I didn’t want to live a fearful life. That much I was certain of.
Kaldur was likely still in his study at this hour, but I made a short detour to my studio first.
Inside, I couldn’t help but be hit by a sense of disbelief and awe, still not used to the realization that this place wasmine. It was everything I’d ever dreamed of, every perfect little piece, and I’d already spent hours upon hours in here. Now that the weather was growing colder, spending all day in the garden wasn’t practical.
On my drafting table, I had sheets of sketches I was working on. Old sketches from my already finished stories of Kavelyn’s adventures. For binding purposes, they couldn’t be hidden away in my notebooks any longer. If I wanted them printed, I needed the final versions. I already had the written stories uploaded to my Halo. All I needed was the drawings that would accompany them.
That was what I planned to work on until the baby came. And every moment that I wasn’t with Kaldur or visiting Syndras in the village or in the wintry garden, I was in here, sometimes late enough into the night that Kaldur had to come collect me for sleep—with charcoal smeared across my cheek and pencils jabbed into my disheveled bun.
But I wasn’t here tonight to draw, though I neatened the pile, adjusting my pencils.
My gaze turned to the vase. Another of Kaldur’s gifts, beautiful in its brokenness. The lines of silver added character. They looked like roots of trees, winding around the vase, or a silver river that wrapped around the painted vines.
I went to it, picking it up in my hands, admiring it as I often did. I remembered that afternoon, picking up the pieces, cutting my hand on a shard of it. Because of this vase…everything had changed.
I spun it until I could see the gaping hole in the back. The shard that I’d stolen.
Going to the drawer of my drafting table, I pulled it open and plucked out the missing shard. Every time I thought of replacing it, of fully repairing the vase, something stopped me. I stared at the gaping hole at its back and thought of all the times I’d smoothed my fingers over the sharpened edge of the shard in Laras. Turning it this way and that way in my hands, remembering Kaldur.
I had tucked it in the drawer for another day, unable to face the restlessness in my heart. But I wasn’t afraid anymore.
The shard was familiar in my hand. I would need to send it to the potter to get the last piece soldered in with silver, but for now this would do.
Carefully, I placed the piece back into the vase. Its edges had crumbled away with time in my traveling bag and my repeated admiration—and even a talisman of my heartbreak and grief—so it wasn’t a perfect fit. Not anymore. But that was all right. It wasn’t the same as it’d been before, after all.
I stared down at the vase, stepping back to see it restored. In the morning, I’d send it to the potter, I decided.
Then I smiled. I backed out of the room and then went to go collect Kaldur from his study, feeling more at peace with myself than I had in a long time.
In a few days, the moon winds would come.
A time of rebirth.
I was finally ready.
CHAPTER 47
ERINA
The last time there’d been a dinner party at the keep of Vyaan, I’d had my heart broken.
But that wasn’t why I was standing out on the East Terrace balcony, overlooking the garden as the chill of the wintry moon winds cut through my dress. Braanelle was in close proximity, standing near the door, looking as anxious as I’d ever seen her.
“My Lady,” she kept saying, “it’s much too cold and?—”
“Just a moment longer,” I’d said, smiling.
I felt the chill in the air, yes, but there was a wildness to the night, one that I wanted to savor. The moon winds were strong, and I closed my eyes, nearly grinning at the way they tangled my hair up, like hundreds of fingers wrapping around the waves. One gust came so strongly that I gave a cry of delight, one that nearly made Braanelle run out to save me.
The winds came and went. I’d always loved the moon winds. They were exciting to me, the fierceness of nature always humbling. I’d often stand outside in them and let them guide me, swaying or dancing. I would just let myself fall into them, a release, a submission.
I hadn’t done it in quite a long time, but tonight felt like a perfect time to revisit my fond memories.
Though I would likely be a rumpled mess for dinner. I’d chosen a beautifully simple dress for the occasion, deep green in color that reminded me of the vase. The material was light as silk. Perfect for the warmth of a dinner party, especially when clothes had begun to feel more and more restrictive on me as the pregnancy progressed, but not so ideal for a winter night during a storm.
The lightness of the material made me feel exposed, vulnerable, naked. It wasn’t unwelcome. In a way, it made me feel like my younger self, who would stand outside in the rain just so she could describe it perfectly for her stories.
A voice came, my eyes shooting open.
