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“I know. But you are not what he did.”
“That doesn’t change what he took. What I lost. And now what? Am I to live the rest of my days with these . . . these phantoms attached to my back? A memorial to my greatest shame?”
“There is nothing to be ashamed of. And you don’t know that it will be forever. It’s still so, so new, Elle. Elder Larkess said this was uncharted territory. The fact that you have them again at all is surely a great sign. Maybe you just need time.”
New tears streaked down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I need.”
“And that’s all right, too. You don’t have to know right now. The only thing you do have to know is how much I love you—how much we all do. Nothing has changed in my feelings for you. Nothing ever will.”
The ground rumbled gently beneath their boots, as though Elyria’s wild magic was in agreement, even if she was busy trying to subdue her shudders as she cried and cried against him. The branches of the surrounding trees began to sway—a gentle rhythm. Like the very forest was trying to soothe her worry.
They might’ve stood like that for seconds or minutes or hours. Cedric wouldn’t know. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t try to end it. He only held her, letting her pour out her pain, letting her fall apart as much as she needed to.
He would always be there to help her pick up the pieces.
Eventually, Elyria’s sobs subsided. Her breathing evened. And when she peeled herself out of Cedric’s arms, when his gaze locked with hers once more, there was something other than despair there.
Something that felt a little more like determination, like resolve, sacrosanct and unbreakable.
“That’s my girl,” he said down the bond, flooding it with love and pride and the infinite faith in her he possessed.
“I love you,” she replied, and even though the words were still a little bit sad, hope bloomed in the spaces between them.
Elyria wiped at her eyes and sniffled, then adjusted Cedric’s now tear-stained tunic. She took a breath, and her wild magic seemed to quiet again.
The ground stopped rumbling, the swaying trees stilled.
There were a few blessed moments of contented silence.
And then they heard the first scream.
29
FROM THE SHADOWS
KIT
The sparkle of Shep’s magic faded, and the forest path seemed darker in contrast. Kit’s eyes flitted to Elderglade’s arched entrance, just a dozen or so feet from where the two of them still stood. She sniffed, twisting the toe of her boot in the dirt. “I do love seeing you in your element here, Shep. But if I keep you much longer, I fear I will have a very irate dwarf on my hands.”
Shep chuckled under his breath. “As you said, given that he hasn’t already come charging back in here must mean luck is on our side tonight, no?”
“Let’s hope that remains the case. We’ll need as much luck as we can get if we hope to stop Malakar before he—do you feel that?” A chill ran down Kit’s spine, causing her to shudder.
“My lady?” Shep’s voice sounded rather far away all of a sudden, but there was no mistaking the alarm in it.
Alarm that flared in Kit’s mind as her vision blackened around the edges, darkness suddenly swirling over her skin. What is this? she tried to say—tried to yell, shout, scream. But no sound came from her. Shep’s mouth was moving, but nothing landed in Kit’s ears, either. Shimmering smoke surrounded her, clouding the sylvan from her sight. And then it was as though the ground had been sucked away from beneath her feet, and she was falling, falling, falling. . . .
Until she wasn’t falling anymore.
It was dark.
Cold.
A vast nothingness, stretching out on all sides.
Except for the grip—warm, solid—on Kit’s forearm.
The icy fear that had sliced through her melted away as her eyes adjusted and she registered the sight of long, slender fingers wrapped around her wrist.
