Leaning back into Vale’s chest, the crackling heat of the hearth snapping in its own hushed rhythm, I begin to feel just how exhausted I am—bone-deep weariness that no amount of wonder seems to shake.
“If you all heal the way you do, how is it I can still feel so tired and achy?” I wonder aloud. A quiet ripple of laughter comes from all corners of the room at the unexpected query.
“Now these are the real questions we ought to be asking.” Ace stretches over to the table, forgoing a glass and lifting the bottle straight to his lips. “Grandfather was so stoic you may not know if he was about to bleed out on the battlefield or merely perturbed that his steak got too cold while someone was talking, but—” he leans back into the chair, propping a heel up on the table I am quite certain the late king would have never allowed—“after the Fade, aches did seem to linger longer. Healing took its time. Perhaps that is why we lost so many.” His voice fades away as he turns and looks out the window to the darkness both beyond its panes and inside his thoughts.
“Sometimes I wonder if it was youthful vigor I remember so fondly, or if we lost more than we know.” Vale swirls the last bit of wine in hisglass before tossing it back, setting the empty goblet on the table and holding me more closely.
“You said she heals even faster than us?” Soria directs it at Vale. She does not mean to disregard my presence—Vale would know far better than I how I compare to what is common amongst them.
“It’s remarkable, really,” he responds.
“If it’s so remarkable, why do I constantly feel this sting between my shoulders?” I laugh and reach for my own glass. The answer may not lie at the bottom of the glass, but it doesn’t hurt to check.
“Hmm. I don’t know—maybe it’s the way you tangle yourself up in knots reading for hours on end,” Soria interjects.
“Or it’s the way she feels compelled to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, even before she was changed,” Ace adds with a smirk.
Vale whispers in my ear, for me and me alone, “I could think of a few other endeavors that test your limits, little flame.”
I blush at the suggestive words, tickled as the hairs on the back of my neck are brushed by the hot breath that carried them. I shimmy in his hold—partly from the shiver he just sent down my spine, partly from nestling into the comfort his arms always bring me.
Despite the light ribbing and relaxed atmosphere, heavy thoughts press against my mind. How much had been lost? How much could these embers of magic I find myself attuning to change things for the better? And the question I have been too afraid to ask: What will unleashing its power cost me?
Chapter Forty-Seven
Vale stirs beside me but does not wake. Delicate hues drape the room in muted pink. There is a serenity to it, and yet I am restless.
Rolling my shoulders and stretching my limbs as I sit on the edge of the bed, I wonder if my aches have in fact eased. Do I greet each new day with less gnawing at my bones than before? These past few months have been so all-consuming it is hard to discern.
I haven’t had to labor the way I once did when I alone was in charge of my very survival, let alone care. Still, life has moved at such a frenzied pace that there’s been no real measure of time to acknowledge rest.
Tightening the robe around my waist, I take advantage of my early rising. Restlessness may have roused me, but what I do with this time to myself is entirely of my choosing.
I walk quietly through the room, my fingers trailing the surfaces as I pass, deciding where the quiet may lead me. I move toward the window and the small writing desk where I thought I might journal when we first arrived. Hours have been filled with learning, exploring, and cherishing each other’s company. But if I am truly being honest with myself, I’ve been scared. Too afraid to put the truth of what I have been experiencing each day into written word.
Each time I’ve flipped through Sylara’s pages, I am reminded just how long-lasting our words can be. I feel safe here, perhaps more than I should, but something about writing everything down makes it all too real.
I could speak in code, the way Odrin shielded his message to Vale, but I know in my heart it would be a disservice to intentionally dilute the wonder.
Odrin’s message looms as well. Whatever may happen when the courier arrives remains foreboding.
If I cannot trust the leather-bound journals, maybe a single slip of parchment with fleeting thoughts will do. I can always toss it in the hearth if it seems too revealing to keep. I shuffle through the contents of the desk, setting aside journals—untouched and partially filled in my own handwriting—as well as a well-worn novel I thought I might have time to read.
That’s when I see it. Its crooked spine is unforgettable. The tome from the Sanctum. I had all but forgotten the way I held onto it when the guards retrieved me. I set it on Vale’s desk back at the palace, didn’t I? It must have been scooped up along with everything else they brought to the manor for us.
Stillness takes hold all around me, and even the air seems to lean in with anticipation. Thinking back to the Sanctum, I try to remember if I picked it up by chance or if some force guided me to it. These days it is impossible to tell. More and more, I sense I am guided by invisible forces.
I pause and look out the window. Shimmering dew catches the light still barely cresting over the peaks. I don’t see the same transcendent beauty of the day before by the falls, yet it still seems to sing to me more than it ever has.
Returning to the book in my hands, I listen with my whole heart. Faintly, I hear its voice—ancient and distant, less a whisper and more a quiet beat. My body remains an unmovable stone sitting there in the chair. I manage the smallest of movements to lift the cover, closing my eyes for just a moment as I do.
Looking down at the bound pages in my hands, I realize they aren’twords at all. Symbols the likes of which I have never seen before spill over the tattered parchment. Standing, I turn so the pages face the window, its light coaxing the ink into clearer view. I examine them closely—and understanding sets in. Panicked, the book falls from my hold.
Vale startles awake at the sudden thud. Sitting upright with the blankets low around his hips, he studies me. I must look like a startled deer as he starts toward me.
“It’s all right,” I say, soft but rushed.
I gesture for him to stay while reaching for the book. Picking it up, I move back to the bed and sit opposite him, my robe loosening as I settle facing him with the book in my hands. I open it and turn the pages toward him.
