“We’ll help you,” Evren says, his eyes trained on his uncle. His grip on his wife’s hand tightens, her eyes bouncing between Thaddeus and I.
My gaze drifts back to Thaddeus who simply nods. Slumping back into my chair, my shoulders deflate. I’m one step closer to the throne.
One step closer to her.
Three
Samaria
The coffeein Mahaffey’s pub tastes like sewage.
Seeing as it’s the only option I have, I choke it back and wait for the rush of energy to kick in. The past two weeks have dragged as we’ve waited for Agnes and the others to join us in Wickersham. They should have been here much sooner, and each day that passes with their absence is torturous.
Every waking minute we spend idle has me itching with anxiousness. The Stones I’ve kept hidden in my pack ignite the magick beneath my skin, the feeling much like soaking in a hot bath when you’ve been out in the cold all day. But without Elora, I have no way of knowing justwhatmagick waits for me or how to awaken it. I should be used to this feeling, having lived my entire thirty years knowing it was unlikely my magick would be awakened at all. But now, with the Stones so close, it feels more possible than ever.
My stomach sours, and I shake my head clear of the selfish thought. Elora is enduring Mother knows what in Valebridge and all I can think about is what I’ll gain if we free her.
Whenwe free her.
Despite knowing better, my head lifts from the table with each chime of the bell on the pub door, hoping by some miracle Agnes or Letty’s face will appear. In my darkest moments, I sometimes imagine Elora or Galen will appear instead.
The last image I have of Galen replays in my mind. His eyes widened with horror before my vision went black. Sorin swears he saw him thrown onto the back of a horse, but my mind has drifted to darker places. What if he never made it off the mountain?
A lump forms in my throat just as another chime from the bell rings. And, like a dog trained for obedience, I glance up from my empty cup. I’m immediately disappointed when it’s just another passerby looking for a quick bite and a break from the rain.
“Another cup?” Jarek’s hands are warm as they massage the back of my neck. I lean into his embrace, encouraging him to keep working the knots forming there.
I push my empty cup away and take a deep inhale through my nose in an attempt to relax. “I’m not sure my stomach can handle much more of this.”
“I don’t blame you, there.” His nose scrunches as he downs the rest of the sludge the barkeep, Park, calls coffee and sets the empty cup on the wooden table.
“It’s been too long,” I say quietly and angle my body sideways to face him.
His fingers slide from my neck and land on my hips before tugging me closer.
“I know, my queen. Agnes and the others are bound to be here any day.” His hand runs up and down my spine, and I know I shouldn’t be frustrated with him, but I am. Jarek is the other half of my being and my love for him is endless, but his ability to keep calm in any situation infuriates me for all the wrong reasons.
But mostly, it’s envy.
“Aren’t you worried? What if something has happened to them?” I regret the edge that’s laced in my words, but I’m too tired. Jarek knows me well enough to know I don’t mean the harshness that’s there.
“Of course I’m worried, Sam.” His lips brush my forehead, a reminder he’s right here with me. “But what good does it do to dwell?”
I blow air through my nose loud enough for him to hear, and he responds with that perfect smile that won me over all those years ago. His blue eyes captivate me, even the fine lines starting to form around the edges aid in his beauty. I run a finger over his tattooed knuckles that are placed across my lap. His sandy blonde hair is up in a knot, the usually close shaven sides have started to grow out, concealing the tattoos that adorn either side.
“I suppose you’re right, dwelling is getting me nowhere.” Resting my head on his shoulders, I close my eyes and try to imagine what it would be likenotto be in a constant state of worry. How it must feel to face each day with a clear mind and not one that plays each way a situation can gowrongbefore it lands on what could goright. That is, if it ever lands there at all.
Must be nice.
The chime on the door slams louder than usual, and because I can’t help myself, I pop my eyes open.
Charles’ black cloak drips onto the pub floor, leaving small puddles to form at his boots. He’s one of Sorin’s right hand men in Wickersham, his tall frame and shaved head make him distinguishable even through the dreary rain.
“They’re almost here,” Charles says, walking toward us.
I tear myself from Jarek’s warmth and slide out the opposite side of the large booth.
“You’re certain?” My voice is weary as I head to where my cloak hangs on the wall.
