I just watch the wind trace through her hair, carrying away the scent of ash and iron.
When she finally lifts her head, her eyes find mine.
And all I see is hate.
It bashes through my heart like a fucking war hammer, but I don’t break.
I just keep my eyes on her, memorizing the fact that she’s breathing. That she’s still here.
If she needs to hate me, she can.
If she never forgives me, I’ll survive it.
But I won’t leave.
I’ll be here until she lets me explain. Until she lets me hold her.
And until then, I’ll guard what’s left of her from the world, and from me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KAEL
Varian rushesforward as Thornewood’s gates yawn open. Our home unfurls before us—the trees our banners, the people our purpose.
“A successful mission, sir,” Varian says stiffly, and I can sense his resentment at our return.
“Yes,” I nod curtly. “We’ll go straight to The Resting Place, so no fanfare with the people this time,” I snip, urging Nyx past Varian without another glance. Varian’s theatrics and announcements look celebratory, but they’re always self-serving, and I have no fucking time or energy for dipping and bowing to every person in Thornewood.
My eyes linger on Elyssara, still only wearing Daelen’s cloak, and slumping over the still frame of her best friend draped across her lap. She sits behind Daelen on his russet mare, and I hate the sight of it. I hate another touching her, consoling her, being near her.
Daelen shrugs at me apologetically, and I know it’s not his fault. She wouldn’t ride with me, and I wasn’t about to make her.
She won’t look at me.
She won’t speak.
She just stares, blank and endless.
Seren leans into Therion, half-turned in the saddle to rest her cheek on his chest plate, and my stomach churns with jealousy.I had that.
I urge Nyx on with a squeeze to the ribs, and Rubi’s frame lurches behind me, but eventually collapses forward, leaning heavy against my back—just as she’s done for the last few days. I’ve had to deal with her brask and the plume of smoke from her voidroot hanging thick in the air around me for days now. And I don’t miss the way Elyssara joins her before drifting into restless sleep under the Stars each night.
She wouldn’t travel by Gateway. She wouldn’t say why—only shook her head.
No one pushed her.
But I haven’t missed the way she seeks escape—from everything. The brask, the voidroot, the constant need for sleep. All of it; a vice to forget, to escape. She’s shut everyone out save Rubi—even Seren. And for once, Therion doesn’t admonish his sister for her endless stash of state-altering elixirs. It’s the only time the crying stops, so we all let it happen.
I feel helpless. Caught in a web of guilt, hollowness, and need. I want to go to her. To touch her, soothe her,bewith her. But the screaming and rage has long since left her, and now all that lives is indifference. Apathy. Despondence. And I think that’smuchworse.
We skirt the town center, opting for the route along the south-eastern edge of the Riverian Jungle that follows a path enclosed by a rock face on one side. Lunafleur blossoms line the path, intermingling with vines weaving into an archway through the jungle.
Through the vines and branches, The Resting Place yawns wide—a cave adorned with bones stacked vertically either side of the opening.
Seren stares ominously at the bones—everyone does before they learn the traditions of Zerynthia. But we are an ancient people, and many of our traditions remain, no matter the time that passes.
“We place one bone of those who return to the Stars at the front of The Resting Place. Their bodies remain Earthbound, while their souls return to the Stars. It symbolizes balance between the divine and earthly. It symbolizes peace,” I explain. “Many stopped the tradition after the Endless War, but we continued—a reminder of the peace we fight for.”
