I lifted the kerchief that I’d tied around my neck, securing it over my nose. Inhaling too much of the volcanic gasses, even for an immortal, could make you dreadfully ill. This alone would deter anyone from searching for too long here.
Boats could not pass without smoldering, and the clouds of steam hid this place from overhead flyers—not that any Griffith riders ever ventured this far north.
Krait had found a metal safe in the armory to secure the mirror in. We’d brought a shovel.
Despite the muggy heat, my limbs felt frozen. A cold lick of shock finally caught up to me—we were burying the mirror.
There at the highest peak of a hill, away from any waves that might disturb the ground, Krait dug. I clutched the metal chest, hugging it close.
When the hole was deep enough, I helped him lower the box into the ground.
My eyes stung as we covered the safe with rocky soil.
Silently, I bid farewell to the artifact that had allowed me to build a connection with the one person who proved my heart might still be capable of love.
Chapter 20
Emmerick
The scent of sod and a hint of something blossoming roused me. Sunlight soaked through a mossy forest. I lay beside a bubbling creek. The idyllic setting cocooned me.
They’d released me from Caym’s grasp. I ran my hands over my chest and then through the stubble on my chin.
The horrid weight of him in my head was gone. Inhaling deeply, I took my first nonpoisonous breath in fifteen years.
On wobbly, tired legs, I walked toward the scent of sweet flowers—a welcoming beckoning. The bustling birdsong in the canopy of pines above eased my worries.
When I left the creek and breached the tree line, I found myself in a familiar plum orchard. Lamoreaux.
Only instead of ruins, a grand estate stood behind the original iron entry arch. My pace quickened, fists clenched at my sides, as I crossed the field.
Elsedora burst from the house and padded away from me, down a grassy hill toward a large stable.
I held my breath. Sources, I forgot how breathtaking she was when I could see all of her, how fox-like and elegant her movement was.
Smeared with dark ash, her light tunic clung to her waist. She wore dark breeches tucked into leather boots. A haphazard braid, nearly undone, draped down to her mid-back.
I ran after her, feeling sluggish and clumsy. “Else!” I shouted. She kept walking toward the barn doors and pushed them open.
Following her into the barn, I called out again. “Elsedora.”
Why couldn’t she hear me? I tried to place my hand on El’s back. It went right through her, but the wind kicked up at her nape, splaying wisps of her braid forward.
She looked over her shoulder.
She saw me.
My heart leaped.
Then I heard the crunch of hay behind me. Lark entered the barn. “Aunty Lora, I’m so sorry…”
I’d been freed from Caym.
But the Sethe curse still held.
I pinched my forearm, frowning when no pain accompanied the bite of my fingertips.Damn it all.
A pony nickered from the far-right stall, and my old mount bobbed his head beside me. Elsedora had promised to take my black draft gelding, Bshar, in for retirement.
