“Dead? Come now, Father. I am like a cockroach. Incredibly annoying. Always where you least want me. Impossible to kill.”
Cyneric glanced at her over the tops of his parents’ heads. His hazel eyes, usually so warm, crinkled at the corners when they locked with hers. But then his smile faltered.
“Cousin,” he murmured, greeting her as he always had, even though they were not cousins in truth. “You do not look happy to see me.”
“I am,” she breathed, desperately lying, forcing a smile. “Of course I am. I am merely…surprised.”
Duchess Edith emerged from Cyneric’s arms, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Yes, what are you doing here? We expected you in Goldreach weeks ago.”
Cyneric ducked his head, pressing a kiss against his mother’s hair first and then his father’s. But all the while, his eyes remained on hers. Watching. Assessing.
“Well, I was on my way to Goldreach, of course, when I received a rather curious letter telling me to change course and march to the Dawnspire instead.”
“A letter?” Seraphina echoed, confusion lancing through the bitter tang of her disappointment. “From whom?”
She had sent no letter. She had not even known she would be retreating to the Dawnspire until the day of the coup.
“From Oracle Tsukiko,” her “cousin” answered.
The cold rush of the wind faded. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
“But do not worry, cousin,” Cyneric whispered, stepping away from his parents. He withdrew a folded parchment from beneath his fur cloak, the seal unbroken.
“The Oracle sent one for you, too.”
Chapter sixty
Seraphina
The skylord’s study was colder than a tomb.
Seraphina sat behind the massive desk of black ironwood, her breath unfurling in white plumes before her. Her fingers were numb, stiff with the chill that permeated this part of the Spire. But she refused to light the hearth.
Every log burned here was a log taken from the refugees shivering in the great hall below. She would not steal their warmth for her own comfort.
Across the room, Cyneric stood by the frosted window, his massive white varhound, Havoc, sprawled at hisfeet. Duke Percival and Duchess Edith sat in the high-backed chairs opposite the desk, wrapped in their cloaks, watching her with eyes full of worry.
But Seraphina ignored them for a moment longer. Her attention was fixed on the parchment smoothed out atop the desk.
Oracle Tsukiko’s letter.
She read the sweeping, elegant script for the third time, letting the words wash over the raw wounds of her soul.
Sister,
Do not fear the shadows that encroach and whisper their lies meant to turn you from the Lord’s path. The night is long, and the wind is bitter, but never forget that the morning always comes. It is the nature of the world the Lord has made: the dawn must follow the dark.
It cannot be stopped.
You stand now in a valley of bones. You look backward with regret and forward with fear. But the Lord’s plan is absolute, His grace is infinite, and He does not abandon His children in their hour of need.
Bitterness and fear are food for the Enemy.
Forgiveness is a choice we must each make.
Hold fast, Seraphina. You are not forgotten.
You are not alone.
