As long as Evander breathes, I care a little. And that’s the only thought that keeps me from moving away. I don’t want to be the cause of Conri deciding he’s not worth being kept alive.
But…if we’re all teetering at the edge of the abyss of death, does it really matter? What’s one more risk? And it’d be worth it to see him again, one last time before Conri takes my hand…
“You truly don’t mind?”
“I told you to.” She grins slightly. “If Conri returns—which I doubt he will, but if he does—I’ll make some kind of excuse. Or not.”
“Don’t bother. You’re right, what does it matter now?” I stand and make my way out of the room, leaving Aurora to the fire and her thoughts.
In the passageway, I pause and start to the left. To the right is the grove; there are no other offshoots on the way there. I keep a slow pace, listening and looking. It’s not quite sneaking, as I don’t feel the need to stay perfectly hidden. But I also don’t want to be unaware and caught off guard.
At least Bardulf is dead, this would be a nightmare if he were still around.
Farther down the passage, but not quite at the great hall, I come to a crossroads. Two other tunnels stretch in opposite directions. One has a sliver of pale light—sunlight. The other tunnel is lit dimly by some kind of flame I can’t see, judging from the orange glow.
That’s the direction I go in. Conri wouldn’t leave Evander anywhere with sunlight, or fresh air. As the tunnel slopes down, I’m more and more sure of my decision until there’s a fork in the path.
Right, or left?I fidget, debating.Left. I’ve never been surer of anything than that left is the right way. I’m so sure that I’m forced to pause and examine the instinct.
That’s when I realize that I’m spinning the thread that Evander tied around my left ring finger. I rub the already familiar fibers. It’s become so much a part of me in such a short time that I hardly notice it’s there. I wonder if it’s simply warm from my touch, or if by some kind of magic.
I bring my hand to my face, whispering into the back of my finger, my lips brushing over the threads, “Take me to him.”
From then on, I walk without thought. I feel the tug of a power not of my weaving, but a thread stronger than any I’ve ever known. A pull that’s both undeniable and fearsome, but gentle and welcome. Well-known. Familiar.
Rounding a final corner, I reach a small, rough-hewn room. There are no guards. Only Evander. One arm is chained to one wall, the other to the opposite. He hasn’t been given enough slack to even sit and is slumped against the tension of the chains. The shackles around his legs remain, also pinned to the wall behind him.
“Evander.”
“Faelyn,” he says nearly in unison.
Our names are relief given sound. Sorrow and joy encapsulated on the other’s tongue. The fragile threads that strung together my composure snap. I run to him. My hands are on his face, holding it to mine. His skin is marred with cuts and bruises. Crusted blood flakes to the ground like autumn leaves.
“What have they done to you?” I whisper and press my brow against his.
“I’ve endured worse.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” I exhale a somewhat bitter and incredulous laugh. How could he be reassuring me at a time like this? When he’s the one bleeding and chained to a wall?
I release him and go for the chains. The shackles are locked tight. Getting into them will be a problem. Perhaps I could go and see if I could find the key? But, knowing Conri, he would be keeping it on his person at all times right now. Maybe I could rip the shackles from the wall with Brundil’s help? If she has the strength to come…which I doubt, after all I asked. Perhaps Folost could call upon his fiery companion and we could melt through them? If I can still call on Folost… Conri didn’t giveme an opportunity to collect his brick. But if there’s any spirit I could summon by instinct alone…
“Faelyn,” Evander says calmly.
“What?” I cease my inspection of his wrist to return my attention to his face. His expression is calm. Resigned. It elicits one word from me: “No.”
Evander chuckles. “Yes.”
“No,” I insist. “I’m not letting you give up.”
“It’s not ‘giving up,’” he says gently. “Even if you freed me, I wouldn’t run.”
“But…” I don’t remember walking back to him, but I stand before him once more, my hands on his hips, stabilizing myself in this moment.
“I won’t leave you ever again.” Evander dips his head as best he can, chained as he is, to catch my gaze. “I swore it to you.”
“What if I want you to go?”
“This might be one time that I dare to disregard that wish. Unless it’s what you truly desire?”
