I follow closely behind Tristan and Zaria as we cross the river in single file, Kian right behind me. The water swirls around our horses’ legs, the current pushing against my magic. My grip on Storm’s reins is firm, guiding him forward while his muscles tense beneath me, each step measured and cautious. The current pushes hard, but my magic holds steady, forcing the water to slow and part just enough for us to pass.
Ahead, Raiden, Nero, and Valric are already waiting on the far bank, their silhouettes outlined against the backdrop of the dark Feyglades. Raiden sits tall in his saddle, his wings partially spread as if ready to take flight at any moment. Valric’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword, his watchful eyes scanning the surroundings.
Storm snorts, his ears flicking back and forth as the river’s chill seeps through his legs, but he presses on, trusting me. The horse climbs the muddy bank, almost desperate to get out of the water. As soon as Kian reaches the bank and his horse scrambles up onto solid ground, I turn back toward the river. My focus sharpens, and I reach for my magic once more. It hums beneath my skin, warm and pulsing, as I pull it back into myself.
The moment my magic dissipates, the river roars to life. The sound is deafening, a violent rush that drowns out everything else for a moment. I linger, watching the current surge and swell, reclaiming its wild dominance.
We ride well into the day and the sun now sits high in the sky. My stomach rumbles, but I don’t want to stop. The long grass of the glade sways in the warm breeze, the mountains ahead growing larger by the hour, making my heart thrum in anticipation.
I slump a little in the saddle, my legs attempting to relax, and ease the pain in my back. Storm must sense my fatigue, because he lets out a loud neigh. His pace slows, and the other horses follow his lead. Raiden turns in his saddle to meet my gaze, and I must look pretty bad, because he immediately turns his horse for mine, pulling it alongside Storm.
“Why didn’t you say you needed a break?”
I shrug, not wanting to appear weaker than the others. “It didn’t seem important.”
“Everly, you’re the most important person here. If you need rest, say so.”
I frown, ready to argue, but he doesn’t give me a chance. He is off his horse and handing the reins to Kian as he reaches for me, lifting me from Storm’s back.
He carries me over to a log and I poke him in the chest. “You can put me down. I know how to walk.”
Raiden smirks, and I can see amusement in his eyes. “Not so sure you can. You aren’t used to riding long distances, and we have been riding almost nonstop for eight hours.”
I roll my eyes. “Put me down.”
“As you wish.” Raiden places my feet on the ground, my legs immediately buckling, and he catches me before I crumple to the ground. Embarrassment heats my neck and creeps up to my face as he guides me over to the log.
“Thanks,” I mutter, plonking down.
“It’s happened to all of us at some point,” Tristan assures me, handing me a piece of crusty bread and some cheese.
My mouth waters as I reach for it. Kian hands me a canteen, and I gratefully take that too, guzzling down a mouthful of cool liquid before stuffing a piece of bread in my mouth. I am so hungry.
“We should reach the base of the mountains by nightfall. We will set up camp for the night and continue fresh in the morning.”
Chapter fifty-five
Everly
The crackling of the fire is soothing, a rhythmic warmth that lulls me into a fragile sense of peace. I close my eyes and reach inward, seeking the thread nestled in my chest. It’s always there, faint but persistent, connecting me to him. I let my focus slip away from the world around me, following the golden thread as it winds through the dark recesses of my mind. There’s no resistance this time, no barriers to push past. The thread is a glowing beacon, guiding me forward.
“Maxon,” I whisper, my voice tentative, barely audible in the stillness.
But something feels wrong. The sensation creeps over me like a shadow, heavy and cold.
The darkness around me shifts, giving way to an open expanse. Abruptly, I’m standing on a windswept cliff, jagged rocks plunging into a roaring ocean below.
The waves crash violently, the sound thunderous, drowning out everything else. Spray from the sea reaches me, cold and sharp against my skin, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself as the salty air clings to me. I turn in a slow, hesitant circle, searching.
Then I see him. Maxon stands behind me, his figure still and ghostly in the dim light. His face is pale and drawn, the familiar warmth in his expression dulled. My chest constricts painfully, and before I can stop myself, I rush to him. Eyes roam over his form, noting the hollowness in his cheeks, the way his clothes hang off him like he’s been shrinking away from the world. He’s losing weight, and it hits me like a blow to the chest. My lip trembles, but I force myself to hold it together.
His hands lift to cup my face, his touch gentle and familiar. His thumb brushes over my cheek, and the simple, tender gesture unravels me.
“Stóirín,” he breathes, leaning closer, his face burying into my hair. He inhales deeply, as if the scent of me is enough to anchor him. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I’ve missed you,” I reply, my voice shaky. “But you seem sad. What’s wrong?”
I reach up, cupping his face in my hands, tilting it so I can see into his eyes. Those eyes—the deep violet I know so well—flicker with hints of gold and red, like autumn leaves falling through a twilight sky. His magic dances there, wild and restless, yet muted, locked away.
