Across the creamy paper, black letters appeared in a jumbled mess. A pile of words that didn’t make sense, if they would be considered words at all.All the letters were upside down and turned around—a bag of Scrabble blocks dumped onto the pages.
Cyrus stole a look at me from the corner of his eye.
Almost as if it were the last time.
I stared back at him, hearing my exhale in my ears.
His eyes were arctic blue—scared. My heart began to pound.
“Ver revelare,” he chanted, bringing the ink to life.
The chosen letters glowed in a silver, iridescent shimmer, and the light of it cast upon our faces. These letters rearranged themselves until they formed words, and then a single sentence appeared.
The unused letters fell away, the ink slipping back into the spine.
I leaned in to read what it said.
Adora Oria Sullivan,the Finneuma of Cyrus Olen Cantini
The longer Istared at the names, the more confused I became, and the faster my heart pounded.
It had never been Stone, I knew this.
It was never Stone, I knew this.
It would never be Stone, I knew this.
He was from 1864, I was from today, and we were never meant to find each other.
We both knew this,I wanted to scream, so why did it hurt so much?
Somewhere along the way, an inkling of belief had been buried deep. I didn’t want it to be there, but it was, and it was not my fault. I’d never asked for hope to hide inside me. To deceive me. To make me want things I’d never cared for before. I didn’t even know how much I cared until this very moment. I didn’t know how badly I wanted it to be Stone until I realized it wasn’t.
Cyrus grazed my arm with his knuckle, and I flinched.
“Adora, I’m yours, and you are mine.”
He said this softly, gently, as if the words were sharp and would cut me open.
They could. They very well could.
“You’re scared,” I think he said, but I couldn’t move my eyes to his mouth to be sure. To even blink.
Ten words had become handcuffs.
Ten words chained me here. Forever.
I felt Cyrus’s hand cover mine, and his thumb rubbed circles on my skin. “Adora, you’re shaking.” He leaned into me, his other hand on my back, stroking my spine. “I can’t read you. I’m—I’m thinking the worst right now. Please say something.”
“This is the reason for the arranged marriage,” I managed to say in a skittering breath, feeling disappointment scraping the walls of my chest. “Because we’re supposed to be together. And you brought me here so I could see for myself.”
His chest caved. “Would you have believed me otherwise?”
How could Ivy survive knowing this? Marriage meant nothing in the eyes of the gods if hearts weren’t bleeding. It was supposed to be for politics and the sake of the coven. Cyrus and I could have carried on, bound by paper, not love. Marriage was forgivable under these circumstances. Ivy could have forgiven me. But Cyrus was my perfect match, and this made everything so much worse. I could lose my sister forever.
“How long have you known?” I lifted my head to look him in the eyes. “How long did you know it was me?”
He tore himself away. His eyes, his hand, his head, he tore it all away. Maybe because he didn’t want me to see, and the truth in his eyes was deadly.
