I look at Ingrid with the calf, the ease they have together, and remember how calm the mother was while separated from her baby—when Ingrid was present. How Ingrid was the one whokept her calm during the labor. And the one who brought breath to the calf’s lungs.
Can a human soulbond an ifrak?
I’m not sure it’s a question that’s ever been posed. I know there are many who will balk at the idea of a human intruding on such hallowed ground, but she isn’t only a human.
She’s my flower. My bride.
And Emerald’s queen.
Across the dining table, Ingrid dusts crumbs of pie crust from her inviting lips, oblivious to how enthralling it is to spend these moments with her. Making my travel arrangements is still ongoing, and in the meantime, Ingrid and I have begun to share our evening meals together.
Very quickly, it’s become my favorite part of the day. In meetings, in sparring matches, whether I’m busy or at rest, I find myself looking forward to it. Wondering what story from the stables or knitting puzzle she’ll tell me about, daydreaming about how her face transforms into sunlight itself when she talks about the things she enjoys.
“Now I understand why Visri always asks for gliidberry tarts,” she says, licking a bit of jam off her thumb.
How sure am I that she’s unaware of the effect she has on me?
“It’s a reminder of summer, for many,” I say, my own dessert mostly untouched. There’s nothing wrong with it. Cook has donean excellent job as always—with the tools available, that is. Preserved gliidberries are a dim shadow compared to the bright, tart flavor of the fresh fruit. There are few things better than a sun-warmed gliidberry picked fresh on a summer’s day. Gorging myself after hauling and herding are some of my fondest memories from childhood.
Like with so many other things, Ingrid doesn’t even realize what she’s missing. She has no idea how vast and incredible Emerald’s beauty is. She has no idea the depth of love and respect we have for our land. And how could she without having seen it in its glory? How can she be expected to adopt this land as her own when it’s in such a sorry state?
“Do you not like it?” Ingrid asks, frowning at my plate.
“I prefer fresh. They’re worth the wait for me.”
She studies me, her expression unreadable for a moment. Even spending more time together lately, Ingrid’s thoughts are as inscrutable as ever.
“I know we are all looking forward to spring,” she says. An innocent enough statement, but it brings an ache to my chest that steals half my breath. The same fear I have had since the first frost blooms anew:what if spring never comes?
What if the fields are never green again? The trees never bear another fruit?
She has to know it’s a possibility. She deserves to know.
“Ingrid, there’s something I need to explain about the reach.” Far more words than needed. None of them useful.
How am I going to do this?
How can I possibly bring myself to dim her sunbeam with the dark clouds of reality? Her hope has brought life back to thecastle in ways I never anticipated. What will happen when that hope is shattered?
“Is it where to find the best gliidberries?” she teases, lightening my burden in her own way. But there’s only so much she can do. Only so far I can let her in.
“It’s about Crownwood.” I hate that my solemn answer wipes the smile from her face. I hate that I’m the reason for her sober expression when she was only moments ago lost in the pleasure of a good pastry.
“The castle?” she asks, cocking her head to one side.
“And the throne tree. It’s…” I make a sound of frustration, my thoughts all jumbled and tangled. “It would be simpler to explain there, I think.”
Ingrid’s confusion doesn’t change, nor does the tilt of her head, but she places her napkin next to her plate and pushes back from the table.
“Let’s go.”
It’s not the response I expected of her, but then again, nothing with my bride has been. Even the castle is able to sense my urgency, routing us in a shortcut that empties into the throne room in a matter of minutes. It shouldn’t be possible, but one of Crownwood’s powers is controlling who is able to roam its halls, and where those halls go. It’s why our coup would have never been possible without Farandir’s sickness, and why I knew I was out of options when the Dealmaker’s fog brought him to my dais.
“I haven’t been in here since that night,” Ingrid says, looking around the massive space with her mouth open in wonder.
That night. The night of her Presentation.
When I abandoned her.
