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“Show me the rest of your memories.”
With a trembling sigh, she nodded.
They rose to their feet. Emylia lifted her hand, and a fog rolled in, covering the floor, walls, and ceiling. When it dispersed, it left behind the muted tones of Desmond’s dark room at the inn. Teryn and Emylia stood at the far end while two figures sat at opposite sides of the small desk.
“Are you ready?” the Emylia of memory asked, an edge of excitement in her voice. “We’re getting so close, Des. I can feel it.”
Desmond nodded, but his expression held a hint of apprehension. “This is our last session before I return home to Syrus to report to my father. I hope what we’ve learned is enough for him.”
“How could it not be? We’ve done so much work on his behalf, more than he’s ever been able to do on his own, right?”
His lips quirked up at one corner. “When did you become such an optimist?”
“Only when it comes to you,” she said with a wide smile.
His face fell, voice deepening into a whisper. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, Em. I hate not knowing when I’ll be back.”
Her smile remained, but it no longer reached her eyes. “Then let’s hurry. I don’t want to spend our last night together working.”
He nodded and anxiously ran his palms over his thighs while Emylia closed her eyes. Desmond kept his voice low and steady. “Where is the mother of the true Morkara now?”
Teryn’s breath caught, knowing this man was asking about Cora. The woman he loved.
Emylia, crystal in hand, remained still while her eyelids fluttered. “Unborn.”
“When will she be born?”
“The year of the Great Bear.”
Teryn was startled to realize how long ago this memory must have been from.
Desmond rubbed his dark brows. “That could be three years from now, thirteen, twenty-three, or more. How many years from now will she be born?”
Emylia remained silent.
Desmond released a frustrated groan. “Fine. What will she look like?”
Again, silence.
He ran his hand through his black hair, sending wayward strands into his pale eyes. His expression brightened. “Wait. She is said to have the beauty of Satsara. What does Satsara look like?”
Emylia tilted her head to show her disbelief. “Just because the mother has the beauty of Satsara doesn’t mean they’ll look exactly the same. Besides, we don’t even know who she is. Every time I’ve channeled for information on her or Ailan, I get nothing.”
“Just try anyway. It could be a helpful clue.”
Emylia wore a skeptical frown, but she settled back into her trance. Soon her eyes began to dart behind her closed lids. “I see her,” she whispered. “At least…I think I do. She’s…beautiful.”
“And?” Desmond leaned closer to the desk. “What does she look like?”
“Eyes and hair as black as a raven’s wing. Golden skin. She’s tall. Slim but powerful. Pointed ears. Mother Goddess, Des! She’s Elvyn. A true, beautiful Elvyn.” Her voice was rich with awe. “I can’t believe I’m seeing one.”
Desmond’s face melted as he watched her. “She can't be any more stunning than you.”
She slowly fluttered her lashes open. “How am I supposed to get any work done when you compliment me like that?”
Desmond rounded the desk and pulled her from her seat. He brushed his hand along her cheek. “We’ve worked enough. Let’s make the rest of tonight about us.”
Emylia flung her arms around his neck and they dissolved into tangled limbs and heated kisses.
