“Do you think this is a good idea? You are making it harder and harder for me to let you do this alone,” he mutters.
“Nope,” I respond.
Surprise dances on Silas’s expression for a moment before he tilts his head back and laughs.
“Well, alright then,” he says. “Just really driving a knife in my heart, aren’t you?”
“I think this is a horrible idea, but what other choice do we have?” I respond and hug him.
“I don’t think we have many choices here,” he responds.
“We don’t have long before the ship arrives. We will do this, then focus on what’s ahead. I know the others have been preparing for days. We will be ready as well.”
I stand on my tiptoes to nuzzle my face into his neck. We stay this way momentarily before I pull away, cupping his face.
“I can do this.”
“I know you can,” Silas sighs, before kissing me softly. “We need to return to my house to update the others. Nightfall will arrive before we know it, and the crimson moon will rise. We must be prepared, but you, above all, must be ready.”
“Have you talked to Fen anymore?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says. “She is still processing everything.”
“Do you think she will be able to handle all of this?”
“I do,” he says. “She is strong like you.”
I smile. “Try to talk to her again. She needs you.”
Silas nods and grabs my hand as we shift together out of the stuffy castle walls and toward his house on the cliff. The world blurs as we move swiftly through the shadows. Even though my body doesn’t feel like my own, I continue to grip Silas’s hand tightly.
My mind races faster than our bodies. Aerona is lying for some reason. Fen has had the stone this entire time, and I believe we possess something akin to the resurrection stone, though I have no idea what gifts or curses this stone could bring. I know that we are one step closer to discovering everything we need to fight this battle, yet my nerves don’t ease. The truth being so close only makes me more anxious. I say a silent prayer to the Gods that what we seek is truly in the Archives and can help us.
Our bodies reappear outside the small house on the wooden porch that covers most of the front. Silas smiles and squeezes my hand, opening the door that will lead us down into the main part of the house, in the open living area.
As we enter the house, I can hear the muffled bickering of Maines, Oak, and Larkin below. The translation must have already begun, and they are arguing over who is correct. We descend into the central part of the house and find them all sitting around the large wooden table, the unfolded sheet of paper before them.
Oak holds his head in his hands while Maines paces around the room. Her usually perfect hair is a tangled mess, and Larkin sits back with both feet propped on the table. I glance around the room for Fen and Warrick and can barely see their silhouettes on the balcony, alone. The paper illuminates in the sun but quickly fades as a shadow of a cloud crosses the low-hanging sun.
Larkin sees us first and quickly drops his feet to the ground.
He notices my stare toward the balcony and says, “They need a minute alone.”
Silas moves toward the table and sits down in his usual spot at the head. I follow suit and sit between him and Larkin. Oak raises his head, his tired eyes filled with confusion and worry. Maines returns to her seat and forcefully sits down beside Oak.
Silas clears his throat. “I see the translation is progressing well.”
“Oh, shut up, Nastronde,” Oak snaps back, placing his glasses back on his face. “It’s going terribly. None of this makes sense.”
Maines rubs his hand, offering him some comfort and support.
“What does it say, Oak?” I ask.
He wipes his brow and places both hands on the table, trying to calm himself. “I told you it doesn’t make sense, and the same text is written three times.”
Oak slides a piece of paper in my direction with many different scribbles, written text, and practiced Rigils in Oak’s handwriting.
I study the page and read:
