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Elderglade was quiet—the hush of contentment. It wasn’t silent or still, of course, but for a place that was so lively during the day, the residents here certainly did seem to appreciate the gentleness of night. The occasional hum of low laughter broke through the trickle of the stream and the rustle of leaves high in the surrounding canopy as Cedric ran through the glade.

He followed the bond, that golden thread between them, not down the typical path to the main part of the settlement, nor toward the long trail that led to the entrance. No, he followed it into the eastern woods, to the place where he and Elyria had once lain next to each other in soft grass, staring up at a sunset-pink sky. The place where she’d helped him sort through the fact that his very world had crumbled and been re-formed beneath his feet with the revelations learned here.

He found her there.

Elyria stood in a small clearing, surrounded by mistwood trees, their leaves evergreen. Her back was to him, her hands fisted at her sides, clenching and unclenching. Her shoulders heaved and her breath was ragged as she summoned and vanished her wings in rapid succession.

There.

Gone.

There.

Gone.

Her cherry-almond scent wafted through the air, laced with something bitter, something wanting. It grew stronger with every pass of her magic, every draw of her beautiful purple-and-green wings from the ether.

Wings that lay flat and still against her back every time they reappeared.

Wings that only moved when she bowed and straightened.

Wings that didn’t twitch. Didn’t tremble.

Didn’t flutter.

A beautiful decoration.

Nothing more.

Cedric only saw the tears streaming down Elyria’s pale cheeks when he got close. Close enough to see the clench of her jaw, to hear the way her breath hitched, a hiccup in her chest. Close enough to catch her just as her knees buckled with a helpless cry, holding her up before she collapsed in on herself.

“Shhh,” he said soothingly into her mind. He knew she could hear him now. His hands gripped her upper arms gently, steadying her.

She careened into him, sobbing into his chest. “They won’t—they won’t—I can’t⁠—”

Cedric’s heart twisted. “I know. It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”

“Will it?” She tipped her head back, her silver-rimmed eyes meeting his. “What good am I if they can’t—if I can’t even—” She vanished her wings again, as though she couldn’t stand the sight of them, couldn’t stand the fact that Cedric could see them too.

“Elle,” he said quietly, drawing her head to his chest with a gentle hand on the back of her neck. He held her there, held her close, until the shredded cadence of her breath began to match his. Until she finally dislodged herself from his embrace, staggering back, her face covered with both hands.

“I can’t fly,” she whispered into her palms. “I can’t move them. It’s worse than before. Worse than when they were gone entirely.”

“How is it worse?” he asked.

She pressed a hand to her sternum. “When they were gone, they were gone. Now I can feel them again, feel where they are, feel what they should be doing. But they won’t listen. They feel . . .” Her lip quivered as she sucked in a trembling breath. “They feel wrong. Foreign. Like they aren’t mine. And yet, when I was without them, it was like I wasn’t me. I don’t know.”

Cedric swallowed hard. “You were always you. You always will be. Perfect in every rendition.” He took her hand and held it between his palms, as though he might be able to imbue it with some of his warmth, some of his lingering hope. “Mine, always.”

Something in her softened. “You don’t know that everything will be all right.”

The smallest smile tugged at Cedric’s scarred lip. “I have faith.”

“How? After everything that’s happened, everything that’s been done to you and to your family and to your people and to—” Her throat bobbed. “And to me.”

Cedric contemplated this, pulling Elyria close enough to wrap his arms around her once more, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I have faith in you. You give me hope—simple as that. And I have to believe that there is something bright and beautiful and worthy waiting for us both at the end of this long, dark tunnel. To think otherwise is . . . I simply have to believe it.”

“He did this to me,” she bit out after a few moments.