Of course,hewould say that. Families like his only stood to gain from Prince Maelor’s ascension.
“You’re right, dear,” Grandmother agreed, then reached for her fork and pointed it at me. “Eat, Elariya. You need your strength.”
“I’m eating.” I lifted a helping of the meatloaf to prove it.
Her pale eyes lingered on me a moment longer than necessary before she looked away.
I took a bite, forcing myself to chew.
Conversation moved carefully around me. Mother spoke more about the market, then Grandmother mentioned the weather turning and the first signs of this year’s crops. Thayden filled the silences with polite observations.
Emabelle remained silent. So did I.
I lowered my gaze to my plate and ate because it was expected of me, because this was what normal looked like. But beneath my façade, something coiled tightly in my stomach.
Thoughts of last night returned, circling endlessly through the cracks in my mind I couldn’t seal. If I was right and the dream wasn’t a dream, what actually happened?
I had been somewhere.
Where did I go?
And what did that mean?
I’d felt the pull from the forest, but that gray place was somewhere else.
Then there was my wrist. The sting had faded hours ago, but something deeper still lingered.
I resisted the urge to turn my arm over and stare at the mark, certain that if I did, someone would notice.
Ziyka.
The name brushed against my thoughts like a half-remembered melody.
What or who was Ziyka?
What did any of it mean?
I swallowed my food and forced myself to take another bite, though it tasted of nothing.
Thayden laughed, and everyone else followed. Emabelle nudged me under the table, but I couldn’t even pretend to find whatever I’d missed funny.
Thayden’s gaze slid back to me, sharp despite the easy smile still on his face. “You missed that.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Sorry. My mind must have drifted.”
“It happens,” he replied, still pleasant but his voice stiff. “You’ve been overly quiet today.”
Everyone at the table seemed to still at once.
Mother reached for her glass, suddenly very interested in her drink. Emabelle’s knee pressed gently against mine beneath the table, a silent warning.
“I’m just tired,” I said, resting my hands on the table. “I didn’t sleep well.”
Thayden nodded, as though that answer satisfied him. “Try to relax and get some better sleep tonight.”
“I will.”
He set his fork down and folded his hands, his posture shifting from casual to composed in a way that drew the room’s attention back to him without effort. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning at first light. I’ll be gone for a week.”
