Page 139
They’d gotten lucky before, after all. They had already interfered, despite being explicitly instructed—commanded, in fact—not to. But it was worth it, they mused, to be able to give the Revenant her wings. To give back the crown, along with a warning that Nox hoped saved at least a few lives.
And it had been worth it to see her again, if only for a moment.
By the Five, when had they become so soft? Mortal connections had never held such allure before. And it wasn’t just her, although her particular pull was, of course, fascinating.
It was Thraigg, stubborn and boisterous and unyieldingly kind. The sort of friend who would traverse at one’s side to the very edge, ready to fight death itself.
It was the knightling and the Revenant—two halves of a prophetic pair, yes, but both of them good and righteous and whole in their own right. Two people worth following.
It was Tenny, bright and somehow both more fragile and stronger than she realized. The way she stood at the crossroads of grief and courage, the way she carried on, in spite of and despite all the many things that would drag down a lesser woman.
But then, in the end, it really was Kit, wasn’t it?
Inevitable, tempestuous, mercurial Kit.
A symphony of contrast, a kaleidoscope of contradictions. Innate political savvy wrapped in the guise of a spoiled younger sister. Moonlit hair that fell against sunbaked skin. Even her eyes, one as green as a sprig of merryleaf, the other bluer than the shallows beyond Siren’s Rock, were a paradox of their own.
Something tightened in Tenebris Nox’s chest.
I should stay away.
They knew what awaited.
Knew the pain to come, the cost of choosing mortals over mandates, this silly idea of love over law. The chains that bound them were old, forged by a star god who, for all his occasional interest in the happenings of the world above, did not tolerate disobedience—no matter how righteous.
And yet.
Nox’s shadows stirred restlessly around their boots, and Lyrica huffed a steamy breath from slitted nostrils as she tilted her head at them.
Perhaps it was worth it anyway.
Nox closed their eyes.
Just one time more, they thought. Should time allow.
Above, the aurora burned on, piercing through the clear blue sky.
And Tenebris Nox stepped into the shadows.
43
THE ASHEN PROMISE
ELYRIA
Elyria Lightbreaker had never been one for goodbyes.
It might’ve come as a surprise that it wasn’t so much the sentimentality that she took issue with. That was tolerable. Understandable. A sad farewell was, after all, nothing but a mark of the impact one person made on another, and there was something kind of, well, nice about that.
No, the kinds of goodbyes she hated were the strategic ones. Those that came on the heels of plans and reassurances and people saying things like “Solaris be with you” and “See you on the other side,” as if such a thing were ever determinable.
That was the real issue. All the not knowing. Not knowing if there would be greetings to be had on the “other side.” Saying goodbye ahead of the vast unknown before them felt presumptuous. Like it cemented the fact that they were not, in actuality, likely to see one another again.
That was how saying goodbye to her father had always been, at any rate.
Tartanis’s tent was located at the center of the largest cluster of them, many of which were already being dismantled. Near the tree line beyond, a handful of wagons waited in a line, with canvas covers stretched over barrels of supplies. Horses stamped their hooves, steam puffing from their nostrils in misty bursts as they tossed their heads, impatient.
They were all getting impatient.
