My heart hammered inside my chest.
One a week. For over a year.
I tried to count them, but my hands were too full. I sat cross-legged in the hall and untied the first bundle.
And, as much I hated to admit it, I picked up the first letter and breathed in its scent. The smallest hint of ink, of crisp pages, of him…
I sank back against the wall behind me. I imagined his coat around me, his body pressed to mine… and sighed.
I broke the seal, my eyes devouring the words letter by letter.
SnowFest 12
DearestDear Lyranore,
I am writing to you from the University of Junira, drowning amidst classwork and looming deadlines, and yet my thoughts are of you.
I hope this letter finds you well. I hope it finds you at all. That you do not crumble and toss it as I fear you might. I pray that I have not stretched taut the loose tie that binds us, that it has not snapped altogether.
How is David? Do you still wear his ribbon? Have you replaced it with a ring?
Or—and I must reveal my hand here—or, as I hope, have you remained in your freedom?
I clenched my jaw. Of course he doubted my resolve. Of course.
I scanned the end, a mere summary of his learnings, asinformative and guarded as his conversations. I snapped the seal of the next letter.
SpringFest, 44
Dear Lyranore,
I must ask—do you still walk the palace grounds in moonlight, the stars kissing your skin and black hair as you fade into the beauty of night itself?
But I forget, you have quit the palace life.
I hope this letter finds you.
I pray for you, for your ambitions to find a home that will care for them as they deserve. That your new master shows you what I could not, what I did not know. I realize now, after replaying our conversation again and again, that I tend to act as if I know more than I do. You said it yourself, that I chose the fate of our friendship for you. Your voice was silenced by my own deafening fears.
For that, I will never be remorseful enough. I fear… I cannot write it now, please excuse me.
Once more, the letter switched to an analysis of Junira’s magical currency among the noble classes, which I promptly ignored, pulling out a few more from the pile to scan. My eyes were glued to one particular letter from the summer at the start of his internship’s first expedition.
SunFest, 17
Dearest Lyra,
We are trekking across Pa’abo’s deserts. At night, I lie on the cool sand, and I long for nothing more than to sit next to you at the pond.
I think of that night, the night you conjured a water ladder higher than mine, every time I close my eyes and sink into the darkness. Sometimes, it pursues me into my dreams.
I have been too harsh, I admit. I have been too harsh about a lot of things in my life.
But of course, this is an area you know better than I. You made it clear to me that night that I was the very same pompous, arrogant prince you feared I was. And now, I lie on the sands, no roof above my head as mosquitos buzz in my ears, days-old sweat creating the most dreadful itch, and I see. I look out into the vast galaxies above me, the moon that once bathed you in its light, the stars that were hung to glint off your hips and sing your praises—and I see.
I am small. I always have been. But I never wanted to believe it.
My eldest sister passed away when I was young. She took ill with the plague, and when no physician could cure it, I vowed to my father that by allowing me space and funding to pursue my studies, I would solve the mystery she left behind. I suppose the only flaw in my reasoning was that there was no guarantee I would find it. The result was that I skipped many social events, isolating myself, poring over books…
