“Come on in,” Branwyn urged, and reached for my arm, gently squeezing it. “Please.” Her eyes were soft, but as she looked back to Sean, they seemed to melt.
“She just needs some air,” Sean said, his accent thick. “Can you ward the balcony for her?”
“Of course.” Branwyn smiled again at me, inviting me inside, trying to make me feel welcome. Then she crossed the room to a set of glass doors, and opened them onto a modestly sized balcony. It was just large enough to hold two chairs and a round table between them. Just enough for two people. For a couple.
I stood awkwardly inside the room as Branwyn moved swiftly around the balcony. Again and again she waved her stave about as she silently created the ward.
“She’s a very talented mage,” Sean said, watching her with obvious pride in his eyes. “Branwyn makes the most powerful wards of anyone I know. I promise, you won’t be seen or heard for miles.”
I nodded numbly, glancing around their bedroom while she finished. I didn’t mean to do it, but I started obsessing over all of the little details—the pieces that pulled the room together. That made it theirs.
Their bed was large and looked warm, full of thick green blankets—Glemarian green. They were already pulled back, the sheets exposed, like it was ready for them to crawl into at the end of the day. Together. Hanging on the wall above were a set of paintings. One was of a silver gryphon. The other a golden seraphim. They’d been magically infused, and the gryphon and seraphim’s wings fluttered softly, their eyes gazing into each other.
Loose scrolls, half-read, lay on night tables on either side of the bed. Both held candles that were half-melted. A few morescrolls remained tucked into leather cases, piled neatly behind them. A cozy chair sat in the corner with a blanket draped across it. One of Sean’s soturion cloaks had been tossed onto the arm-rest, and beside it was the dummy used for storing his armor.
Directly across from the bed was a dresser and mirror. Branwyn’s jewelry lay scattered over it, along with small bottles of perfume. Hanging from a half-open drawer was a black leather belt—the kind soturi wore while training.
There was an aura to the room—not something I normally felt—an intimacy that existed between them—as thick and tangible as the items within. It was so clear from just seeing the room for even just a moment, how often, and how happily, Sean and Branwyn spent time here together. It was nothing fancy, nothing like I was used to at Cresthaven. But I could feel it. Feel how in love they were. Their energy was attached to the room, existing on its own. I’d had a sense of this once before, the way I’d felt Rhyan’s energy when I’d woken up in his old bedroom in Seathorne. The way I’d known it was his room without having to be told.
I never would have imagined this—having lived most of my life in something far larger and fancier, but this was my dream bedroom. Simple. Intimate. Full of love.
I swallowed, turning back to the balcony. Away from the scene. Away from the bed of a Glemarian man happily married to a Bamarian woman.
A gryphon and a seraphim.
Auriel and Asherah.
Me and Rhyan.
Marry me.
I stifled back a cry, reaching for the scabbard at my hip. For Rhyan’s gift. And suddenly, I found myself mentally trying to replace all of Sean and Branwyn’s things with mine and Rhyan’s. Asherah’s chest plate would lay on the dresser beside my goldbangles, beside the seraphim wing cuff I always wore. I imagined Rhyan’s beat up leathers on the dummy. Tiny love notes he’d leave for me on the nightstand. Extra bottles of suntree paste I could rub on any of his training injuries.
One painting above the bed instead of two—a gryphon and a seraphim together, a sun above and a moon below.
Our own sigil. The one of our kashonim. The one was that was uniquely ours.
I closed my eyes. We’d never have that now.
The sky outside was gloomy and gray, the sun in the process of setting.
Auriel had said more than twenty-four hours. But it was worse than that. We’d arrived in the early morning. It had been more than a full day and a half. Which meant it had been two days since I’d seen Rhyan. Since I’d lost him. I watched the sun go down, realizing that as soon as it vanished over the horizon, that this would have been the exact moment he’d changed. The moment he’d have gone from being forsaken to akadim.
I felt dizzy thinking about it. Nauseated. Was he alone when it happened? Confused? Scared? Was he in pain?
Branwyn stepped back inside the room, replacing her stave at her hip, and gestured for me to come out. But I couldn’t move. For a second, I’d forgotten how to walk, my feet heavy and glued to the ground, my mind lost to Rhyan’s transformation.
Sean wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and gently led me outside.
“Here.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit down. Take a breath. No one can see you or hear you out here. So long as no other uninvited soturi arrive, you should be okay for a while. I’m going to get you some water to drink, and a blanket in case you’re cold. Are you hungry at all?”
“I’m not hungry.” I sank into the chair, and pulled my knees up to my chest, staring at the trees.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d tasted food. Rhyan had made me eat that final morning. Back at the inn in Thene. I’d had no idea that it would be our last morning together, that it would be our last breakfast as he’d fed me a forkful of eggs, urging me to eat more. To recover my strength. My stomach twisted, though I wasn’t sure if it was in hunger, or simply in pain from the memory. All the times Rhyan had cared for me, all the times he’d made sure I ate, made sure I was okay …
Sean squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Lyriana.
We’ll give you some privacy. Okay?”
