“Welllll,” Fia started, twirling her fire-red hair around one pale finger while she chewed her lip. Both were surefire signs that she was about to invent a story, and I bit back a snort. Rohak sighed, shoulders slumping as he shook his greying head.
“Fia,” he admonished, tiredly.
“Aunt Ellowyn and Uncle Torin sent us a letter!” she said suddenly, trying to distract her father from the life lesson he was about to impart. I stifled a second laugh as she bounded over to me, the toddlers following close behind.
Rohak smiled when her back was turned, his gaze full of affection and love.
I never knew I could love him more than when we first Bonded, but with the devotion he showed me and our children each day, my affection only grew.
“Come and sit, Daddy,” I said, gesturing to the floor. Heat flared in Rohak’s eyes for a moment before he shook his head, reminding himself of the little ears in our presence.
“Dear d’Alvey’s,” I began again once everyone was settled. “It was so nice to receive your pictures, they are all hanging in our living space so we can see them every day. Fia, your artistic talent has only grown; it’s clear you take after your mother.” Our little girl preened at the compliment. “We would love to have you over and see how much you and the twins have grown. How about next month? We’re working on the plans for the new university and would like your mother and father’s input on a few things, especially the books in the catacombs. Stay out of trouble and don’t antagonize Cook”—Fia’s face flushed scarlet—“love, Ellowyn and Torin.”
“We get to go see them? Can we, Mama?” Fia pleaded, her eyes round and lip jutting. I laughed, poking her lip with my finger.
“You know that face doesn’t work on me”—instantly the lip retracted—“but, yes, we can visit next month. Your dad and I will arrange it.”
The kids cheered, jumping from my lap to spin together in a circle. Rohak moved across the rug toward me, away from the careening children, and pulled me into his lap. I rested my head against his chest, breathing in his smoky scent, simply reveling in the life we created together.
“Did you make any progress?” he whispered in my ear, his chest vibrating with the motion.
I shook my head. “No. It’ll take years to finish,” I said with a small laugh.
Rohak kissed the top of my head, burying his nose in my curls. I probed the Bond, happy to only feel contentment. Relinquishing his responsibility as “King”of Elyria was the best decision possible. He’d kept the mantle long enough for the Council of Eight to be established, but then removed himself completely. While Rohak was still a representative on the council, he shared the burden of ruling and reforming Elyria with seven others.
He was made to lead, made to help, but it eased his load when there were others who cared just as much as him.
“You’ll get there, my love,” he said, kissing my head once more. “It takes a while to comb through everyone’s stories and create the correct timeline. Give yourself some grace.”
Years ago, we’d sent word across Elyria, asking for letters and stories from the war. I’d expected only a few but, roughly a week after the announcement, our home was inundated with replies, and the pile continued to grow. Some were short paragraphs, others pages and pages of depictions. I read through each one, regardless of their level of involvement in the war.Everyonehad a place in Elyria’s history,everyonewas affected in some way or other, and it was important to document it all. Something kept pulling me toward that book, to write this story, as if someone down the line would need it.
“Even if it takes fifty years?” I asked, gently rubbing circles in the hair on his arm. He squeezed me once.
“It won’t. But yes. Even if it takes fifty years.”
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Two
Ellowyn
Grass tickled the soles of my bare feet as I pulled the hem of my dress up to my calves so I could run down the hill, chasing a wayward goat. Not only had he somehow escaped his pen, but now he was running amok in the newly built village, hopping onto grass roofs for a snack.
“Get down!” I hollered, pointing at the goat on the roof. He simply looked at me with dramatic indifference, lowering his head to chew yet another mouthful of grass from the roof. Talunda—my old maid from my time in Hestin as a young girl and the owner of this little cottage—stepped out of the doorway.
She laughed something fierce and deep before shooing him away with a “Get on now!”
The goat scampered from the roof, trotting off through the worn grass streets to cause further mayhem.
“Thank you,” I sighed, dropping my skirt with a shake of my head. “He just can’t seem to keep his nose out of trouble.”
“Not much unlike a little girl I once knew, hmm?” she asked, the thick lines in her deep-brown skin moving as she smiled and winked.
My own grin bit at the corners of my mouth as I reached to hug her.
“I suppose not,” I admitted, breaking away. “I’d best go after him. We’ll see you in the main house tonight, Talunda! Community dinner, remember!”
The old maid laughed and waved her hand, more carefree than I had ever seen her. “Yes, honey, I remember. I’m bringing the bread.”
I waved once more, hiking my skirts to my knees again as I trailed the path of the wayward goat.
