Page 128
Cedric watched the color all but drain from Elyria’s face as she read the letter, then handed it to him. He immediately recognized Tenny’s neat penmanship, and something settled in his chest at the sight . . . though it became rapidly unsettled as he digested the words she had written.
“Kinsgaith? That same tiny village Tristan and Zephyr were headed to, on some off-the-wall search for the daughter of the man I killed? That’s to be the site of Malakar’s grand stand?”
“So it would appear,” Elyria said tightly. “According to Tenny, Tristan, Ollie, and Zephyr, he’s en route as we speak.”
“The Line,” Tartanis murmured. “So that is where he intends to break it.”
“And where we must stop him. Will King Lachlandris truly not send aid now?”
“I will try again. Perhaps another plea from his niece, in combination with my promise to . . .” Tartanis pursed his lips. “I must make haste. There is much to attend to.”
Elyria nodded, and it seemed as though something had shifted between the two of them in recognition of this shared goal. “We can’t wait for him. We have to fill the Chasm, keep Malakar from accessing the Line.”
Cedric didn’t hesitate. “Then we seal our life-bond tonight, that we might heal the crown.”
Thraigg let out a low whistle. “Hell of a thing to do in a borrowed tent.” He glanced at Elyria. “I thought yer people made a whole show out of this sort of thing.”
She shot him a wry look. “I’m nothing if not a fan of breaking tradition.”
“Aye,” Thraigg said quietly, a soft smile poking out from above his beard. “That you are, lass.”
Tartanis was staring at his daughter, something unreadable in the set of his brow, the creases at the edges of his eyes. “I see,” he said after a moment, his calculating aura melding into something . . . else. Not approval, exactly, but more akin to understanding. “So his humanity is not an obstacle for you then, is it?”
Elyria lifted her chin. “It never was. But with regard to the heartache you mentioned, yes, we had already discussed the life-bond.”
“Even knowing it might change you?”
Cedric’s eyes shot to her, and all his former worries rushed to the forefront of his mind. So it did mean something for her to share herself so wholly, perhaps even giving up part of herself in order to gift it to him.
Elyria’s breath caught—just for a moment—and Cedric found he couldn’t stop himself from flinging his mental doors back open. He needed to understand what she was thinking, needed to feel her in his mind, in his bones, in his soul.
She’d already done the same, and the warmth and conviction and sheer love pulsing down the bond between them had the inner corners of Cedric’s eyes prickling.
“He has already changed me,” she said. “And only for the better. So long as it’s still what he wants—”
“It is all I want,” Cedric said quickly.
Tartanis exhaled—not quite a sigh. “You are very young. You cannot possibly know what it means to bind yourself to one of us forever.”
Cedric stood tall, rolling his shoulders back, and stepped forward to take Elyria’s hand in his own. “I know enough,” he said, and when he looked down at their joined hands, he was met with the faintest golden glow.
Tartanis studied them both, understanding dawning on his face. “Solimaeus,” he said, the word filled with awe.
“Yes, we are,” Elyria replied. “Have more to say about that, do you?”
Tartanis shook his head. Closed his eyes. And when he opened them again, the smile on his face felt genuine. “No,” he said softly. “No, I do not.”
38
DAYLIGHT
ELYRIA
Their tent was located farther from the others than Elyria had expected. It was quieter, too. Not in an alarming way, for once. Not a sad one, either. This was not simply the hollow quiet of absence, but something intentional—like someone had taken care to hush the world just beyond the canvas walls. Elyria could still sense the camp beyond it, the thrum of bodies and magic and grief stitched together. But here, inside . . . it felt different.
Private.
“Your father set this up for us?” Cedric asked, voice rife with skepticism as he closed the tent flap behind him.
