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“I would genuinely like to accompany you, daughter, as I am loath to cut our time together short,” Tartanis said, drawing her attention back. “But at the very least, I do intend to make good on my promise to try to secure you additional aid. Miss Ravenswing has granted me letters for her uncle and mother. I depart for Aerithia directly.”

Elyria swallowed. “This is goodbye, then,” she said, mentally kicking herself for uttering the word.

“For now,” her father replied.

“Don’t you worry about us, or about the situation in the Lost City. We’ll get these folks there safely,” said Raefe, and though Elyria wanted to say something snide about how there was very little risk she’d ever be worried about him, she held her tongue. “You just stay focused on what may lie in store for you up north.”

“Don’t burn out getting there too fast either.” Sephone inclined her head at Elyria’s crown. “You’ll need to keep some of that new power to seal the Chasm, yeah?”

Elyria gave a tight nod.

Cedric stepped closer to her, looping his hand around her back.

She looked to her father. “What if Lachlandris refuses again?”

Tartanis studied her for a moment. “Then he will be a king who chose grief over duty. Who chose comfort over the protection of his people.” His voice went low. “And that will be a problem to solve another day.”

Elyria ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip. Sucked on her teeth. Nodded.

“And for you?” Tartanis finally asked, after several moments of silence had passed. “What will I be to you if he says no?”

For perhaps the first time in her life, Elyria thought her father looked . . . tired. Granted, it had been decades since they’d last spent time together, but this wasn’t a physical exhaustion. He still sat straight and tall, still had that air of polished composure. But there was a fatigue behind his eyes—eyes that matched hers so uncannily. And she had to wonder if all the lost years between them had taken more of a toll on him than she’d thought.

It would’ve been easier if he’d remained the same smug, cruel, blatantly self-serving bastard she’d thought he was. Easier to keep her hatred bright and sharp, something she could continue wielding to keep him at arm’s length.

She still could. Should, maybe. Should nip this strange olive branch he was extending in the bud. Deflect him, cut him off again.

He braced for it like he thought she would. She saw it in the way he drew in a sharp breath, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. It was so odd, so unfamiliar—this singular moment of vulnerability from the man who’d gone her entire life showing her none.

A rush of images flooded Elyria’s mind—flashes of moments from her childhood, the long years she’d spent at her father’s side, under his thumb. Back when she was his dark star to be paraded about, leverage for his own climb to power. Back when she thought nothing would ever change.

But hadn’t Elyria herself changed in the years since too? Hadn’t she changed irrevocably in the past few months alone? Was she truly so stubborn, so prideful as to spit on this opportunity to let bygones be?

“What will I be to you if he says no?” he’d asked.

“A father who did not abandon his own duty,” she finally replied, cracking open the door in her mind so he could see she meant it. “And that is no small thing.”

44

NORTHERN BOUND

CEDRIC

Cedric found her standing on the edge of the Chasm, just as he thought he would.

“Everyone doing all right?” Elyria asked without turning to look at him.

“They’re managing. Thraigg might still have a few more rounds of retching to go, but I’m sure they’ll all be right as rain in no time. It took me quite a while to get used to the feeling of shadowstepping, too, as you may recall.”

Her amusement bounced down the bond. “Who could ever forget?”

Cedric wrinkled his nose at her, and she let out a quiet laugh. “At least the horses don’t seem particularly bothered by it,” he continued. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Polonius downright likes it.”

A nicker sounded from behind them, where the rest of their party was still recovering from the latest stretch of Elyria’s shadowstepping. Well, Cedric didn’t know if that was actually an apt name for what she was doing anymore. It was less stepping through the shadows and more sailing through them. As though they were all standing upon a raft, and it was up to Elyria to navigate them through.

Cedric didn’t remember the shadowy in-between being so vivid when he’d last traversed through it with her. Didn’t know when his vision had become so clear nor his senses so sharp. He supposed it all made a certain sort of sense. When he and Elyria had merged blood—merged lives—in that tent, when her wings had been brought back to life in a glorious tapestry of their woven magic, that wisp of her shadow that already lived within him had surged, swelled. It was like a waiting viper now, curled around his ribs, nestled behind his furnace of sunfyre, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

It made him feel strong.