A howl.
“Ruse.” I rip open the curtain of the caravan just in time to get a glimpse of a set of emerald eyes in the distant woods. My heart beats faster but this time for an entirely different reason.
She’s alive.
“Ruse,” I say again, my voice breaking at the end.
Sorin wraps his arm around my middle, his chin resting in the crook between my shoulder and jaw. “She’s okay,” he whispers in my ear. “Alaric, too. They know the way. They’ll be right behind us.”
My shoulders unclench as Ruse’s green eyes fade into the darkness, another faint howl creeping in through the cracks of the caravan.
I pay no mind to the two men beside us as I turn to Sorin, running my fingers along his jaw. He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath as I trace the outline of his lips. Sorin grabs my hand, careful to avoid my wrists, and kisses my knuckles before wrapping me into his arms.
“Elora,” he whispers; the sound is both broken and whole. That piece inside of us that’s only made for each other rights itself, and despite everything, I’d endure it again if it meant finding him alive and safe.
“You’ll stay at the Onyx Guild,” Calix says, but I can’t focus on anything other than Sorin. His warmth. The erratic rhythm of his heart. “My healers can help you.”
This draws my attention and I turn to him. He gestures to my wrists and on instinct I pull my shirt down to cover them up.
“Healers? Enchantresses?” I ask.
Calix shakes his head, finally meeting my gaze. “Just medicine, I’m afraid. Not Mother-blessed,” he says through a smile.
It’s with his words my memories from tonight slam into me. He must read by expression because before I can ask him, he’s reaching for my hand. I flinch at his touch, but his fingers clasp around mine and I’m surprised to find comfort, not fear.
“My men found two of them just before the king sent the guards, but any others...” He pulls his hand away and glances down. “I’m sorry.”
I let out a long sigh, tears burning in my eyes as I recline into Sorin’s chest.
“We’ve got a few hours,” the other, older man says. “Let's all get some shut eye. Dawn will bring a new world of problems for us and Mother knows we haven’t any solutions.”
I wake with a start.
Sitting up, my hair is stuck to my neck, my breathing shallow and painful. Dim, gray light trickles in from a window, barelylighting the space, but there’s awindow. My breathing slows as I slump backward against a wood headboard.
Not in a cage.
I reach around and trace the ink on the back of my neck. It no longer burns, but the weight of it is enough to cause an ache. The bed moves, and I remember I’m not alone. Now that I’m unshackled, I can mask the ink, so I do, still not ready to discuss the bargain I made with Grawgeth in Sorin’s stead.
Sorin sleeps beside me. His dark hair is ruffled, the scruff lining his jaw barely there. I don’t wish to wake him, but my fingers find their way to his face. Just as they had last night. A way of reminding myself he’s truly here. Gently, I trace his lips. Then his nose and his jaw. I slide back down into bed, keeping myself facing him. He must sense me, because he yawns, stretching his hands above his head.
“How did you sleep, love?” A smile twitches at his lips, and my body naturally curls into his. His skin is warm and smooth, and I have a thought to pinch him or myself to make sure this is real.
“I slept well, actually,” I say, and his arms wrap tighter around me. “We’re at the Onyx Guild?”
“Yes.” He kisses the top of my head, and my stomach flutters. “The others will meet us here in a week.”
“Sam and Jarek?” I ask as Sorin runs his fingers up and down my arms. I savor the touch, but my mind snags on the night prior. “Are the other Enchantresses well?”
“Sam and Jarek will be here.” Sorin’s fingers run through my hair, and I realize that while I’ve been changed into a simple, cotton shift, I haven’t bathed. In weeks. I cringe and pull myself away from him. “And as for the Enchantresses, I assumed we would talk to them together.”
“I’d like that.” I grimace as I bring my hands up. My nails are broken at different lengths, dirt caked beneath them. “We havemany things to talk about, I’m afraid.” I glance at him, but he’s moved to his back, staring at the ceiling.
“That we do,” he says. He sighs, his chest deflating. “Galen—” He presses his palms into his eyes, and my heart squeezes.
“Sorin—”
“We don’t have to speak of it now,” he says. “Unless you want to.” He glances at me with an attempt at a smile. “Anything you want, Elora.” He props himself on his elbow. “I just?—”
