Page 132 of The Silversmith

Day 69,899…

Day 47,039…

Day 28,562…

Day 19,421

I thought that I had caught a trail today, but the bastard’s magic is too strong. He has concealed her. I lost it, sir. Forgive me.

Roger Morton

Day 17,256…

Day 13,469…

Day 8,931…

Day 2,583…

Day 278

My Dear Friend Smyth,

There is still no trace of her. I will go farther north this summer in the hopes of more clues. May the Selvaren comfort you. I will do everything I can.

Victor Morton

“Victor.” I covered my mouth with my hands. His childhood friend Victor.

On each letter, the same handwriting—Gavin’s—marked the date. And if the Felix Morton at the door was the same Felix Morton who’d written the letter on day 146,797, if she was still alive in the same way Molochai and Simeon were alive, she was likely still trapped there.

With Molochai.

“How long have you been looking for her?” I whispered, tongue dry, swallowing bile.

If Simeon and Molochai were so old, it should come as no surprise that others could be too. I was vexed by the reality of the math and I calculated repeatedly, again and again, hoping I would get a more realistic answer. I didn’t. 146,797 days was over four hundred years.

“Because the whole gods-damned world has been hellbent on taking what I want from me— what’s mine—for a long fucking time.”

A long time, indeed. A very, very long time.

I let silent tears fall. For him—for losing her so long ago. For being alone for so long.

And for myself. I mourned what I would never have—the kind of love it took for one man to devote four hundred years to finding one woman. Four hundred lonely years, if the last woman he’d been with was her, as he’d said. No wonder he had refused me. No wonder he hated himself for having feelings for me. I was in the way of them.

My betrothed wasn’t waiting for me, but for an idea. Gavin was waiting for the one he truly loved.

“Gods,” I breathed, running my shaky hands over my face, hating myself even more.

I was stunned, heartbroken, and horrified. But I didn’t have it in me to be angry. Not with him, not really. If he planned to give me up to get her back, could I blame him? Wouldn’t anyone make such a sacrifice for someone they loved? Wouldn’t I have done it for Oliver?

I stared into the fire, letting its heat dry the tears that kept coming, and tried to think of a reason not to do what I knew I needed to.

Despite the violent crack he’d put in my heart, all I could think about was his smile. His laughter, deep and warm and unrestrained. No more pain and longing in those warm eyes. After the kindness he’d shown me. The care.

He deserved happiness.

I thought of Finn and Gemma, Caz and Marin and their baby, free to live without fear outside of those Caves. Free to go wherever they wanted. And those children and their sticks with dancing fire celebrating the solstice. There’d be many more to come, if I was successful. No more of Simeon’s wards around the cities. No evacuations needed from Insidions wreaking havoc and death.