She squeezes his hand. “But you didn’t.”
“If you weren’t there, El…” he trails off, shaking the memories from his mind.
“But Iwasthere. I willalwaysbe there. You’re not doing this alone,” she promises, but thoughts intrude her promise. Thoughts of when theyareseparated. Thoughts of when shecan’treach him. Thoughts of how this ends. Madness. Violence. Death.
But Kael cuts to the left, moving away from the steady stream of people. “We’re here,” he announces, as he stands before a quaint shopfront with a rusted sign:Rhaema’s Weavehouse.
Kael doesn’t hesitate, shoving the door open, ducking under the low frame, and stepping across the threshold.
A woman with silver hair lifts her gaze from a folded bolt of silk, and drags her gaze over Kael. She doesn’t react. Just rakes her eyes over him like she’s measuring him somehow.
“You look like shit,” she declares, with not an ounce of shame.
Kael huffs a laugh. “You look old as fuck,” he retorts with a wicked grin.
The old woman quirks a smile, and moves out from behind the counter, walking on unsteady feet toward Kael.
Elyssara watches in confusion.Who are they to each other?
The woman’s hands grip Kael’s arms, his shoulders—pressing into him as if testing if he’s an illusion. As if she has known men who vanish.
“I assumed you’d forgotten about me with all your royal duties,” she teases, but there’s no edge to it.
“I assumed you were dead of old age,” he counters drily, barely suppressing a smile.
She swats at him indignantly, the corners of her eyes creasing with a barely restrained smile. “Still a little shit, I see.”
There’s something about their interaction that goes beyond history. Their connection is…
“My great aunt Rhaema,” Kael announces, eyes flicking to Elyssara.
Familial.
“Half great aunt, if we’re being precise. I’m the bastard half-sister of Kael’s grandmother,” she corrects, though she doesn’t look perturbed by it. She appears simply to be relaying facts.
Elyssara nods slowly, taking it all in.
“Andyouare?” Rhaema probes impatiently.
Are all the women in Kael’s family so fucking forthright?
No wonder he does not bend easily.
Kael bites his lip between his teeth.
Elyssara shoots him a glare.
“I’m Elyssara,” she says, keeping her voice measured.
But that’s not adequate for Rhaema. “I need context, dear. Not your name.Who?”
Elyssara flicks her eyes to Kael, and he gives her a small nod.
You can trust her.
So she clears her throat. “Elyssara Dawnmere. Rightful Queen of Dravara.”
Rhaema does not bow when she says it. She stills. Taking in the information. Assessing.
