Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, all we can do is look at each other. He jerks his chin toward the entrance door. “What are you waiting for? Get out.”
I spin toward the door, then freeze as loud steps echo down the hall.
“Laïna?”
My stomach drops. The familiarity ofthat voice.
The steps quicken their pace as they draw nearer. “Laïna, is that you?”
Refusing to turn around, I grind my teeth.I will not be a prisoner again. I willnotbe a prisoner again.
“Dear Mah, you’re alive!” He sounds so relieved that I can’t help but turn around, only to stare into Vilder’s broad back.
“Let her be,” he says.
“And who are you?” Llyr asks. His tone sounds more intrigued than upset.
“You should know better than to address your superior in such a way,” an unfamiliar female voice says. “He is Master C’elen to you.”
“Do not worry about it, Ilyana. There will be enough time for formalities later.”
The female scoffs, but she says no more.
“Laïna, it is me,” Llyr says. “Will you at least look at me?”
When I say nothing, he adds, “Just give me a chance to explain.”
“Like why you wanted to put a fucking brace on her,” Vilder snarls, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Llyr.
The ensuing silence is almost tangible.
“Easy, seeker. Therearelimits to my patience.” I can hear in Llyr’s voice that controlled, cool tone that tells me he’s being careful not to lose his temper, and I step out next to Vilder. I will not let him get in trouble because of me.
“Leave him alone,” I say, meeting Llyr’s vibrant green eyes. I frown. Were they always this green?
Llyr’s gaze jumps between the two of us, and I’m relieved to see his eyes hold more curiosity than anger. My shoulders drop. Despite everything, in this strange new world, seeing a familiar face brings me a sense of relief.
His gaze shifts to Seniia, and he dips his chin toward her. “Priestess.”
“Master C’elen.” She returns the gesture.
C’elen. Something inside me shatters upon seeing him like this. I know I should have expected it, but a part of me refused to believe. Or maybe it wasn’t so much about belief as it was about hope. A hope that I was wrong. That despite everything, he could be the same caring man I’d gotten to know in Bronich.
I stay close to Vilder as I study Llyr. He looks different, yet the same. His long white hair is cut short on the sides, and the rest is fastened in a topknot, much like Ero’s, showing off his Rean ears, and he is dressed in a long cream robe adorned with a hood. Fastened at his waist is a rope intricately woven in a blend of the same soft pastel shades as the lesser moons, with a small pouch hanging from the belt. I glance toward the female C’elen, Ilyana, noticing that she carries a similar pouch at her waist.
What truly makes Llyr stand out, though, is the otherworldly glow to him that marks him as a Rean magic wielder. Not to mention the power that radiates from him. There’s no way he could pass for a human now. Was he using magic to make himself less noticeable in Bronich?
“I see you have made friends.” His voice is soft, his hands raised, palms facing me in a nonthreatening gesture, as if he’s afraid I’ll run away again. He turns his head toward Seniia and Vilder. “A singer and a priestess of Briah—and aspiring C’elen, I take it?”
Seniia gives him an almost invisible nod.
Llyr turns his attention back toward me. “From what I hear, you have told them about our little misunderstanding.” I don’t miss the disapproval in his tone. “How long have you known them?” He quirks an eyebrow. “A couple weeks, at most?”
A low grumble from Vilder earns him a stern glance from Llyr.
“I am not saying they are not trustworthy, Laïna,” he continues, as if that wasn’t exactly what he was saying. “But I will encourage you to not trust everyone you meet in the future.”
If he’s trying to win me over, his words have the exact opposite effect.
