“I guess they’ve discovered the bodies,” I mutter.
Without realizing it, I created a useful diversion, but it won’t be long before the guards will return to their post.
It also won’t be long until I’m vulnerable.
I resist the urge to press my now-armored hand to my heart and the growing heaviness within my chest, a feeling like a sinking stone that will soon hit bottom and take me with it.
Victor pauses on the platform, but he doesn’t speak.
He knows as well as I do that we can’t delay any further. There will be no long goodbyes.
He gives me a nod.
I swallow past the lump in my throat.
I don’t know when I’ll see him again, just as I don’t know if or when I’ll see Cassia again.
Even a week ago, I wouldn’t have had to fight these deeper emotions. Harder emotions.
But Thyra… Her blood now pumps through my veins…her softness mingling with my brutality…
I remind myself: I fight for her now.
Within seconds, Victor disappears down the staircase.
I remain where I am, crouching to the platform, watching over him, fully prepared to intercept any eagles that might soar at him through the darkness. Any foe that might come after him. From this location, I can more easily levitate upward and take any eagle riders down before they get anywhere near Victor.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Victor vanishes into the shadows of the alleys between towers.
The heaviness in my chest warns me I’ve waited too long.
I lift into the air, testing my ability to fly against the new weight of my armor. Adjusting my trajectory slightly, I keep to the shadows.
I’m now racing to beat the pain that’s coming for me.
Just in time, I find a dark corner between towers, barely safe, but I don’t have a better choice.
A golden haze of energy descends over my vision and drags me down to the ground, my knees buckling until I’m curled against the white stone wall.
Then, as it does every night, the blade vision strikes.
Chapter Fifty
Thyra
Bright morning sunlight shines behind my eyelids, a promise of a new day, so why do I feel so…
Cold?
Before I’ve even opened my eyes, a breath of sound warns me I’m not alone.
I jolt into a sitting position on the chaise lounge, my muscles obeying me instantly, the blanket gripped in my hands.
Stellen sits on a chair in the far corner of the room.
On the nearby table, a fresh roll of bread rests on a plate with a little pot of butter beside it.
“Breakfast,” he says.
