitchen behind me.
“Don’t look,” I say. “It’s gross.”
“Oh, darling. I think I can handle a little blood.”
He must have seen the sheets.
He wraps his arms around me, kissing my shoulder and then pressing his hands to my belly, warmth and light spreading from his fingertips.
“Mm,” I moan as my cramps subside. “Gods, that feels amazing.”
“I’ll get the sheets,” he says. “Go back to bed.”
“It’s alright. I’m feeling better now that you’re here.”
With his help, the washing goes quickly. He takes the clean linens from me as I finish scrubbing, hanging them on a clothesline by the fire.
It’s cramped in the cottage at the best of times, and even more so with the clothesline out, but with spring being stubbornly slow to start, it’s better than hanging them outside to get snowed on.
To be honest, the cottage is a mess even without the clothesline up. Neither of us had spent much time without servants before we moved in here, and it has taken some getting used to. Our bedroom is covered in clothes, furs, and armor for our days training out in the freezing fields with the soldiers. Our small dining table is littered with journals, scrolls, and notes from our nights spent poring over my mother’s notes and the apocrypha concealed beneath.
Our kitchen is clean but tarnished—not by Ronan’s generally decent camp cooking, but by my culinary experiments. They haven’t always ended in total disaster, but on more than one occasion they’ve required Taran to extinguish a small fire or two.
The roof leaks snowmelt into the bath, one of the windows doesn’t open, and I’m fairly certain there’s a family of mice hiding behind the baseboards.
And on top of it all, we’re merely steps away from my brother and Taran in the other cottage, who are constantly fighting, which is terrible, except for when they’re not fighting, which is worse.
I love it with my whole heart, and I’ve never been happier in my life.
