She hoped it hadn’t burned.
“I’ll find it,” I promised. Without another moment’s hesitation, I strode over to the back portion of the house, knowing that the quicker I located it, the sooner I could convince Millie to sit back down.
It didn’t take long. The whole second floor had burned, and I found the trunk buried beneath the washing tub, though I’d had to climb up a small mountain of rubble to reach it.
Millie let out a relieved sigh when I procured it for her, and my chest puffed with pride when shefinallymet my eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, holding them for only a moment before they flitted away. The handle was burned, and the material covering the front was half-charred. When she crouched right where she stood and opened it, I saw the inner metal lining had held up well.
Her shoulders relaxed. Familiar pressurized bottles, jars, and flasks were nestled inside. Her father’s preserves. Along with a stack of neatly tied parchment.
“What are they?”
“Letters,” she replied softly. “Letters my father wrote Ruaala. And one he sent to me. Before he died.”
My chest tightened. “What did he say in your letter?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I haven’t read it.”
She pulled out the letter in question. I saw that the silver wax seal was unbroken. Her hands were trembling, and she struggled to hold it when her right hand was bandaged, as her left hand tried to break the seal.
“And all I could think this morning is that it might have burned and I would have never known what his last letter said…because I’d been too much of a coward to read it,” she continued softly. “Now it just feels so silly.”
“Sasiral…” I trailed off, my heart beginning to ache at the sorrow in her voice. But I heard determination too. “I imagine you didn’t want to read it because then his death would feel final. That doesn’t make you a coward.”
She paused to look up at me, her eyes going a little glassy.
“May I?” I asked, gesturing toward the letter.
She nodded.
Reaching out, I swiped my claw neatly under the seal, the flap of the letter popping up. I wiped my hands on my torn pants so I wouldn’t dirty the parchment as I unfolded it for her. Keeping my eyes averted, I handed her the letter.
Millie took a deep breath and then read it, staying silent for a long time, her eyes skimming the page over and over again. Reading. Then rereading.
Voices drifted through the clearing from the others, but crouching in the rubble of the cottage, it was only Millie and myself. No one else could reach us here. And so when she began to cry, gentle little sobs that broke my damn heart, I reached out and she fell against me, needing the support. Repositioning us to a sitting position, I brought her into my lap as she cried.
“Laraya,” I whispered into her hair, my throat closing up at the sound of her grief and sadness. “Laraya, I’m here.”
And I always will be,I added silently.
If she knew what that word meant—heart’s blood—she didn’t respond to it. Only pressed her ash-streaked face into my vest harder and soaked whatever remained of the fabric with her tears. Carefully, I folded up the letter and placed it back into the safety of the trunk, closing the lid. I didn’t read it. It was private, only meant for Millie from her father.
One day, if she wanted to share it with me, I would be there. But not like this. Not like this when I knew that Millie only sought comfort in her grief and her shock, the events of the night stressful and overwhelming. I was familiar, even though I’d been reckless with her heart. Her trust.
The night had brought clarity for me, when it had only brought confusion for her. Her whole world had upended. Again.
With time, I would prove that Millie could trust me—could love me without fear. Because I would make sure that she never felt this way ever again.
CHAPTER39
MILLIE
“TheKyzairewon’t be happy about this,” Kelan grumbled, setting me down in the very center of Erzan’s square, the archives to my left. It was the notice board I was interested in, though I might pop into the archives building, if only to have a little quiet.
I was still limping, but I’d had the bandages taken off my feet this morning by the healer.
“This doesn’t concern him, so he doesn’t need to know,” I said, my eyes already on the board.
