The world lurches. The planets might have stopped spinning.
I blink—once, twice, three times—trying to recalibrate my senses.
“I’ve never heard of an Elven insurgency,” I mumble, losing the battle to steady my voice. Internally, I dive backward through a decade of conversations—every book I’ve ever read, every song I’ve heard recited—and come up absolutely certain Mother has never even mentioned the concept. Her dream for the restored Elven kingdom? Yes—as a theological idea. Her belief in the stupid Heir of Evermore prophecy? Copiously. But those are prayers and daydreams. The idea that there are enough Elves left after King Verdin’s massacre of Evermore for an actual army is unfathomable. Let alone one backed by the second most powerful kingdom in the Midlands.
Finn’s eyes flicker as he measures my reaction. “Well, it exists. And it’s not an insignificant threat. For months, we’ve been vetting a source in Belrick, this little mountain town near the border. He claimed to have intel about insurgent Elves hiding out in the canyons. It turned out to be a trick.”
Finn swallows hard, a muscle working in his throat. “We went to meet him at this rendezvous point in a canyon and got completely ambushed. Half our troops were hit before we knew what was happening.”
My stomach tightens as I picture Finn under a firestorm of arrows.Mypeople…mycountrymen. Mother told me that the few surviving Elves were in hiding and just trying to live peacefully, but this doesn’t sound like peace.
“You must have been terrified,” I say.
He nods. “There was nothing I could do. We had a couple of archers, but they were the first targets. I couldn’t fight back. I couldn’t doanything.” Finn’s chest sharply rises and falls. “I’m sorry for unloading all of this on you. I can’t usually trust anyone in court. Everyone wants something from me. It means a lot to have someone I can confide in.”
I blink. Is that really the truth? Finn is surrounded by people. But he’s shared so much with me—expanded my worldview socomprehensively—it’s hard to imagine that this might be a lie. I search his eyes, trying to understand what’s real.
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “It feels good to have someone actually be honest with me.” I phrase it carefully to emphasize what I want. What I need. Honesty.
“What do you mean?” Finn asks.
“My mother educated me according toherterms. Obviously, I learned healing and how to read and everything. And I can survive in the forest. But the longer I live here, the more I realize that my mother didn’t really teach me anything about the world. Anything that mattered.” I flex my fingers, gazing down at my cuticles, which are bitten and raw. “I guess she never trusted me.”
“That was a mistake,” Finn says firmly. “You’re a good person, Lyria. You deserve to know the truth about all of it.”
There’s a strange, hard edge to his voice. I wonder if he’s thinking about his father…whatever secrets a king keeps from his spare.
We savor the rest of the afternoon, talking and laughing by the water. For the first time, this moment with Finn feels like it did back in the cottage. Finn tells childhood stories about causing mischief with his brothers. I tell him about exploring the Ironwoods and the story-books I like to get lost in. Dante plays by our feet, chirping at the occasional butterfly.
At some point, Finn’s hand finds mine. Then his fingertips start tracing lazy circles up my forearms, and it feels so decadent I do the same to him. Before I know it, he’s pulling me into his arms, drawing my head against his chest.
Twilight falls with a chill. I don’t think either of us are anxious to get back to reality, so we stay until it’s well and truly dark, just holding each other and watching fireflies. In the silence, I sort through my emotions, which feel raw and disjointed, like an unraveling tapestry.
I feel ashamed of my people, and their cruelty. More so, I’m ashamed of my ignorance and overwhelmed at the horror looming over us. My impression of the conflict has been muddied, but this much remains clear: I’m terrified. I don’t want war. I don’t want this plague. I want what I can’t have: a peaceful future, with this man’s arms around me.
I lean my head back against Finn’s chest, struck by an extraordinary wave of appreciation for his existence. Finn will keep me safe. That truth hums unspoken between us, a single golden anchor amid this tide threatening to sweep me under. For the first time, I’m not worried about my ears, or my mother, or my Talent. I know I’m safe with him. Protected. And I will protect Finn, too.
Eventually, we untangle and force our stiff bones to rise. Dante follows our cue, uncurling with a yawn and a big stretch. Finn takes my hand and stays holding it as we walk. A pleasant, companionable silence falls. As we reenter the castle and head back to the East Wing, his touch doesn’t waver—impropriety be damned. Maybe if I were shrewder, I’d pull away. But as it is I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m too flooded with happiness.
Every drop of which evaporates when we turn and see Cygnus walking toward us.
No, not walking.
Storming.
Cygnus is a man on the warpath. “Where thehellhave you been?”
A curse slides through my teeth. Reality crashes back over me in an instant—carrying the appalling discovery that I haven’t eventhoughtabout the hospital.
My impulse is to run. The faster, the better.
But Finn cuts in before I get the chance. “The fox got out,” he explains. “We were tracking it down.”
“Whatfox?”
As if he understood the question, Dante trots up dutifully and sniffs Cygnus’s feet. The Healer gives him an incredulous look and then shakes his head.
“Forsixhours?”
