That surprises him. “You will?”
I nod. “You’ve told me before that your library holds records older than any living memory.”
“It does.”
“Then I want to study them,” I say. “If Elowen is doing something with the Veil, maybe I can learn how to stop it. Or at least understand what she could even be trying to do. I thought the Veil was untouchable, just a place you pass through when you die.”
Dimitri stands slowly, a spark of hope returning to his voice. “We’ll find answers, Serenya. And when the time comes…we will face her together.”
“Alright.”
Ravelle steps forward to hug me. “Listen to me, Serenya. I know you try to come across like some perfect princess. Carved from stone, untouchable, always making the right call. Like you’ve got it all figured out. And I know part of that is because that’s what everyone in Syltheriel expects from you.
“But you don’t have to be that with us. Not here. It’sokay to be scared. To mess up. To not know what to do next. No one gets through this life without stumbling. Not even you.
“That’s what friends are for—to carry some of the weight when it gets too heavy.” She pulls back, meeting my tear-filled eyes. “You are not alone.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The weight hasn’t lifted from my chest, but it’s shifted. I will carry it. I will own it. For Kallan. For my people.
We leave the meeting room and enter the dining hall. The table is long, carved from the same black obsidian as the meeting room, set with polished silverware and bowls of fresh fruit and steaming bread. The morning sun cuts through the tall windows—enchanted to let the sun shine in without hurting the vampires—glinting off the polished floor. The smell of herbs and roasting meat fills the room.
I sit across from Dimitri and Ravelle again, still cautious of the space between us. The silence is comfortable at first, only the soft clinking of silverware filling the air. My thoughts wander to Koen, wondering if he’s safe. I can feel the pull of him in the back of my mind, familiar and unrelenting.
Dimitri watches me closely, but instead of speaking, he simply hands me a plate of bread. Ravelle offers a small smile, one that reaches her eyes, gentle and quiet. It makes me miss the trust that once existed between us all.
I steal another glance at Dimitri. He meets my gaze. In his eyes, I see the patience that he’s always had for only me, a willingness to endure my cautious edge.
“Eat,” he says softly. “You need strength.”
I nod, breaking off a piece of bread. We eat slowly, andas the minutes stretch, Ravelle catches Dimitri up on all the things that happened while he was with me. I laugh quietly at the mishaps, feeling the weight inside me lift. Dimitri watches, a small shadow of a smile ghosting across his features.
I begin to feel what Ravelle said—even though I’m scared, I am not entirely alone. Perhaps this is the first step in learning how to move forward without abandoning the past.
Chapter 28
?---- Serenya ? ----?
I sigh as I flip another brittle page, the weight of my boredom as heavy as the obsidian scrolls. Dimitri’s library is grand with its high vaulted ceilings, tall shelves packed with tomes both ancient and newly bound, but none of it seems to help.
A couple ofdays of research and all I have found is vague references to the Veil and poetic nonsense about the “barrier of stars,” nothing substantial or useful.
I run a hand through my hair and push the current tome away, its dusty cover shutting with a dull thud. “Useless.”
I stand, stretching the stiffness from my legs, then wander down a different row. Maybe something in the older sections, the ones Dimitri warned were unorganized and untouched for centuries, might offer more. My fingers skim along the spines of books until one catches my eye. It’s small and bound in faded green leather, half buried between two larger volumes.
The title is half-worn, but readable.Legends of the Lost Pantheon.
I tilt my head. I haven’t come across this one in my studies before. It doesn't look like it has been opened in centuries. I take it to the nearest table and eagerly flip it open.
The text inside is written in elegant script, the language old but readable. I skim, expecting vague myths or fables. A few pages in, a name leaps out at me.
Phynnera, the goddess of light.
My heart skips, and I lean closer.
Phynnera, goddess of love, courage, and light. Beloved by mortals, feared by shadows. However, even light has its other half. For Phynnera loved the god Roxnos, Lord of Secrets.
