Cora still wasn’t sure how to feel about Ailan. About all of this. Ailan was so different from the Nalia she’d thought she’d known, yet similar at the same time. She still held the same air of authority. The same kind eyes. At least one thing was certain: Ailan wanted to defeat Darius as much as Cora did.
It was that determination that propelled her feet toward the edge of camp, two sets of letters rolled together and clenched in her fist. She found Valorre not too far away. She hadn’t had time to unsaddle him last night, and something was perched upon his pommel—Berol. She paused her preening to eye Cora, then went right back to it.
“I’m glad you were easy to find,” Cora said. She hadn’t seen the falcon since she’d taken to the skies on their way from the lake.
She’s been with me ever since the dragons appeared, Valorre said, tossing his mane in greeting.
“With you?”
We’re friends. She came to me for protection. She knows how brave I am.
Cora snorted a laugh. So Berol was a bit of a coward when Teryn wasn’t around. Had he been here when the dragons had landed, the falcon would have dove in without hesitation, doing whatever she could to keep them away from Teryn.
“I see where your loyalties lie,” Cora said, humor in her tone. “It’s obviously not with me. That’s all for the better. I suppose it means you’ll reach him quickly.”
Her heart sank as she approached Valorre’s side and extended the hand with the two letters. She hadn’t read the second letter, but she could guess at its contents. It had probably been even more painful to write than Cora’s. Mareleau’s letter would eventually reach Larylis and would convey their newest developments. Particularly the fact that Mareleau would not be returning home after all and would seek refuge in El’Ara. If refuge was truly what they’d find.
Cora’s letter was of a similar nature, informing Teryn that she was taking a detour before coming home. At least she had a solid plantocome home. Ailan wanted Cora there for the meeting with the tribunal so they could begin negotiating an alliance to face Darius together. Mareleau, on the other hand, only had a vague idea of her stay there. A vague promise of protection.
Cora could at least carry the comfort of a failsafe, one she’d relayed to Mareleau after Ailan and the others had left the wagon: if things in El’Ara took a turn for the worse, if Mareleau and Noah seemed to be in any danger, if they faced even an ounce of scorn from the Elvyn, Cora would take them and worldwalk the hell out of there. She would steal their Morkara and damn them all if it came down to it.
Berol extended her talon at the sight of the scroll.
With a resigned sigh, Cora turned it over to the falcon. “To Teryn.”
She expected Berol to fly off at once. Instead, she froze on Valorre’s back, beady eyes pinned on Cora. As she released an aggrieved chirp, Cora realized what the falcon was waiting for. “Oh! I…I don’t have any treats. I’m sorry.”
She is not impressed, Valorre said.
“Teryn will give you extra for me,” Cora said with a grimace. Berol abruptly pivoted away from her—a cold shoulder if she’d ever seen one—before launching into the sky with the scroll of letters curled in her talon.
Cora hadone more visit to make before returning to Ailan’s wagon. She wove through the tents, seeking the one that belonged to Maiya. The tents looked similar to one another, especially in the winter season, with their rounded walls and pointed roofs. While the Forest People dressed the reed-and-willow frames of their tents in thinner fabrics in the summer, allowing them to show off bright colors, patterns, and other personal touches, in the winter the tents were comprised of oiled hides and felted wool. As a result, the camp was a sea of brown and tan.
On an exhale, she pried a hole through her mental wards, extended her senses, and searched for a familiar echo. She was struck with a barrage of recognizable energies, so potent they filled her with a bittersweet ache. Of course that would happen; she should have expected it. She may have kept most of the commune at arm’s length when she’d lived here, but she’d still been physically close. She’d gotten used to their energies and emotions, and now that she was among them, it was hard to pick out a specific one. Yet there was one set of emotions that tugged on her more than all the rest. She narrowed her focus to it, followed it, and was rewarded with the sight of a figure she’d recognize anywhere.
Maiya stood outside a tent not too far from Salinda’s. Her long black hair hung loose down her back. She was dressed in layers of patterned skirts, a long-sleeved top with fur-lined cuffs, and a thick red vest. In her arms was a bundle of firewood.
Cora quickened her pace, desperate to reach her friend before she disappeared into the tent. Maiya paused just as she reached the tent flap and whirled toward Cora. Cora’s lips stretched into a wide smile as she closed the remaining distance.
“Cora!” Maiya’s grin mirrored hers, though she didn’t set down the firewood or embrace her friend. Instead, she cast a furtive glance around the camp and nodded at Cora to follow her inside.
Cora tempered some of her excitement and quietly entered the tent after her friend. She pulled up short at the sight of the interior. The last time she’d been inside Maiya’s tent, all of Cora’s belongings had remained exactly as she’d left them. They’d always shared a tent since the day Cora had joined the commune. She hadn’t expected Maiya to carry around Cora’s things and maintain an unused space as if she’d never left, yet seeing proof of her own absence was more startling than she’d anticipated.
That wasn’t the only change either. The tent was larger overall with more furnishings, finer rugs, and a much wider bed. This was a married couple’s tent.
She faced her friend with wide eyes. “You and Roije…”
Maiya crouched before the small stove and placed one of the logs inside. She grinned over her shoulder. “We were handfasted in the fall.”
“I’m so happy for you.” The warmth in her heart washed away the bitter ache at having seen her things replaced. Maiya had loved Roije for a long time yet had always been too shy to make a move. When Cora had returned to the Forest People last spring, her friend and Roije had just begun courting. And now they were wed, bound by ritual handfasting. She wished she could have been there, could have seen their ceremony. Maiya must have looked radiant, and Roije?—
The blood left Cora’s face. Shame replaced her joy as she recalled something about Roije she never should have forgotten.
“Roije…his arm…” Cora swallowed hard, working the words from her throat. “Did he heal well?”
Maiya’s expression fell, and she quickly turned back toward the stove, busying her hands with a kettle. “He did.”
Cora didn’t miss the curt edge to Maiya’s words. Did she blame Cora for what had happened to her husband? Roije had fought at Centerpointe Rock and had faced Morkai directly. He’d lost an arm for it. Mother Goddess, she’d thought about his fate several times since then, yet she hadn’t considered it since stepping foot into the camp. Not until now.
