It was a comfort and a curse knowing that somewhere, out in the world, Dommik was longing for me too.
I could feel him, across our bond. His shadow danced within me, reaching for the piece of my soul that he’d taken with him. But there was no mistake. Dommik Thorne was alive.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks to months. And more than once, my confidence in him—in our future—faltered.
While my adoration went deeper than his striking features, my vanity gave root to a creeping fear. His momentous task could take years, but no matter how much time may pass, he would still be frozen in time. I, however, would continue to age. Would I still be lovely to him when he returned?
The question surfaced daily, and as if he could sense the blight of insecurity, Dommik’s shadow would caress the walls of my mind, lulling it back into its slumber.
In my lowest moments, when the dark loneliness became too great, I turned to journaling. I noted the happenings of my day, the aching depths of my sadness, and always ended with the promise that I would wait for him. As long as it took.
One sleepless evening, after a particularly boring day, I began writing our story. The Sorceress and the Traveler.
Six months after returning from the Hive, I was instructing Lydia on how to properly prune her herb garden when a messenger came. Cova’s shrill insistence that the courier had made a mistake interrupted our work.
“There’s no one that goes by that name here.”
The messenger’s annoyance was plain on his inflamed face and he forced a sealed envelope into Cova’s hands. “I had strict instructions to deliver this to a Mistress Lyra. If she’s not here, this letter has nowhere else to go. I cannot return it, so it’s yours now. Do what you want with it. Good day.”
Heavy trodden footsteps stomped away from my sister, who turned with an exasperated expression toward the odd exchange.
“Can you beli—?” She was caught off guard yet again as I plucked the letter from her grip.
“Rey!” she exclaimed, but I didn’t answer or offer an explanation.
I just stared at the gorgeous penmanship and the recipient’s name on the envelope.
In stunning black ink and perfectly looping letters was the alias I had used at the Day Guard tavern. Lyra.
My hand flew to my mouth. I had heard him right. And only three people would have known the name Lyra from that evening.
Alba, Shaw, and…
My breath quickened. My eyes filled with tears. My hands shook as I worked to open the seal.
“Reyva. Reyva! What is it? What’s wrong?”
I turned, shielding my face and the contents of the letter from my family. A tornadic wind of emotions spun within me. Disbelief, hope, regret, elation. But I couldn’t get ahead of myself.
Was it…was it from…him?
I fell to my knees there in Cova’s kitchen.
It was. The letter was from none other than Dommik Thorne.
I could hear his voice as if he was in the room, purring into my ear as I read the opening line silently to myself.
“Hello, lovely.”
Epilogue
ERYX
It had taken a full week for Eryx to reach the cliffs of the Northern Sea. Seven days of cowering in primitive shelters and hunting small game for sustenance. It was behavior unbecoming of someone his age, but survival didn’t give credence to titles.
The sharp rocks that stood tall against the gales of the sea were unforgiving against his palms, slicing his skin as he descended their face to a familiar ledge.
The maker’s bond called to him from within the cave, lulling him as his strides turned to liquid and swaying him in the direction of her voice.
