Mareleau stared after her, dumbstruck. After a few bewildered moments, she recalled why she’d wanted to stand in the first place. “We should get to the tear at once and confirm that it’s been sealed. Garot, will you weave us?—”
“Notus,” Garot said. He passed Noah to Larylis, who in turn cradled his son against his chest with the tenderest care. “I will go myself. You’re regent now, and I’ll not have you making such a poor spectacle of yourself until you’ve healed, washed, changed, and…and done something about your hair.”
Her pulse quickened at the last part. She reached for her shoulders, then her neck. It wasn’t until she touched her nape that she felt even a hint of singed tresses. Her throat tightened, and she wasn’t ashamed of the sorrow that filled her. Maybe it was vain to mourn her long pale locks, but she was only a hero, not a saint. And she wasn’t even a real hero. Real heroes wouldn’t relish watching their enemy burn.
“Fine,” she said, voice quavering. “Please see that the wardweavers have succeeded and report back at once.”
Garot gave her a tired smile, looking almost like his carefree self again. “You didn’t waste any time settling into your new position, did you?”
She gave him a haughty shrug, ignoring the scream of her muscles. She didn’t exactly delight in her role as regent, for it had come at the cost of many lives. Most of all, Ailan’s. And many more goodbyes would soon follow. But Mareleau was born to be queen. Born to rule. Born to scheme and lie and deceive. She’d convince this world she was the best regent, the best Edel Morkara’Elle, they’d ever know. She’d make a life for herself, her husband, and her son. Not just any life. A happy one. A fulfilling one.
She wouldn’t settle for anything less.
Cora didn’t knowhow much time had passed. She sank into a trance as she, Teryn, and Valorre continued to urge themoraback. At first, Cora could tell there was something wrong. She pushed and pushed and pushed, but there was no relief. Nothing to aid her efforts at their destination. The strongest vein ofmorathat led to and from the tear remained as strong as ever.
The wardweavers…
They were gone.
Her magic nearly faltered then, but she refused to crumple under the realization. She had to trust her allies. They would come through. They would do their part.
So she pushed. On and on, she fought the flow ofmora, resisted the temptation to harness it. She shared the burden with her companions, leaned on them more when her strength began to wane, then took back control when she recovered. At times, the cycle seemed endless. Like decades had passed. Centuries. She was convinced she’d become one with the rock and no longer held a purpose or identity. When this happened, Teryn always seemed to know. He’d hold her tighter, speak her name, and call her back to reality, just like she’d done for him all those months ago when he’d fought death.
Just when she thought she might be at the end of her reserves, relief came to her. It was small at first, just a stitch in a gaping chasm, but little by little her efforts were aided. She could almost feel the closing of the tear as it slowly lightened her load.
Her mind sharpened.
She opened her eyes for what might have been the first time in hours. Dawn was on the horizon, just barely touching the tops of the hills around the valley. Her palms remained pressed to the rock, Valorre’s soft muzzle beneath her chin, Teryn’s arms wrapped around her middle, his face pressed to her shoulder. He whispered encouraging words as she pushed harder, keeping the magic at bay while the tear grew smaller and smaller. Now that her mind was beginning to clear, the process felt achingly slow. Whatever time was passing in El’Ara, it was crawling here. One minute there was several here.
Yet she’d hold out.
They were so close.
And then…
Themoracut off.
She sagged as the resistance disappeared. The magic no longer hummed beneath her hands, no longer called to her with tempting visions. Body stiff, she sat back on numb legs. Teryn rolled onto his back, his forearm thrown over his eyes. Valorre settled at the base of the rock, looking dazed.
Cora felt…empty.
She’d only commanded that well of magic for a brief time, but in its wake was a hollow lightness. Glorious relief. She turned herself over to it, closed her eyes, and let sleep take her.
Teryn woketo birdsong and midday sun blazing on the other side of his eyelids. Then a peck on his cheek. He pried his eyes open and found Berol’s face backlit by the warm sunlight. His arm felt limp and heavy as he lifted it to scritch her feathers. She chirped and nipped his cheek again.
“I’m all right,” he said. He was glad to see she was too. She’d fulfilled her mission at the tear, alerting the Elvyn of Darius’ arrival. He wasn’t sure if her presence meant the battle had ended or if she’d flown here immediately after. She may have been here the entire time he’d held onto Cora.
He rose to sitting, and there wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t ache from the movement. Berol immediately rose into the air to land on his shoulder—his uninjured one, thankfully. Her weight wasn’t exactly welcome, what with the gash he’d sustained on the other side, not to mention his myriad of other wounds, but he didn’t have the heart to brush her off.
He shifted to glance where Cora had last been on the rock. His heart stuttered to find her no longer beside him, but as he cast his gaze to the base of the rock, he found Valorre sleeping there, Cora curled up with him, her head propped on his belly.
He calmed at the sight. Their duties weren’t exactly over. There were still the wraiths to set free, the aftermath of battle to deal with, both at Ridine and on the human side of the tear, and a final trip to El’Ara—a first trip for Teryn—to say goodbye to those they’d never see again.
Even though he was anxious to set everything to rights, he figured he’d let Cora and Valorre sleep a while longer. Instead, he focused on the one thing he could do alone.
Stepping away from Centerpointe Rock, he unsheathed his dagger and reopened the wound on his palm. Berol let out a string of anxious chirps. The lesion was already red and angry and certainly didn’t like being opened again, but he needed fresh blood to call the wraiths to him. As soon as a crimson well filled his palm, he let it drip onto the grass. “Come. It’s time to go home.”
Silently, the field fell under a misty fog. The haze soon materialized into figures. The wraiths’ forms undulated, their eyes empty and unseeing.
