“In a broom closet?” I ask.
He laughs against my skin, but before I can make more of an argument, his lips are on mine. I tilt my head back, so he kisses my neck, dragging his teeth along my skin, his hands pushing my dress farther up my thighs.
“Okay,” I say, my breaths giving away my need, “a broom closet it is.”
He laughs again before scooping me up and pinning me against the wall.
His fingers dig into my skin, his hips setting a bruising pace. There’s nothing soft about our bodies connecting this time. Sorin kisses and pushes into me at the same time, like we have no time to waste. It’s quick and desperate. My hands can’t grip him hard enough. His lips can’t kiss me fast enough.
My legs shake as they wrap around his waist. His fingers dig into the backs of my thighs, and every time I think I may fall, he pins me harder to the wall. Each slide of his tongue and nip from his teeth drives me closer to the edge and all the while, there in the very back of my mind, is the images from our dreams.
The storm and the forest and the yellow goldfinch. Sorin’s hand in mine.
Sorin stifles each of my moans with his lips, letting out a few of his own against my mouth, before we both find our release for the first time, together.
Panting, he places me back on my feet, kissing the tip of my nose. His arms bracket either side of my body and he cages me there against the wall for a moment. Our chests collide, stillworking tirelessly to catch up. He touches his forehead to mine in the briefest of moments before he steps back and straightens my dress.
“I rather like your hair down,” he says as he runs his fingers through my hair to smooth it. “Your hand?” He holds his hand out for me to grab. “I owe you a dance, wife.”
It’s nearing middayand dark clouds begin to litter the sky. Soon we’ll pile in the caravans and leave for the Onyx Guild. A small twinge of sadness crosses over me as I watch the trees dance in the wind. When Sorin is king, and I am queen, we’ll live in Valebridge. We’ll rule Teravie. We will not spend our days running through the forest, that part of our lives will close and the thought has my heart squeezing.
“I won’t ask where you’ve been,” Evren says, interrupting my thoughts, “but only that we’re happy to have you here.” He hands Sorin and I each a glass, and when I take a sip, I’m relieved it’s only water. “To Sorin and Elora.”
“To Sorin and Elora!” everyone shouts at the same time. Heat rises to my cheeks but Sorin’s hand at the small of my back grounds me.
We set our empty glasses down, and Sorin pulls me close for a dance under the pine trees. His face tucks into my shoulder, his mouth resting on my neck. We sway back and forth, no music between us other than the creaking pines and faint sound of thunder, and all I can think of is how perfect this is. How complete this moment feels, and for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to be happy. Without any guilt. Without any worry for the future.
Just happy.
“Mum!” Sam shouts from behind us. Sorin and I turn before he dashes forward, meeting Sam and Agnes on the ground just as the wolves let out a low growl.
What is it?I ask Ruse, but she doesn’t respond. She scurries to the pups, nudging them toward the keep.
As I join everyone surrounding Agnes, my stomach drops. Milky white replaces the honey tones of her eyes as they roll back.
“They come in threes,” Agnes mutters from Sorin’s clutches. “Follow the path as the crow flies, there you’ll find—” Agnes’ eyes snap back to her honey color, her hands clawing at her chest. She gasps as her hands continue to claw at her chest, unable to catch her breath.
“Mum!” Sorin shouts, holding her head in his lap. “She can’t breathe,” he says, his eyes finding mine. Sam steps forward, hands trembling as Agnes gasps again.
Tallulah and the twins rush forward. Tallulah drops to her knees and begins digging in the small bag dangling from her hip. “Damnit!” she says, “I don’t have any Hawthorn-root. I’ll have to conjure it.”
“What’s it used for?” Sam asks, clutching onto Agnes’ hands.
Tallulah sits, stunned for a moment, just as I am frozen in place.
“I think it’s her heart,” Tallulah finally says.
Sorin leans to Agnes’ ear and whispers something I can’t make out. My chest tightens, my breathing shallow. Agnes’ hands fall to her sides, her body going slack. I force myself to move to Sorin’s side. Kneeling next to him, I wrap my arm around his shoulder.
“We’ve got you, Mum,” he whispers.
The wind rushes again, this time with a dampness that promises rain. Agnes grabs Sorin’s hand and then Sam’s and then, as quickly as it all happened, time slows.
“Here!” Tallulah shouts from behind us. The plant sits perched on her palm. “Hawthorn-root.” Her dark hair sticks to her face. She catches my eye for a moment, but doesn’t wait before shoving the herb into Agnes’ mouth, forcing her jaw to work in chewing motions.
A few moments of tense silence settle over us, all eyes fixed on Agnes.
“Come on,” Tallulah whispers, her hands clasped to her chest. As if she herself is responsible for Agnes’ life.
