I haven’t spoken it aloud in a long, long time. I only ever dared to murmur it in my head on the cusp of a dream.
“Annwyn,” I whisper. “I was in Annwyn.”
The realm of the fae.
I feel the ache of home crack inside of me like an eggshell star.
Twenty years. It’s been twenty years since I’ve been home. Twenty years since I’ve breathed its fresh air, since I’ve walked on its sweet soil, since I’ve heard its sun’s song.
Rip and I watch the mourning moon for a long time after that. We don’t talk any more, but we do sit on the stones together, and it isn’t tense or awkward. Maybe for both of us, it’s a comfort. Each of us represents a little piece of home, and maybe that’s what we mourn most.
When I start to shiver inside my coat and shift it around me, his eyes fall to it. I quickly gather the hood and lift it over my head as Rip rises from the stones. “Time to go, Goldfinch.”
My heart squeezes from the nickname as I get to my feet. I’m going to miss this, when I’m back with Midas. I’m going to misshim.
That realization, this awakening awareness, it feels as if the world is moving beneath my feet. Like I’m going to look up and see the ground while I walk on the sky.
Even more shocking is that it somehow feels right.
I’m going to miss him, and I can’t lie to myself about it anymore.
He helps me over the rock pile and then walks me back to camp. The moon’s blue shade is already fading, the stars going still and clear again in the sky, like drying tears.
When we get to the tent, he stops just outside of it. “We’ll reach Ranhold Castle tomorrow night.”
My pulse jumps. “Already?”
Rip nods, watching me steadily, expression unreadable. “King Ravinger will be arriving so he can greet Midas.”
I feel my eyes flare as fear suddenly thrums through my entire body. “Your king is coming?”
“You need to prepare yourself.”
I want to ask him to clarify, to ask what I should be preparing myself for, but he’s already walking away.
King Rot is coming.
And yet, I’m not sure who I’m more nervous to face—him or Midas.
Chapter 32
AUREN
If the army was somberyesterday, it’s been replaced tonight with tension. And it has everything to do with the spired building looming in the distance.
Several hours ago, we crossed into Fifth Kingdom’s capital city, coming face-to-face with Ranhold Castle. Directly behind it, there are mountains of bright ice that border glittering plains of unruffled snow.
Before night fell, there was a white shroud of thick mist in the air, like all the clouds gathered together to stitch a gown for the sky to wear, its skirts trailing down over the horizon.
Ranhold City is a ring around the castle, and from my vantage point on the overlooking hill, I can pick out the shops, the tenements, the larger estates.
I tried to sleep for a while, but I gave up. I’ve been staring at Ranhold ever since. I stand with my back to the camp as I look down at the city, my eyes skimming over the burning lights in homes and on lantern-lit streets.
“What are you doing up here alone, Gildy?” Judd approaches with his usual swagger, his yellow hair nearly glowing.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I reply, turning back to face the palace.
Midas is somewhere in that castle. I wonder what he’s doing, who he’s with. I wonder if he knows I’m here.
