Mareleau frowned. “Why do you ask?”
Cora couldn’t answer. She couldn’t form a single word, and thankfully she was saved from needing to as Mareleau’s door opened. Larylis and Helena rushed inside. Cora felt detached from her body as she slid from the bed, allowing Larylis to take her place and meet his son for the first time. She wanted to be moved by the tears in Larylis’ eyes, by the joy in her friend’s face, but she felt none of that. Felt nothing and everything at once as she excused herself and left the room.
Her lungs constricted as she swept from the suite and into the hall. The corridor was blessedly empty, so she let herself lean against the wall, let herself gather in lungfuls of air even as her chest continued to tighten. She tried to root her feet to the floor, to connect with the steadying earth energy, but her mind spun too fast, her thoughts and heart in disharmony as both fought for an anchor.
Mother Goddess, why did she feel this way? Why did she feel like her world had just been upended? Surely this wasn’t the right response. Yet she couldn’t name her emotions at all.
Was this simply the shock of discovering the prophecy remained?
No, this was more than that.
It was never me, she said to herself.
She waited for relief to follow. Relief was what she should feel. That was what her frail hold on logic told her, anyway. She’d never wanted to be the central figure in some ancient prophecy meant to save a people who didn’t even care for her. She didn’t want to save or condemn El’Ara. She didn’t want any of this. Shouldn’t she be glad the burden was no longer hers to bear?
Yet that…
That was the source of her unnamed emotions.
The burden wasn’t hers to bear.
It never had been.
But she had already borne the brunt of it. She’d been targeted by a blood mage. Cursed by dark magic. Her childhood destroyed. Her future tampered with.
She’d.
Already.
Suffered.
She named it then, that dark and swirling vortex of emotion that tore through her, growing, releasing, spilling from her eyes in the form of tears.
It was rage.
Rage.
Violent and bottomless, so vast she wanted to scream.
“It was never me,” she said through her teeth. A strangled sob caught her voice, and she dropped her face to her hands, her fingers curled, digging into her skin. “It wasnevermeant to be me.”
All she heard were her sobs. All she felt were the trails of her tears, the heaving of her shoulders.
Then strong arms folded around her, bringing with them the scent of soap and pine. And a voice, deep and mellow, whispering her name, weaving through the chaos of her rage. It was Teryn. Her anchor. She melted into his arms and buried her face in his chest. She cried, screamed, and shouted until the anger left her breath.
Until her fury got its fill.
13
It tore Teryn up something fierce to find Cora crying like this. His soul felt as if it were being ripped from his body all over again. His first thought upon finding her sobbing in the hall was that some great tragedy had befallen Mareleau or the child. But how? It had only been minutes since he and Larylis had awoken from where they’d haphazardly dozed on the furniture in Teryn’s suite to the news that Larylis was officially a father. Larylis had left with Helena and must already be inside. Could something have happened in those few extra minutes he’d given his brother to meet his son in private?
As he wrapped his arms around Cora, he understood that wasn’t the case. The way his fiancée trembled in his arms, teeth gritted, hands curled around the fabric of his jacket, told him this was not a shared grief but a personal one. And the way she wailed “It was never me” over and over sent a chill down his spine.
Once she calmed enough to separate from him, he ushered her swiftly down the hall to her quarters. Everything inside him wanted to scoop her up and carry her into her room, but she was the queen of this castle. He would not cause a spectacle if he could avoid it. Where he couldn’t draw the line, however, was at being alone with her. Propriety could go to the seven devils, as could the bewildered maid who tried to argue as he ordered her out of Cora’s suite.
With the door slammed shut and privacy secured, Teryn led Cora to the wingback chair before the roaring hearth. It was afternoon, but the late winter chill was prevalent. He hoped the heat would ease her tremors, though he knew better than to think they were due to the cold. Regardless, she had to be at least somewhat chilly, as she was still dressed in the same ensemble he’d last seen her in—the same robe and chemise that had graced his bedroom floor last night.
No longer racked with sobs, Cora settled into the chair, eyes unfocused. Teryn’s chest tightened at the sight of her, at her empty expression, her red-rimmed eyes. He wanted to comfort her, assure her, hold her, but he didn’t know what kind of comfort she needed right now. There was a chance she wanted to be alone. It wouldn’t be the first time. The last time he’d found her crying, she’d asked for exactly that, and he’d acquiesced against his every instinct. If she pushed him away now, would he have the strength to grant that request?
