Chapter 41 #2
“Ryot’s life is in danger because of her . He was sent to Solmire Island for his involvement in this whole mess,” Rissa says. Like she’s embarrassed, she tucks that finger behind her.
“Ryot’s on Solmire because the archons bowed to political pressure and punished him for defending his ward,” Elowen snaps back. “Don’t rewrite history because it’s easier to blame her.”
My breath catches, and the room tilts. Ryot was here? He’s being punished?
It shreds through me with raw urgency, tearing open panic I hadn’t even known was lying in wait. My mind scrambles, frantic, trying to pull pieces together from the haze of the attack. But maybe what’s already happened doesn’t matter as much as what’s happening now .
“Ryot’s been sent where?” I ask, my voice thin and too high, shame burning beneath it.
I’ve devoured every book placed in my hands, everything I can muddle through with the Elder, but it’s never enough.
I’ve not been here long enough to make up for a lifetime of being so far removed from this world; from a lifetime of only knowing about Village Swyre and our little stretch of forest. Now I’m standing in the center of something vast and violent, and I don’t even know the shape of the map.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and shove myself upright. The floor bucks under my feet, and pain spikes like lightning through my ribs, but I stay standing. Elowen reaches out, her hand on my arm—whether to hold me back or hold me up, I’m not sure.
“To Solmire Island,” Rissa snaps, like the name alone should explain everything.
She must see the confusion on my face because she elaborates.
“The gods-forsaken patch of dirt halfway to Morendahl. It was abandoned 987 years ago, when the Kher’zenn obliterated the native population on their way to Aesgroth.
We don’t settle it. We don’t guard it. We only send scouting parties—groups of a dozen or more—to torch it now and then, to make sure the Kher’zenn haven’t dug in and built another nest.”
“And he was sent alone?” I ask, my horrified voice cracking.
The silence that follows is worse than a yes. Even Elowen is silent, her lips pressed together in a worried line. Elowen levels her eyes at me in apology, but Rissa takes pleasure in my pain. “Yes. Thanks to you.”
Elowen steps closer, her hand settling gently on my arm. Her touch doesn’t ease the pain lancing through me, but it does something to the ache in my chest—the grief that’s squeezing my heart like a clenched fist. It loosens.
“He’s gifted,” Elowen murmurs, voice low and sure. “And winter is almost upon us. He’ll be fine. They wouldn’t have sent him alone if they didn’t believe he could survive it. The real punishment is that they’ve separated him from you.”
Rissa’s head snaps to Elowen and she strides deeper into the room, lowering her voice to a hiss. “You can’t say that, Elowen! For Serephelle’s sake, do you want to put him in even more danger?”
My head is spinning. My body is screaming. I can’t keep up.
“What’s his gift?” I manage.
Elowen glances to Rissa, then back to me. Rissa, too, looks stunned that I don’t know. How do I not know about this?
Elowen draws in a breath and lifts her hands, gesturing wide. “He can create shields,” she says. “Barriers strong enough to hold back the Kher’zenn in open combat. He can shield an entire contingent, though not for long.”
This is why Stormriven has such a low mortality rate compared to the others. Ryot. “And… that’s not something all Altor can do?”
“Oh for Serephelle’s sake, you cannot be this ignorant!” Princess Rissa shouts.
My own anger flares to match hers. “I’m only as ignorant as your father created me to be!”
She’s shaking her head. “Don’t blame your inadequacies on others. It’s distasteful.”
“Distasteful?” I echo, my voice jagged—but not with weakness. With rage. “Have you ever even been to Selencia, to see the way your father runs his protectorate? How the people have been abused and beaten and exploited for generations?”
Princess Rissa’s confidence slips, just a fraction. But it’s enough to know that she’s not ever been to the land she’s supposed to inherit.
I shake my head in disgust. I step closer to her. I can’t imagine the look on my face, because she retreats. Princess Rissa, the heir to the Faraengardian throne, retreats.
“Don’t you dare lecture me about things that are distasteful.
You don’t have the faintest idea of what that word means.
Distasteful is working from sunup until sundown only for all the food you slaved over to get shipped somewhere else, to feed others.
Distasteful is watching your father starve himself so you can eat.
Distasteful is watching your best friend burn to death on her wedding day because she was too fucking beautiful.
Distasteful is watching the soldiers that should protect you kill your mother while she begs for their mercy. ”
Princess Rissa’s face pales. “You’re lying,” she says. “My father would never allow this.”
I stare at her, my glare a dare. “It would be easy enough for you to find out, wouldn’t it?”
Elowen steps between us, putting a hand on each of our chests.
“This isn’t helping,” Elowen says. She turns to me. “You’re too weak for this. You should be lying down.”
But I barely hear her, because something is stirring, something old and deep and dark. It begins as a whisper behind my thoughts, threading itself between pain and memory.
Come now .
The dream comes rushing back, though it doesn’t feel like a dream at all.
