She digs into Sabre’s jacket, pulling out a pink leather book. “I saved this for you.” She hands it up to me. “You might not remember us, but at least we’ll still be with you. In a way.”
Embarrassment briefly flushes my cheeks—did she look through it? DidSabre?—but honestly, what does it matter anymore? Aowen knows what Lachlan and I are to each other. Sabre might as well know, too.
I hand the book to Lachlan for safekeeping; I don’t want to bloody it. “Thank you,” I say to Aowen. “Your Majesty.”
She squeezes my hand, gore be damned, and holds it tight. Barely lets go in time for Lachlan to give Andraste a gentle kick.
No one questions our need for privacy, our wish to have this final goodbye to ourselves. They know Lachlan will bring the novillum safely back to its new owner.
Andraste launches into the air, and we’re on our way to the beacon tree.
And my final hour in the Otherworld.
Chapter
Fifty-Nine
We reach the center of the Eldergrove quickly, as if Andraste knows the dire circumstances, is pushing herself to her limit for me. Given the size of the beacon oak in the human realm, I expect to see branches bursting above the greenery. Instead, they’re nestled within the lush carpet of yews and alders, birches and pines.
I realize why moments later, when Andraste sinks below the canopy, following the oak’s trunk into a deep, wide depression in the forest floor.
On the bottom, we land on terrain similar to that in the cave near Stillwater. A few vanguard moths mill about, alighting on moss-covered stones and thick branches. There’s a welcome addition on this side, though—milky, bubbling hot springs tucked between the tangled roots.
Lachlan helps me off Andraste’s back, and she swivels her head around, squawking indignantly at the blood matting her feathers and fur. She launches into the air, twisting through the branches. Maybe she’s trying to give us privacy. More likely, she’s off to get clean.
We watch her go, and then …
It’s just us.
“Come,” he says softly, taking my hand and leading me over to a steaming pool.
The gorge darkens, the sun so low in the sky above that its beams cannot reach us. The shimmering golden moss coating the stones, branches, and roots glows faintly, offering us just enough light to see by.
Lachlan stands me at the edge of the pool and removes my boots. He leaves me in my chemise, the heat of the water warming my limbs while he undresses. He unstraps the armour at his shins and forearms, then his breast and back plates. Mail tinkles as he lifts it above his head, and soon, he’s in nothing more than a thin cotton tunic and loose leather trousers.
He leans down to strip off my chemise, then takes my hand and helps me into the water. It stings against my cuts, but the pain is outweighed by the relief of my muscles loosening.
There’s a flat stone on one side, where he encourages me to sit as he kneels on the edge behind me. He washes the blood from my hair and body, cleaning the deeper cuts that will take longer to heal. He tears strips from his shirt to bandage them.
His silence has always had so many shades; right now, it’s sacramental. As if this is a purification.
I do not deserve it.
I close my eyes and dip my head back as his fingers circle my scalp. “Why are you being so kind to me?”
He snickers softly. “I am a kind person.”
I grip his wet forearm and open my eyes to look at him.
God,lookat him.
I tug gently, the barest request before he’s stripped down to golden, tattooed flesh. He sinks into the pool beside me.
I do not speak as I clean his wounds, a far shorter task. I run my thumb down the slash on his cheek, try again. “How do you not hate me? I rejected you. Broke your heart.”
His eyes brim with sad affection as he breathes out, “Charlotte.” He flattens his palm against my chest, over the swell of my left breast. “I knew you were going to break my heart the moment you arrived in the Otherworld.”
He takes my hand, places it upon his own heart. “I’d let you break it a thousand times more for the privilege of knowing you.”
