Pharis looked at me like I must have been kicked in the head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go. I said I’ll be fine. I’ve gone longer than this without sleep and for far less important reasons.”
“I’ll go,” Mareth said. “Just tell me where to find her and what she looks like. I’ll ride to her village and warn her.”
My heart was touched, but Pharis acted like she’d slapped him.
“No. I’m going, and that’s final,” he said, jerking his arm from my grasp. “You charged me with her safety, Stellon. Let me go look after it.”
You said not even if you begged, remember?he asked mind to mind.You made me swear.
“You’ve fulfilled your promise, brother,” I said. “I can’t ask any more of you. And she’smylove—my responsibility. It’s my fault she’s being hunted. Just help me get out of here and tell me where to find her,” I pressed.
I would give my life, fight my own father to the death if that was what it took to protect her from him.
Pharis stared me down, not answering for a long moment.
“That wasn’tallI promised,brother. It’s still too dangerous for you to know where she is—and Father still doesn’t know I’m involved. I’m the best man for the job.”
“Or you could let me go,” Mareth reminded him.
We both turned to her and said, “No,” at the same time.
She let out an indignant sound and whirled away from us, going over to stand by the window next to my desk.
Pharis’ gaze followed her then landed on the desk. He strode across the room to it and began rifling through my papers.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Where are your drawings of her?” he asked. “The ones you told me about.”
I blinked. “On the bedside table, inside the drawing pad. Why?”
He threw me a side glance as he walked over to the small table beside the bed and grabbed the pad of paper then crossed the room again to stand in front of the burning fireplace.
Flipping through the pages, he stopped at one of the drawings, staring down at it.
“You have to burn these,” he said. “All of them. What Mareth said reminded me—they could be used to identify her, track her down.”
He leafed through the next few pages, all drawings I’d done of Raewyn, then stopped and lingered over the one I’d sketched of her sleeping. I watched his eyes trace the lines then go back over them again, as if he was memorizing the image.
“You have to destroy this, Stellon,” he said finally. “You have to let her go… for her sake if not for yours.”
He was right. It killed me, but he was right. I couldn’t hold onto Raewyn this way, not if it would put her in more danger.
As I joined him in front of the fireplace and fed each page to the flames, I reassured myself that I could always draw her again. Raewyn’s image had been etched into my brain.
For the rest of my existence, I’d be able to recall her beauty and sketch her likeness from memory. It wouldn’t be anything like having the real thing, but it would be something.
As the final drawing curled and blackened, Pharis asked, “Is that it? Are there any more pictures of her?”
I shook my head. “That’s it.”
“What about this?” Mareth said, walking up behind us and holding out the locket. Its muted silver surface gleamed in the firelight.
Pharis took it from her, studying the portraits inside. “This isn’t Raewyn.”
“No, only the baby is,” I clarified. “The woman is her mother.”
He squinted, staring at the woman in rapt concentration. Then he looked up at me.
