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“Fine, it was a dream in concept, at least. In practice, it’s true that things could have gone a bit smoother. But all’s well that ends well, yes?”

“All’s well that ends well,” Kit repeated softly. She had to have hope that would be the case for Elyria, for all that they had collectively endured, for all they were surely still to face ahead.

And Kit would hold on to that hope until it was wrenched, kicking and screaming, from her grasp.

28

WINGS

CEDRIC

The sheets were cold.

Cedric stretched his arm, reaching for Elyria, the lingering dregs of sleep making his movements sluggish, his reactions slow. It took a few seconds for him to identify what he was feeling—the emptiness, the sadness, the disappointment.

The loss.

It took a few seconds more to realize those feelings weren’t coming from him.

Spending the past few days with Elyria as she recovered meant the two of them had been able to more thoroughly explore their soul-bond. Even with her sessions with the healers, the visits from Kit, Thraigg, Jocelyn, and Shep, and Cedric’s patrol shifts, Elyria and Cedric had plentiful private moments. And the fact that Elyria’s physical activity was restricted—not by her own choice, of course, though she was proving a shockingly compliant patient—had meant she and Cedric were left with an unprecedented amount of time to learn more about each other . . . and about the thread that hummed between them.

They had gotten a grasp on how to filter through their more volatile emotions, how to prevent forcing their spikes of panic or anger or irritation on the other—something that had been paramount during Elyria’s recovery. They’d been happy to discover it was a simple enough task to erect a sort of double-sided door between them—one for him and one for her, something they could each open and shut at will.

It would appear that the latches on said doors were somewhat weakened at night, however. Or perhaps it was simply that they could be forced open with a big enough swell of emotion.

The weight currently sitting in the hollow of Cedric’s chest certainly lent credence to that second theory.

He blinked, pushing upright in one quick, disoriented motion. A glance through the windows in the ceiling showed Cedric that the moon was not yet high in the sky. He hadn’t been asleep for long. But he remembered drifting off with Elyria held gently in his arms, her wings magically masked—hidden, protected.

Now her side of the bed was empty, the blanket pulled back, the pillow cold.

And she was nowhere to be seen.

Sid lifted her head from where she lay curled at the foot of their bed, tilting it quizzically at Cedric.

His pulse pounded in his veins. He pushed into the bond instinctively, calling Elyria’s name down that thread. His consciousness followed along after it, searching for her . . .

She didn’t answer.

Her door was closed.

He wasn’t blocked completely. He could still feel her—like hearing the echo of her heartbeat through stone. But aside from that burst of despair that had momentarily flung both their doors open, he couldn’t get a read on her. He couldn’t get her to respond.

Cedric raked a hand down his face, exhaling. Elyria’s mood over the past few days since the procedure—since she’d awoken in Elderglade after her escape, really—had swung up and down in wild, careening arcs. Flashes raced through his mind—her brittle smile before she went under, the hope that had sparked in her eyes when she awoke afterward.

And then the way that hope had crumbled when she’d tested her wings for the first time.

They were there. Attached. Whole. Beautiful as they’d ever been. Ethereal pieces of the aurora itself draped against her back.

But there, also, was her face.

The crease in her forehead as she rotated her shoulders, flexed her muscles, strained her neck—willing them to move. The way she’d turned away from the healers as they’d issued their warnings, then their reprimands. She needed to stop, they said. It was too soon; it was too much. She just needed more rest.

Cedric hadn’t needed a soul-bond then to feel the devastation that seeped from Elyria with every word.

Now he dressed quickly, throwing on a tunic and leather trousers, lacing up his boots with haste. His mother’s locket was heavy against his neck. Sid had settled back into place, her head laid upon her paws again, her eyes closed. The flicking of her tail was the only sign of her own anxiety, but apparently this was a task the shadowcat would leave to Cedric.

He was already halfway out the door when he stopped to snag Ashrender from where the sword rested near the threshold, belting it to his waist in one fluid movement. He sheathed a dagger in the scabbard at his other side, and then he was gone.