Every few moments, Edith paused to listen, to strain for any hint of pursuit. Nothing reached her ears but the inescapable rush of her own heartbeat.
At last, a shape began to coalesce through the shadows ahead. Squat. Angular. The blacker outline of a roof against the star-dusted sky.
Edith narrowed her eyes, slowing to a stop.
“What is it?” Percy rasped.
She stepped closer, brush parting around her. The trees thinned, opening into a small clearing. There, nestled in the cradle of the forest, sat a cottage—little more than a hunter’s shack. Its timbers sagged. Moss clung to the stones of its low chimney. One shutter hung askew; the other was gone entirely.
Long since abandoned, by the look of it.
And yet…a faint glow spilled through a tear in the tattered curtains over one of the narrow windows. Candlelight, warm and wavering. A horse stood tied to a post near the door, its head drooping, reins slack.
“Where are we?” she whispered, more to herself than to Percy. The place tugged at some distant memory. Had she been here before, as a girl?
Alyx purred, the sound shivering weakly in the frosted air. Before Edith could tighten her grip, the usuru writhed in her hands and flared her wings, attempting to launch herself skyward.
The effort failed. Alyx’s injured wing buckled, and she slipped from Edith’s grasp, thudding to the ground with a pained screech.
“Alyx!” Edith dropped to her knees again, trying to scoop the mad creature back into her arms.
The door of the cottage creaked open. “Alyx?” came a hoarse whisper. Candlelight flared across the threshold, cutting a sharp wedge into the dark. A woman’s silhouette filled the doorway. A familiar silhouette.
Edith’s heart seized. “Seraphina?” The name tore from her lips as more cry than word.
Clearly throwing all caution to the wind, Seraphina stepped fully into the night. Her hair spilled wild over her shoulders, framing her dirt-smudged face. Her crown was missing. Her eyes flew wide. “Your Grace?”
Rogue lunged forward with a sharp whine, tail wagging furiously. Percy laughed—a short, broken sound—and surged after the hound, nearly forgetting his cane.
Edith did not remember standing, only that one moment she was kneeling in the grass and the next she was there, flinging her arms around her goddaughter.
Seraphina folded into her, choking on a sob. “You’re here…”
“I am. I am.” Edith clutched her close, fingers digging into the fabric of her gown, breathing in the scents of sweat, smoke, and forest that clung to her. “Oh, my darling girl. My darling, darling girl.”
An ache of relief speared through Edith’s chest, so sharp it bordered on pain.
Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
Percy’s arms wrapped around them both, squeezing them tight. Rogue danced circles around their feet. Alyx hissed from where she had been abandoned in the grass. But for a long moment, there was nothing but relief amongst them. Warmth. The sound of shared breathing.
Seraphina lived.
At last, Percy eased back enough to look Sera over from head to toe, his hands cupping her shoulders. “What in the blazes are you doing out here?” he demanded, his voice rough with spent terror. “What is this place?”
It was only then, as the first wild wave of relief ebbed, that Edith became properly aware they were not alone.
Two women stood just inside the cottage, curiously watching their reunion.
One was Lothmeeran—tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped silver curls. Her bearing was that of a soldier, though she wore no armor, only a simple, well-made tunic and trousers. The other was smaller, slighter—a young Drakmori woman with shoulder-length hair so brown it was almost black. In her hands, she clutched a writing slate.
Edith stared, confusion rippling through her. Who were they?
Seraphina drew in a shaky breath and stepped out of their shared embrace. “Dame Florence, Reyla, these are my godparents, the Duke and Duchess of Varoa.”
Her goddaughter wiped at her moist cheeks with the backs of her hands and hazarded a watery smile as she continued the introductions. “Duchess Edith, Duke Percival, this is Dame Florence and…Reyla Hargrave, Aldric’s sister.”
“Aldric’s sister?” Edith echoed, shifting her attention to the Drakmori woman. She did not even know the man had a sister. “Well, I am…very pleased to meet you, Your Highness.”