The Veil waits for you.
It wasn’t a dream. It was a summons.
I sway on my feet.
“Leina?” Elowen’s voice sounds distant. My heart pounds as the pieces lock together, sudden and clear. The Veil. Elandors Veil. That’s where the dream was pointing. That’s where I have to go. The Veil—it’s calling me.
“I have to go,” I breathe, almost in disbelief as the words leave me. “Now. I have to climb Elandors Veil.”
Elowen’s head snaps toward me, horror flashing across her face. “What?”
“The Veil. The voice in the dream—it’s pulling me there. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a summons.” I’m rambling, I know. Rissa looks confused. Elowen—horrified.
“You’re delirious,” Rissa mutters.
“No,” I say, sharper now. “I’m not delirious. I’m called .”
Elowen steps forward, hands raised like she’s approaching a spooked horse. “Leina, listen to yourself. You want to climb Elandors Veil as we come into winter? That’s a death sentence. The wards only climb it in the spring or summer, and even then, you’re as likely to die as not.”
Rissa’s lips curl in disdain, and she flicks her hand as if batting away a gnat. “Let her go. She’s a big girl, isn’t she? And if she dies on that godsdamn rock, that’s one less burden for us to carry.”
Elowen’s head snaps toward her so fast it’s a wonder her neck doesn’t break. Her glare could strip flesh from bone. “Will you be telling Ryot you said that about his ward, or should I?”
Rissa pales, and I look away. I refuse to think about whatever history might exist between Rissa and Ryot—about what she might know of him that I don’t. About why she hates me so godsdamn much. It’s a sharp edge I’m not ready to bleed on.
“Elowen …” My voice comes out thinner than I mean it to. “I’m sorry.” I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for—hurting her, worrying her, leaving her. All of it. None of it.
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, breath catching as I reach for my boots. Elowen watches as I struggle, arms folded tightly across her chest, fury radiating from her like heat off a furnace.
“This is madness,” she says, low and pleading. “You should be flat on your back for another week at least. Let me heal you. Please. You?—”
“No.”
I cut her off, breathless but resolute. I shake my head, and the movement makes stars dance behind my eyes.
I reach down with my free hand, and my scythe—propped quietly in the corner—pulls itself into my palm.
It’s been waiting for me. The moment my fingers wrap around the shaft, I steady. My spine straightens. My heart quiets.
Elowen’s expression shifts. Maybe she sees the change in me. She nods, slow and solemn. “Silent skies upon you, Leina of Stormriven.”
“May the gods have more mercy on you than I would,” Rissa mutters, her voice is cool, but there’s less of her typical bite in her words. “That’s the most honest benediction I can offer.”
She’s still furious—not because I’m going to Elandors Veil or the risk I’m taking. She’s angry because I put Ryot in danger.
I don’t like her. And not just because she’s a spoiled, sharp-tongued princess. Not only because she’s heir to a throne that’s crushed my people under its heel. Not even because she wields her words like weapons.
No—right now, I don’t like her because there’s history between her and Ryot, and it twists in my gut like rotten milk.
Still, I offer her a grim smile. “I appreciate your honesty, Princess.”
And I mean it. At least she’s not pretending to care. Not the way others do, with pitying eyes and honeyed lies. Without another word, Rissa spins on her heel. She opens the door with such calm grace you’d never have guessed the fury that hides under the surface.
She steps into the corridor but pauses in the doorway, shoulders stiff, chin high.
Over her shoulder, she says, voice cool and cutting, “Don’t die, Leina. Not because I care, but because if Ryot loses another ward, I’m afraid he’ll never come back from it. And frankly, I’d rather deal with your attitude than watch him carry another ghost.”
Then she’s gone, her boots striking hard against the stone as the silence folds in behind her.
Elowen doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to stop me. She watches me with sad eyes, like I’m already dead.
But I was born with death looming over me like a noose. Death doesn’t scare me.
Something’s waiting for me in the Veil. And I’m from Selencia—we don’t run from the Veil. We crawl into it, on our hands and knees, if we’re called.
So that’s what I’ll do.
On my godsdamn hands and knees.
I turn to leave, but Elowen stops me, grabbing with gentle fingers on my elbow.
“I’m sorry, Leina.”
“For what—” I start to ask, but I cut off with a shriek as Elowen’s fingers dig into my flesh and ice floods my veins, followed by a heat that races through from my blood, through my bones, down to my very marrow.
It’s the shock of it that makes me stagger, but I still catch Elowen before she falls backwards.
Her skin is so pale it’s translucent. I can see the blue of her veins as if they’re little blue rivers. There’s a listlessness in her eyes that terrifies, and dark circles, like bruises, bloom down her arms.
The dark circles under her eyes are so deep she looks … dead.
And I’m … whole. Healed. But furious.
“Why? Why would you do that, Elowen?”
“Because people need you to live, Leina. And sometimes… refusing help is the most selfish thing you can do.”