Chapter Eighty-Three
Faylinn
The graveyard was beautiful this time of year.
Maybe that was because I knew who it held in its earthly grasp, or perhaps it was because of the view from the hilltop.
Either way, it filled me with a sense of peace I hadn’t experienced the last time I was here. Reflexively, my hand reached for the crystal that should have dangled from my neck. My fingers sprang away to tap against my thigh once I remembered it was no longer in my possession.
I laughed, mentally chastising both Holt and the Bondsmith. Finding ways to get around Fate’s bargain while still holding true to his demands.
“Seems like that was an inherited trait,”Rohak said, amused, down the Bond. I smiled fondly, not disagreeing with his assessment. The grumpy General had stayed at the entrance to the graveyard, not wanting to disturb my peace while also serving as a wonderful storage rack for the blank book I’d just discovered.
I climbed unbidden up the hill, passing the well-kept stones of people I knew and some of those I didn’t. Rohak’s Mage Task Force was buried at the very entrance to the graveyard, and I peeked over my shoulder to see him edging inside, eyes trained on the dozen stones that marked the final resting places of his team.
Despite the heaviness of the location, a smile pulled at the corners of my mouth.
This was no longer a place of sadness for me. Despite my reluctance, I realized I no longer held onto the guilt that plagued me for months following Isrun’s attack and the subsequent deaths.
It was freeing.
Onward I climbed, passing a few more recent headstones, but never pausing.
I crested the very top of the hill, unsurprised to see a carved wooden bench sitting across from the singular headstone that dominated this space.
I sank to my knees in front of the stone and lovingly brushed my fingertips across the words etched into its surface.
Here lies a loving father.
Holt’s name was written in the ancient runes reserved for the peoples of the Far North, and a pang of sadness hit me at the thought of the Bondsmith—my mother and Holt’s lover—inscribing his name for the very last time in the language of her people.
“I couldn’t imagine carving your name for a final time,”I whispered to Rohak, my words full of a soul-deep sadness I couldn’t fully articulate.
“Luckily, you won’t ever have to. Where you go, I go, remember?”Rohak said.
His conviction and depth of his love soothed the sudden ache and allowed me to relax back on my heels. I folded my legs beneath me, the drying grass crunching with the movement, as I spoke to my father.
“It’s been a while,” I started, imagining his voice in reply.
“It has,” he would say. “But I told you I would always be here. The world was always meant for you, not this tiny place.”
I smiled as I plucked at the grass.
“You were right,” I whispered, surprised at the sudden pressure behind my eyes. “I would never have been happy here.”
Holt grunted in my mind, ruffling my hair lovingly.
“I’m sorry you never got to know,” he would say. “I’m sorry I had to pretend you weren’t mine.”
A lone tear slipped down my cheek, but I smiled despite it all.
“I was always yours, Father. No title would have changed how we felt about each other.”
We were silent for a moment.
“There’s so much I want to tell you, so much that has happened,” I said.
“I’ve seen it all, little Fay. Been with you since the day I left.”
