He traces a narrow line between kingdoms.
“Most paths are so treacherous no mortal can cross. Those who try rarely return. Even for us, danger waits at every turn unless the seasons and alliances bless the way.”
Vale traveled one of these very routes. He never said where or why. It hadn’t felt like secrecy—only that the names would have meant little to me.
A tightening settles between my brows. The ink blurs for a moment, and I bring a hand to my temple, breathing slowly until the room stills again.
“I should rest,” I say, stepping back from the table. “But this… it’s extraordinary.”
Fenloris inclines his head. His smile is small but genuine.
“I’ll return soon,” I tell him.
I cannot take in the whole world at once.
But I can begin.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dark clouds hide the day as I rise in the morning. A sharp sting pierces my neck and shoulder, proof sleep did not come easily. I push beyond the ache, willing myself to greet the day with as much power as I can muster.
It would be so easy to withdraw without Vale here. He’d been my shelter in the storm when the vastness of Caerhollan felt too formidable. Drawing in breath, I let the pressure in my lungs outweigh the pressure of this kingdom that I seem to impose upon myself. Save a few wayward glances, I have not been met with hostility here. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ladies have started to engage now that I roam with more curiosity. They’ve invited me to afternoon tea and other various social affairs.
Each time I feel my walls want to stand firmly in place—and each time, I remind myself I am safe here. It’s a tough lesson to take to heart.
I find an odd kinship. Behind each smile, pain lingers. It seems to run deeper in some than others. It’s difficult to tell who has survived through all that was lost among those who know no different. Even those who seem to thrive in the present carry a depth that speaks to my own. My father once called me an old soul.
Here among those who have seen the rise and fall of generations, Ifeel a comfort and recognition. Sometimes I think they may even see me as being alike. I hold it as a rare honor, for reasons I can’t quite place.
I feel outside of my own body as Lady Serin introduces me to a group of young courtiers in the Solarium. The room is bright and airy, but I feel frozen in my own form. The smile on my face must not seem too forced, as the ladies all clamor on about this and that. I want to focus on their words—yet I find myself more distressed about an errant fleck of skin next to my nail. I want to pick at it, perhaps out of a need for control, as I find myself in a situation I feel woefully unprepared for.
The ladies are lovely. Dressed in gowns that are quite resplendent for midmorning discussion, their voices are warm and welcoming. I’m grateful they don’t barrage me with too many questions, engaging me in discussion more for inclusion than examination.
“Don’t you just love the warmer evenings?” one woman asks, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes turned toward me, though her words float to the group.
“Yes,” I say, taking the easy answer as an invitation to join without having to dazzle. “I hope to go for a ride sometime soon.” I lift my teacup and slowly sip—an act that lets me listen more than speak as the women chime in with their own thoughts on summer.
I almost get lost in the moment, following their conversation. It may be a stretch to say it feels easy, but I’m pleased it doesn’t feel like something I must endure either.
Nonetheless, relief washes over me when I see Ace enter. His smile charms everyone he meets eyes with—until he spots me. Sitting at a table, surrounded by notable ladies of the court, all chatting away.
He shakes his head, does a double take as if his eyes must be wrong, then clutches his chest in theatrical agony. It takes all my self-control not to spit my tea clear across the table. I restrain myself to a soft chuckle.
The women glance at me, then at him.
“Good morning, ladies.” He draws out every syllable with bardish flair. “Now, now, you aren’t planning on taking my newest, dearest friend from me, are you?” His smirk beams at each woman until they seem to forget I’m even there, though he steps directly to my side.
“We were only borrowing dear Mira,” says Avelyn, sweet as honey. Agirl—though she’s likely lived several lifetimes—holds a youthful, demure charm that belies the years.
“I do hope I might borrow her back.” Ace reaches for my hand, and I rise to stand beside him.
“Thank you, ladies,” I say to the group. It is partly courtesy but true as well. I find I do enjoy their company—and this small dose, tempered by Ace’s entrance, was just right.
“Shall we?” He presents his arm. I wave goodbye as he leads me out of the Solarium and down the hall toward the library.
He stops mid-stride, turning to me. My hands in his, he lifts one arm at a time, examining me.
“What on earth are you doing?” I laugh at the absurdity.
