I was examining the jagged peninsula when I felt a slight shift in the paper. A crinkling as something pressed ever so slightly on the corner.
The slightest gasp escaped me.
Perched on the corner of the map, six spindly legs were carefully braced, balancing two wide, impossibly-thin wings splashed with iridescent blues. Black veins framed a mosaic of sapphire, cobalt, and a shade so light it was nearly white. Like a masterpiece of stained glass, but far more delicate. The kind that sucked you in, holding you in a trance as you determined whether the thing before you was too beautiful to be real.
I’d seen plenty of gray moths in my days. They’d ruined a cloak or two. But never once had I seen a butterfly. I only knew what they were because of Merelda, who’d described them ascolorful moths. It was an incredibly lacking description because this was…ethereal.
“Hey—”
“Shut up and don’t move,” I hissed, cutting him off. Sudden movements and loud noises could scare the creature away, and I wanted to stare at it forever.
Its wings slowly fanned up and down, every movement quiet and graceful, the colors softly illuminated by the sunlight.
It was pure, simple, natural beauty. A relic of the past world.
Or maybe not. The fact that it was here, before me, was a sign that such beauty could still exist inthisworld, withered as it was.
The gentle heat within me expanded out to my fingertips and hips as I watched, utterly enchanted, marking each of its elegant movements. It was a wonder those delicate wings didn’t crumble beneath the force of the sky above—that something so small and fragile, so breakable, could withstand all this world had against it.
Its legs shifted and it jumped, wings fluttering gracefully. It danced in the air, drawing lazy swirls, drifting further and further away, dragging my attention with it.
A sad smile touched my lips. I wanted to tell Merelda about the creature, describe its colors. Maybe one day, I would.
One day, you will.
So long as she was still alive. I knew Harthon had people looking for her, but even he hadn’t heard a whisper of her whereabouts.
When the butterfly became too small of a speck to see, Callen said, “That’s good luck. Well, it’d be better luck if it landedonyou, but I think we can count the map.”
“I hope so. Domus knows I could use some.”
Those colors still dancing behind my eyes, I refocused on the map.
It happened immediately. An empty space between two clusters of red circles jumped from the paper—close to the Domus and just inside that mountain range. I couldn’t look anywhere else. I kept staring at that spot, as if it were as riveting as that butterfly.
Oh my…
“I got it,” I breathed.
“It,as in where the path into the Domus is, oritas in the long-awaited realization that I’m your favorite person?”
I rolled my eyes. “Take a guess.”
“Based on the way your eyes are almost glowing, I’ll assume it’s the former. Though the latter will come soon enough.”
I still hadn’t seen my own eyes when their color was in this state. I’d only been told of it twice before—once when Harthon had taken me to the hills south of the Citadel to search for the path, and once with Stefano after the recent cabinet meeting. I wasn’t surprised my strange eyes were capable of beingstranger.
“You’re sure you know the spot?” Callen asked.
Without a doubt, “Yes.”
I pointed to the area on the map for Callen to see, surprised I was able to share that knowledge with him. Granted, it was still a large area of land, but at least themagvis’oath allowed me to get this specific.
The more I was able to share, the more Harthon could plan and prepare appropriately. And we needed all the planning and preparation possible.
The sound of the kitchen door opening had me leaping to my feet, an automatic response born from the attack. But there were no armored men walking through the doorway. Only a kitchen worker.
“That probably didn’t feel great,” Callen commented as I slid back down the wall.
