The question was directed at me, and I nodded curtly.
“If he is willing.”
“It’s my sister. Of course I’m willing,” Peytor scoffed, running his hand through his hair. My posture relaxed, shoulders falling away from my ears at his declaration.
“Wonderful. Now, what about Rohak and Vespera?”
Chapter Eighty-Two
Faylinn
Isrun looked nothing like I remembered when I left years ago. The charm was still present, but it was different somehow—smaller, quieter.
Though maybe it was just me that changed, and Isrun and the people in it stayed the same.
Rohak and I walked hand in hand as we entered the little village, both of us silently observing and reflecting.
Houses and shops were rebuilt, the shining stone and wood missing its characteristic discoloring. The cobblestones were wiped clean—all traces of the blood spilled here completely erased. The bar at the end of the street where Rohak found the pieces of his Mage Taskforce was demolished, replaced with what looked like a bakery.
The main thoroughfare was less busy than I remembered, but people still flocked to the small carts with various foods and wares.
Part of me expected to be recognized on sight—anticipated a crowd of people who refused to let me wander any further without regaling them with tales of my time in Vespera.
What happened, though, was quite the opposite. A few people recognized me—mostly those that I’d treated or healed—but most kept their distance. I exchanged polite pleasantries and small talk with an elderly couple I’d made tonics for, but aside from a few mundane conversations, Rohak and I were left in peace.
“Disappointed?”he rumbled in my mind. My lips twitched with mirth even as I shook my head.
“To the contrary, General. You know how I despise crowds.”
He chuckled, a low rumbling thing, that set my blood on fire and heated my cheeks.
“Later,” he darkly promised with a squeeze of my hand.
Our feet took us to the Curious as if propelled by some unseen force. I expected memories-turned-nightmares to inundate my consciousness, but was surprised when only a whisper of pain ghosted across my heart when I spotted the place where Holt died inches from my fingers.
Curiously, the draw to the Librarian’s shop was more potent than anything else in Isrun.
I expected to come here to heal, or at least face my faults; I never anticipated anything else.
“Do you feel that?” I asked Rohak breathlessly.
“What?” he asked, but I barely heard him, stuck in the thrall of whatever magic surrounded the little shop.
My boots clicked over the stones as the morning sun warmed my face, beckoning me further into the shadows that seemed to surround only the Curious. Like the inn, the windows were dark, but everything seemed relatively untouched. No dust gathered on the windowpanes, no dirt marred the bright exterior.
A faint pulse of magic emanated from the steps, and I could barely discern the faint outlines of runes—thousands of them. It was easy, after my awakening in the catacombs of the Valley, to recognize the purpose of each.
I sank to my knees, the cold of the ground sinking through my thin pants, as I dug into my belt for my short dagger.
Some of these runes needed to be counteracted, others needed blood of intention.
My brows scrunched together as I made a careful, small slice in the heel of my left hand, the fingers of my right instantly dipping into the welling blood. As if propelled by some ancient knowledge, my hand deftly smudged various runes before inscribing others.
My mind quieted as I worked, entirely focused on the task at hand. I shuffled along the edge of the rune line, making quick cuts in my palm periodically as the blood dried faster than I anticipated.
Back aching and knees throbbing, I finally straightened to my full height with a groan as I tucked my dagger back into my belt. The sun had moved toward its zenith, betraying the hours I’d sat hunched, lost in my work. I blinked away grit and heaviness as I stretched further.
“Did you figure it out?” a deep, soothing voice sounded from behind me. I smiled softly, my body tingling with his nearness.
