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The ribbon. The priestess at the temple had tried to stop Elina from wearing Anhera’s stars, fearing what spell the magic would make of their vows. And this was what the magic had done—cutting the ribbon had made them as if dead to each other.
Ghosts to each other.
So she had truly not seen him. Or heard him. Yet Warrick could see and hear her.
At least it was easy to guess what would reverse the spell. Warrick’s fingers felt clumsy and thick as he retied the severed ends of the ribbon. Instantly the knot he made slipped apart. In frustration, in desperation, he tried again. His knot would not stay tied.
He needed no priestess to tell him that only Elina would be able to tie the ribbon. Only she could remarry them.
Though he doubted that she would on this day. Even if she could see him. Even if she could hear him. She’d left him, intending to return home. To kill her uncle. To help her people.
And she intended to do it alone.
His blood ran cold. Never. Even if she did not see him, even if she never knew he was beside her, she would not face what awaited her alone. He would be there with her. At a run, he returned to the stables. Saddled his horse. And did the only thing his heart could ever allow him to do.
Warrick followed her.
Elina the Widow
Galoth
Onward. No matter how much she wished to stop and cry. One word became a refrain in her mind.
Onward.
Onward.
Onward.
Until she reached home.
She had begun to believe her home would always be with Warrick.
Which only proved her a fool, after what she’d learned. Then she proved herself a fool again shortly after crossing the wooden bridge and starting onto the road north. Her gelding had neighed the same greeting that he’d sometimes neighed to Troll while they’d been traveling upon the road to Galoth. Oh, how her stupid heart had leapt!
But no one was behind her. No one was beside her.
So she rode through the day, not seeing anything except for the joy in Warrick’s eyes that she’d once thought was the joy of seeing her face for the first time. But his only joy had been discovering the jewels on her fingers.
Then other memories assaulted her, and she could see nothing but his grim pleasure as she was about to drown. At the time, she’d believed herself mistaken. That she couldn’t have seen such.
Yet she had.
She also remembered how he’d held the knife he’d used to shave his head. How tightly he’d gripped it, and her impression then that he was preparing to use it in another, more violent way.
Because he had wanted to. He’d wanted to use it on her.
Elina didn’t know what had changed Warrick’s mind. But he had intended to see her die. She understood that now.
Just as she understood that everything he’d said of loving her was a lie. Warrick had not followed her from his prison cell because his heart was hers. He’d followed for the Stars of Anhera.
And when he’d first seen her face, the world had not overturned in the way that he’d said. No. When Warrick first saw her face, he’d wanted to kill her. Then he’d decided to make her want him so badly that she would remove the jewels on her own.
How fortunate for him that she’d not been haggard and horrible but young and eager and so very very stupid.
By the end of the first day, Elina knew not how she even drew breath under the weight of his betrayal. The gaping wound in her chest was worse than any she’d felt before…yet she was also numb. So numb. It took all of her strength to keep her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
When darkness fell, she made camp but could not remember making a fire. Yet she must have, because she sat stupidly in front of the flames that burned a collection of sticks and twigs in a stone ring. Just the sort of fire Warrick had shown her how to build.
She laid out her bedroll. Her horse was grazing. She’d forgotten to eat.
She didn’t care.
She could feel his warmth beside her. Could breathe in his scent. Elina wished to never rise from her bed if these were the sweet dreams she would have.
But her dreams were a lie.
She made herself eat bread with cheese. Done, she picked up Warrick’s axe—the one thing she’d taken care to bring with her, though the prophecy had been proven false, too. Nothing magic about it, just a few lines scribbled by Lady Faraine that she’d paid a healer to recite. Clearly Elina hadn’t spoken anything into truth. No one had loved her after laying eyes upon her face. No one’s heart would compel him to follow her forever after. And this axe was not destined to fell her uncle.
