Page 73

The inner corners of Elyria’s eyes pricked, and it took her a second to realize why. Took a second to register Jocelyn’s arm stretched across the table, her hand covering Elyria’s.

“And whatever you decide, whatever decision feels right to you, we are with you,” said Jocelyn.

Elyria swallowed past the lump in her throat. “So Larkess is who we’re waiting for? When can we expect her?”

As though asking the question willed her into existence, there she was. The sylvan elder’s long gray robes swept over the grass as she shuffled across the glade, hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her head was turned slightly, a gentle smile on her wizened face as she spoke to the companion at her side. The uncanny timing of the elder’s appearance took Elyria by such surprise that it took another few moments before it registered that said companion was, in fact⁠—

“Thraigg!” She leapt off Cedric’s lap, finally dropping his hand and racing toward the dwarf as he ambled merrily next to Elder Larkess.

“There ye are, lass.” Thraigg’s voice was thick, even as he smiled wide and his shoulders bounced with a quiet laugh, making the silver beads in his braided beard jangle.

Elyria skidded to a stop in front of the pair, a little uncertain as to what her goal had been. Had she intended to . . . hug him? She didn’t think they’d ever done that before. Aside from occasionally indulging a far more demonstrative Kit and, granted, with Shep earlier, Elyria wasn’t much of a hugger. But so much joy and relief flooded through her at the sight of the dwarf that she ended up bending down to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders anyway.

Thraigg gave the small of her back a few awkward pats, clearing his throat once Elyria finally released him. “Missed me that much, did ye?” His cheeks were red, his eyes glassier than they had been a minute ago.

Elyria wanted to crack a joke. Wanted to say something about how she’d been knee-deep in piss-poor drinking companions lately and what she wouldn’t give to be able to hit up the Cracked Keg with him right this second. But the words dried up in her mouth.

What could she really say?

The last time she’d seen Thraigg had been right here, in Elderglade, on the tail of finding out that he had entered the Crucible in order to protect Cedric at Elder Larkess’s behest. He, too, was inexorably linked to all that had occurred within the Sanctum. Linked, for whatever reason, to Cedric himself. Another person, another force, working with secret agendas and hidden intentions. And regardless of the fact that they’d been part of a good agenda and well-meaning intentions, Elyria was getting pretty fucking tired of it all.

There was so little she felt in control of lately. Like her entire life had already been prescribed, written out, and she was, at this point, simply following along—a puppet on a string.

Daughter. Soldier. Revenant.

Champion. Victor. Prisoner.

And whatever she was now.

Things kept being taken from her.

Her faith in her father.

Her life, during the war’s final battle.

Control over her own power.

Her reputation in the years that followed.

Evander.

Her wings.

And Cedric.

The universe kept trying to take him from her too. It almost succeeded, a few times.

The prophecy loomed overhead like it was the conductor of her very fate, and Elyria was sick of it.

A choice will be offered, an offer then made:

Heal the realm or cast it into night.

That was what it said. That was how the prophecy ended. But where were her choices? What were these options Cedric had spoken of?

Elyria stood back up, tearing her gaze from Thraigg’s face, which had fallen into a perplexed sort of frown in the time since she failed to speak. She looked at the sylvan elder standing beside him.

“I am relieved to see you awake and right-minded, Elyria,” Elder Larkess said, her lilting sylvan accent adding a musical quality to the words. “I can only imagine what you’ve been through these past⁠—”