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I should have asked for his name.
My eyes prickle. Unexpectedly, after everything, that’s what brings tears to my eyes. Not the arrow, not almost drowning, not being hunted down like a fucking wild boar—but the fact that some guy gave me all the tools to save myself, and I don’t know who he is. I realize it’s likely just one too many things, but once my tears start, they don’t stop coming, and I can’t see a foot in front of me.
Even if I wanted to make myself move, I couldn’t with the uncontrollable tears. I drop and hit the ground with my one good hand, again and again, stupidly hurting it when I can’t properly use the other.
I don’t deserve this. I’m not the kindest or the best person I know, but I’ve never done anything to deserve this. When I was cruel, it was always to someone who’d wronged me first. I donate. I listen to people ramble on about their insipid, insanely boring little lives, and smile and nod, pretending I care when all I feel is dread churning in my stomach, making me nauseous at the thought that life isn’t more than that. Eat, sleep, shit, go to work, fuck, reproduce.It was never enough for me. I hated it. But I’d give anything to get back to it now.
At least no one can see me completely break down.
I don’t know how long I stay there, but by the time my tears are all spent, it’s darker. And colder. I'm fucking freezing. Remembering the gray sweater, still miraculously attached to my hips, I drag it on my shoulders. It doesn't help much. It's no longer wet, but it's as cold as the rest of me.
It would be typical. Fifty or so magic, eternal, great fae hunting me, and I die of exposure just to spite them. I manage a snort at the idea. That'd teach them.
But it would disappoint some of them. The stranger. Valdred. Ryther.
I lift my eyes up to look at the sky, but I don’t make it that far.
I’m staring into two wide, beady eyes, shining in the dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
WEIGHT OF THE WORLD
Ryther
Each moment I wait for sunset feels like a hundred years. My mind comes up with endless possible situations, none of them good. Hours have never been this long before.What’s half a day for someone like me? I’ve lived through millions of moments, all bleeding in together in memories so blurry I can barely recount a tenth of my existence.
But these six hours are a singular form of torture.
I'm used to knowing where I stand, and the uncertainty is killing me.She could have been caught. Hurt, maimed, murdered. She could be a pile of bones right now, or under the thumb of a lowlife upstart like Junis.He may not have true power, but through her, he could gain enough to reshape the face of this world.
But worse, I think of the pit down the narrow road at the center of the woods. The only thing worse than her dying today would be the possibility of her finding that path, and taking it too soon, unprepared to facewhat lays under the hollow.
I try to banish the thought. There’s little chance she made it that far. On foot, the heart of the hollow is a day away, and that's without taking turns. But she could have found the portals. Moved through them, until she reached the gates…
I'm not anxious by nature, and I will myself to focus. If she had reached the heart of Ilvaris,the sky would rattle, the earth would shake, and in a few moments, we’d all be dead.
My fingers tap the cavern stone under my feet. It should be dusk already, but apparently thefucking sun's enjoying torturing me. It's dragging out every last moment, refusing to set.
“Since when do you get nervous?” Caenan asks.
My jaw ticks. “What could possibly make you believe I am?”
“I don’t know, the fact that your hand’s tapping the rhythm of a pixie jig on your leg?”
I stretch my fingers, stopping them mid-jig, and bring my hands behind my back. “Shall I remind you it’s your fault we’re in this mess in the first place?”
“Me?” he retorts indignantly.
I don’t even spare him a glance. He shouldn’t have brought her to the conclave and he knows it. It was incredibly foolish. But then again, I shouldn’t have left her alone with him.She’s tiny, and pretty, and endearing, and innocent, with that determination and strange strength kittens seem to have even when facing a predator a hundred times stronger. It’s hard to resist for the best of us. If I indulged her despite my better judgement, how can I blame him?
The weather shifts fast at the time in the Hollow, the afternoon heat dulling to crisp wind and icy rain, and I find myself wondering if she's warm enough under her cloak for the coming night.No matter. A little ice and snow isn’t going to melt her bones. She’ll survive them.
She’s made it so far. I make a conscious effort to stop questioning that.And if she can’t survive half a day without help, then better to lose her now than later. At least, I did my best to give her a fighting chance.
You don’t believe that for one moment.
I don’t look up at the crow circling overhead, ignoring him.
