The limp bodies of the hunters flow through the forest, one landing close to my boot. I take a step back, but Elora remains rooted in place. Her boots and pants soaked as water rushes past, looking for an escape. The wolves flank her and she leans into Alaric, resting her head on his side.
“Is she all right?” Calix asks, his voice shaking.
“No,” I say, turning to him. Of course she’s not all right.
Elora glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes bright and glowing. The wolves follow after her as she makes her way around the bodies of the hunters.
You are so strong, I want to say. To remind her that even though life has given her nothing but pain, she still has found a way to rise.
“She most certainly is not all right,” I repeat to Calix, whose gaze is fixed on the sopping wet ground. “But she will be.”
Twenty-Six
Samaria
I paceand pick at my nails as Jarek, Agnes, and I wait in the meeting room.
“Sit down, Samaria, you’re making me dizzy.” My mother pulls out the chair next to her and gestures for me to sit.
I shake my head and continue to pace. How can everyone be so calm?
The last few days have been torturous waiting for them to arrive. The moment we got word Elora was safe, my mind has been an endless spiral. So many plans to be made. So many questions to be asked.
A moment later, the doors open with a creak and my heart stops.
My brother joins us, his face unshaven and his eyes are warm, but the purple under them gives me an indication of how the trip here went. He grasps my mother in a hug as she meets him across the room.
“I’m fine,” he whispers. He glances at me but I look past him. To the doorway.
To Elora.
She meets my eye and a smile creeps over her lips. “Sam,” she says, and my heart very nearly bursts. Her hair is in its usual braid, her body looks strong despite everything, but it’s her wrists that have me swallowing my tears. Disfigured scars line them where she’s been shackled. The redness indicates how fresh the pain is, and when I glance at her again, her face is stony but her eyes are wet.
You don’t have to be strong here, I want to say. To remind her that when she’s with us, she doesn’t have to pretend. But I say nothing, because I know better than anyone how to choose which face to put on.
Behind her is who I assume to be Lord Calix, dressed in black pants, shirt, and fur lined cloak. His graying hair is full and cropped short, a matching beard lining his jaw. He and Thaddeus join us first, Sorin and Elora trailing closely behind. My eyes stay fixed on the door, waiting.
“Where is Galen?” My question goes unanswered as every one filters in the room.
“Samaria, this is Lord Calix of the Onyx Guild.” Thaddeus extends the introduction, and I take Calix’s hand, giving it a firm shake, thoughts of Galen still racing in my mind. Why isn’t he here?
The worst begins to sink in.
He’s gone.
I glance at Sorin, but he’s occupied with Agnes, their whispers low and private.
“It’s a pleasure.” Lord Calix’s voice is rough and low, a slight accent lining his words. His eyes draw past me for a moment to where Jarek stands. Dropping my hand, his eyes go wide and the accent I thought I heard before is confirmed as he begins speaking to Jarek in Scandavi. Words and phrases I can’t understand except for one.
“Jeg ser deg,” Calix says, grasping Jarek in a hug.
My face twists and a lump forms in my throat. I can’t make out the rest of what they’re saying but the one phrase I’d decipher anywhere. The only Scandavi I’ve bothered to learn and only because Jarek has said it to me so many times.
Jeg ser deg.
I see you.
Jarek says something else, his laugh bellowing through the room. I make a note as I follow Jarek to the table to make him teach me more Scandavi. Before sitting, Elora slips her hand in mind.
