Esharion’s Echo.
He pressed his hand briefly to the place where the parchment lay against his chest, then stood up.
“I found something.”
Cedric rolled his eyes. “It is not the time—”
“I think she’s one of them,” Alaric pressed on, turning to face him. “Evelyne. The Drowned Flame.”
Cedric raised a brow.
“Tell me you didn’t see it,” Alaric pressed.
“I saw a woman who has been grieving all her life,” Cedric retorted.
“It may not be a coincidence,” Alaris explained. “And she may be the last thread left on the loom.”
And he—the idiot that he was—had begun to tie himself to it.
He didn't feel excited. He rather wanted to believe that the prophecy was wrong. Or maybe he was wrong in his interpretation. He didn’t want her to be the Drowned Flame. Or the Echo of a Fallen God. Or whatever else the scholars would name her if magic truly did rise again.
He just wanted her to be alright.
“I want her guarded the entire ride,” Alaric ordered.
Cedric didn’t move. “Guarded,” he repeated. “From you?”
Alaric straightened. “What?”
Cedric’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You heard me.”
Alaric narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“All right,” Cedric said, stepping further into the room and shutting the door with deliberate quiet. “The blood moon was three days ago.”
Alaric clenched his jaw.
“The prophecy warned her,” Cedric continued. “Not to trust anyone standing next to her.”
Cedric’s gaze was unflinching. “You were standing next to her.”
“A lot of people were.”
“Don’t insult me,” Cedric took a step forward. “You know exactly what this is. You’ve been two steps ahead the entire time. You’ve lied to her, by letting her think this was about strategy when it’s always been personal. Obvious, Alaric. Even she sees it.”
Alaric crossed his arms against his chest. “And now you’re a prophecy expert?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“What are you talking about?” Alaric snapped. “You think I planned this? You think I wanted any of this to happen?”
Cedric didn’t flinch. “I think you don’t know where the line is anymore. Between discovering the truth and controlling it.”
There was a pause. For a moment, all Alaric could hear was the tick of the mantel clock and the low thrum of his own pulse.
“I’m tired of covering your ass,” Cedric snarled. “I don’t like it. Why don’t you just tell her?”
“Why do you care so much?”
