Page 75
And so, for a little while longer, Elyria would revel in her magic, in this fragile grace, and let the future wait.
20
WHAT REMAINS
ELYRIA
“Now that everyone’s comfortable, can we backtrack for just a moment? Cedric told me about my w—” Elyria coughed. “I know my wings are safe. And he said you think there’s a chance you can . . . restore them.” Her eyes flicked across the table to Jocelyn, whose throat bobbed.
Larkess inclined her head. “I do. We do.” She gestured to the surrounding glade. “We are fortunate to have many gifted healers here, and they are all eager to try.”
“They truly are the best, my la—Elyria,” offered Young Shep. “I have learned so much in the past few weeks.”
“Granted, the circumstances of your severing are unique,” continued Elder Larkess. “Time has passed since the incident. Your body has already had time to heal, to scar, to . . .”
“Move on.” Elyria blew out a breath, and Cedric began moving his thumb in slow, calming circles on the gap of skin below the edge of her blouse.
The elder’s mouth softened with sympathy. “Yes. It may complicate things. But it doesn’t make it impossible, just unknown.”
“The theme of my life lately, it seems,” Elyria said with a scoff.
“What are the risks?” Cedric asked.
“Also unknown,” Larkess admitted. “As with any procedure of this nature, there is potential for complication. The overall risk should be low, but there is the chance her body will reject the intrusion. The chance her magic will, too.” She ran her gaze over Elyria. “You have already been through much.”
Cedric’s breath hitched, concern flowing down the bond, but he held his tongue. Several moments passed, the silence thick.
“I’m sorry, but what’s the holdup here, exactly?” Thraigg finally said, voice gruff. “I know ye all will think me some insensitive brute, but I don’t understand. They’re yer wings, Rev. Why wouldn’t ye at least want to try? Why wouldn’t ye want to fix it?”
Indignation rippled in Elyria’s chest, but it wasn’t coming from her.
“She doesn’t need fixing,” said Cedric, at the exact same time Jocelyn hissed, “She isn’t broken.”
“And you don’t have to understand,” Cedric continued curtly. “It is her decision to make.”
Jocelyn nodded, reaching across the table to lay her hand atop Elyria’s. “She has already grieved them. Maybe she wants to look forward, move forward.” She squeezed Elyria’s hand. “I know better than anyone that the answer doesn’t come easy.”
Elyria bit the inside of her cheek. “What would you do, Joss? If it were you?”
“I . . . I wish I’d had the choice to make. By the time I was pulled from the battlefield on the day I lost my own wings, there was no chance of recovering them.” Jocelyn paused. Drew a long breath, her hazel eyes warm and unbearably steady. “I do think I would have tried.”
Elyria’s chin dipped. “Thraigg has a point. It seems like it should be an easy thing. I don’t know why I’m so . . .”
“Scared?”
“That’s not the right word for it, not exactly.” Something twisted sharply behind Elyria’s ribs. Of course she wanted her wings back. The very idea that they’d been saved, that Kit had protected them, that Nox had been keeping watch over them, had sparked a fierce, impossible joy the instant Cedric told her.
It was immediately followed by a heartbreaking wave of sadness.
Would she be able to look at them again without remembering the pain? The helplessness? The way her own magic had been turned against her?
Would they even feel like hers anymore?
Perhaps it would be better to let the memory of them remain untouched. Untainted. A perfect preservation of everything that happened—and everything she was—before.
At least that way they’d never be able to be taken from her again.
A pulse of warmth slid down the bond—it felt like understanding.
