It wasnothingcompared to the way he felt when he was in his dreams, doing the impossible. Riding on a raphon, towards his foreseen destiny, strong and capable...with a woman whofit.
So, he let Soraya go.
He pried her from his heart, stashed away her letters, and took the hating between himself and Arawn, because when he found his scarred woman...it would all be worth it.
Every damned tear.
She would fill the void Soraya left behind when she defected, chasing a dream Kinlear did not see or understand.
It would all happen soon.
He sensed it.
He just had to get a raphon in place, had to bereadywhen this mysterious Rider arrived to join him.
A cry suddenly rang out in the distance, echoing off the hillside.
With painstaking effort, Kinlear reached the Forest Gates that led to the Citadel’s exit. He stepped between the towering Gates, sucking in a breath at thefizzleandpopthat slidover his skin despite the heavy cloak he wore.
Gods, it had beenagessince he’d been away from the wards.
Another step, and the protective magic of the Five released him. There were plenty of Knights across the clearing here—he’d required several for phase one of his plan. But he still felt alone as he approached.
Wolves howled in the distance, hungry for blood.
I am Veilborne,he told himself.I am not afraid.
A happy side effect, when death was always chasing him. He limped past ancient graves piled high with snow, looking at the names of those buried and long lost to time. They were all covered up by winter’s kiss, but he felt nothing for them. Kinlear didn’t give a damn about the dead.
He cared about the living.
He cared about everyone remembering his name when he was gone, a name tangled withhers,whoever she was...so that his memory existed forever.
So that he would always bemorethan just the Spare Prince.
And it started, here and now, with the captured raphon.
A few steps more – and Kinlear came around a thick cluster of evergreens, bows weighed down by pillows of white, where a circle of runed stones marked the trap.
His breath left him in a cloud of white.
“Gods be damned,” Kinlear whispered.
A darksoul rider was dead at his feet.
It was sprawled awkwardly in the snow, mere inches from his toes.
He hadn’t seen one...since he’d slayed his own monster.
The darksoul version of himself.
Thatwas another part of his visions he wasn’t sure of. It had been like looking into a morphed mirror, and where most things he saw were clear...a perfect glimpse of his own future...
That part was not.
Still, Magus had considered it a test. He’d passed it. And he’d never seen his monster again.
Now, Kinlear frowned down at the darksoul in the snow.
