Those words unfurled within her thoughts, gentle. Warm. Undeniable.
Seraphina stared, tears streaming down her cheeks to join the rivulets of rain already there. Tsukiko truly was here. She had come.
A sob caught in her throat. In her arms, Aldric lay still, his breath but a weak ruffle of air stirring against her skin. His weight sagged heavier against her.He is dying, Tsukiko.
The Oracle’s veiled head tilted slightly.
Go. Do what you must.The day has already been won.
It was a reassurance. It was a blessing.
Before her, on the other side of the witch, the Lothmeeran forces parted like water, splitting in two, forming a path.
Tsukiko’s Redguard stepped forward, her Shield Ichiro leading the charge as they surrounded the witch, halberds lowering in unison to point at the Arathian woman’s throat.
Seraphina didn’t waste her opportunity.
Digging her heels into Mourn’s sides, she drove forward into the rain again. The world blurred. The destrier’s hooves devoured the sodden earth beneath her.
But she rode—past Tsukiko, past the Lothmeeran forces, her face buried in the wet, copper-smelling crook of her husband’s neck. He was so cold. Too cold. She tightened her grip on him, as if sheer force could tether his soul to his body.
“Hold on,” she whispered, as she flew away from the battle—away from her victory—and back toward the only thing that mattered to her now.
“Hold on, my Crow. Just a little longer.”
Chapter seventy-one
Aldric
Monster.
That word flickered through the darkness, taunting him. An oily, invasive whisper that slithered through the cracks of his unconscious mind. Promising violence.
Promising ruin.
You are nothing but a monster. And you aremine.
It clawed at the edges of his sanity, dragging him down into a pit of cold, suffocating ash—until a touch broke through the dark like a single shaft of light piercing a storm.
Drip.Drip. Drip.
The sound of water cut through the mental fog. Sharp. Rhythmic. Real.
Water splashing into a bowl.
Something cool and damp pressed against his forehead, moving with a tenderness that made his breath hitch in his throat. Soft fingers brushed against his temple, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear.
His legs burned—a steady, throbbing fire in his calves. The skin of his back was too tight. Too tender. A dull ache radiated from his shoulder to his hip. But he was warm with heavy blankets piled atop him and thick wool socks now covering his feet.
Aldric forced his heavy eyelids to part, to look up. The world was a mere blur of more canvas and lantern light swimming in and out of focus until it finally sharpened into a face.
Sera.
His pretty wife leaned over him, her chestnut hair pulled back in a simple braid that rested over her shoulder. Gone was her armor; now she wore a dark wool dress and a cloak lined with thick fur, looking more like a commoner than a queen.
Sera’s eyes were gray storms, the pale skin beneath bruised with fatigue. But the moment her gaze locked with his, the storm broke. Her face softened; a smile dawned on her lips. It was a small smile, trembling at the edges, but it undid him more thoroughly than any blade ever had.
His chest cracked open. His heart ached. For years, he had been waiting for a woman to look at him likethat—like the sight of him filled her with joy rather than despair. But now he knew, in themost quiet places of his soul, he had not been waiting for just any woman.
