44. The Three Suitors
THE THREE SUITORS
TALIA
I don’t know what I expected the end of the world to look like, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t blue flames and orange skies. What even are we now?
VAEL LAR VARLOHEIM, PERSONAL JOURNAL, YEAR OF THE CROSSING. TRANS: T. SALAREN
Lore and Holloway rode ahead together, an unlikely pair, dark prophet and golden knight.
Riven rode slightly behind, ever the guardian.
They’d passed out of the red dirt desert and entered a thin forest, the Thol Amras mountains a jagged line just over the treetops.
That’s where Valrotala was supposed to be.
She touched the bond in her chest. Dawn was scanning for danger, as always, and that sharp awareness felt like an anchor.
“We should stop soon,” Dawn called back. “Rest up before heading in.”
As the group spread out along the creek, Talia noticed Holloway watching her. He approached as the others unpacked. He looked serious, but his hands tugged nervously at his jacket.
“I need to apologize,” he said immediately.
Her heart skipped, and she tilted her head, leading him away from the others. “For what?”
“Back in Heller’s Ridge. The things I said.” His eyes fell. “You didn’t deserve that.”
She studied his face. When had he gotten those lines around his eyes? “You were upset. I get why.”
“Do you?” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Tally, you’re the one good thing in my life. You’re solid ground. Remember when we were children and we made that promise, to explore the world together? I thought that was real.”
Talia squeezed his hand and felt the pain leaking between them, sweet and salty.
“I know you don’t feel the same,” he said softly. “I need to let it go; I just don’t know how. After we lost Cordon, I thought if I could keep you safe, it’d make sense. There’d be a reason I survived when he didn’t.”
His other hand closed over hers, and she felt the full weight of his love and loyalty and grief. Guilt twisted in her stomach. His pain was her fault, and he had no idea. It’s why she’d always offered him comfort; it was the least she could do.
“He’s been gone ten years, Holloway,” she said quietly. “Nothing we do is going to make it make sense.” She squeezed his hand before pulling back. “You were right to call me out back in Heller’s Ridge, but if you’re asking me to be honest about what I want? It’s not us.”
He nodded slowly, but a line had formed between his eyebrows.
“But would it be so bad,” Holloway asked, “a life together in Vaelis? We’d both sit on the Council of Five.
We could make things better. Write songs together.
We wouldn’t have to—we’d need an heir, but after that we could keep separate rooms.”
He smelled like that vanilla soap he always used. Familiar and steady, clean and safe. If she’d never found the journal or come to Valta, if she was still Talent and not Talia, she could imagine a life where they cordially coexisted like that.
But she had changed. She had the channel bond with Dawn now and more power than she knew how to use. She wanted to explore that, and she couldn’t fold herself back down into the tidy shape Holloway wanted for her.
His thumb brushed across her knuckles twice. For one dizzy heartbeat she wanted to stay there, wrapped in the comfort of his unwavering love. But that wouldn’t be fair to anyone.
“No not bad, exactly,” she admitted. “I just want more.”
“I know.” He radiated sadness, but he still smiled. “I’ve known for a while.”
He pulled her into a hug that was tight, and warm, and then over. He was letting her go, and it felt real this time.
She was checking Jonquil’s hooves when Lore materialized, humming under his breath.
“We’ll be in Valrotala tomorrow.” He paused, a little dramatically. “You should be ready to meet the gods.”
“You know I don’t believe in your gods.” She shook her head, but she couldn’t keep from smiling.
“Belief isn’t required.”
He leaned against a tree, watching her. “Back in Haven, you handled more power than most of us see in a lifetime. You and I push each other to be stronger. That’s rare.”
She stepped back. “What happened in the library. I don’t want to repeat it.”
“Don’t want to?” He kicked off the tree and walked slowly around her. “Or won’t allow yourself?”
“Both.” She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“You controlled my affinity, and you told me you’d make choices for me.
After what happened with Peat…” She swallowed.
“He was a friend, and I hurt him. I haven’t stopped thinking about it, but you don’t feel bad at all, do you? You’d tell me to do it again.”
“Of course I would.” He frowned. “We needed the information. We barely made it in time as it was.”
“You always do that,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who gets hurt, you’re always justified in the end. You have made me stronger, Lore. I just hate the person I become when we’re together.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were true, and she wished she could take them back. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and she wanted to reach for them. She held herself back.
“If you say so.” He let out a weary sigh. “I’d be surprised if you need my help to hate yourself. That’s why you enjoyed what I did to you in the library. You want to be punished.”
She bristled at his arrogance, but heat flooded her body at the mention of the library. Oh gods, was she turned on? He watched her struggle, a mean little smile tugging at his lips.
“Maybe I’m exactly what you deserve.” He turned to leave, pausing only long enough to add, “Be ready for tomorrow, Talent.”
She curled her fingers in Jonquil’s mane, breathing through the urge to run after Lore and ask what he meant and how to prepare. She’d turned him down, but he hadn’t accepted it. Apparently, her body hadn’t either.
She clearly couldn’t trust her own judgment around him, and she had no idea what would happen if she found herself alone with him again. She’d just need to keep her distance.
The sun bled orange across the horizon by the time they made camp. Talia sat close to the fire, hands nearly touching the flames, but she couldn’t get warm.
Riven grinned down over a stack of firewood and dropped it with a crack, then took a seat next to her. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. He always carried more than he let on.
“Heading for bed?” she asked, glancing over at him.
“Not yet. Don’t want to waste what time’s left.” His eyes stayed on the fire.
She surveyed the others. Holloway sat across from them, shaping chords on his harp. Dawn and Lore murmured in low voices at the perimeter.
Riven leaned closer. “Walk with me?”
He led her through the trees and up a short hill that opened into a clearing.
They were at the edge of a bluff, a rocky shelf that dropped off steeply into a tree-filled valley.
Across that valley, set into a row of jagged mountains, the silhouette of a city stood out against the stars.
Valrotala. Riven walked to the edge and sat, very slowly, with his legs hanging over.
Talia joined him, feeling a dizzy rush as her feet swung in the open air. They sat looking at the ancient city, Holloway’s music fading in and out with the wind.
“When I was here last,” he said finally in a low voice, “the sky was orange.” He paused. “When an entire city burns, the smoke gets into everything. You carry the smell for years.”
His face was impassive, but he was breathing quick and shallow, like he couldn’t shake the panic he’d felt that day. She had to imagine the city’s fall had cut him deeply. Who had he lost? She squinted at the shadowy towers, trying to picture what it had been like.
“I wasn’t here when it happened,” he said. “I should’ve been.”
“When Valrotala burned? You would have died.”
“Very likely.”
Oh. Her chest felt tight. She couldn’t feel his emotions with her affinity, but she traced the edges of her own guilt and grief and tried to imagine if she’d lost everyone. How long had he hated himself for surviving?
“You can’t really want that,” she murmured.
His hand flexed once, knuckles going white. “Not anymore, no.”
Relief washed over her. The devastation of Valrotala was tragic enough, but for Riven to blame himself after so many years seemed worse. The souls lost when the city was destroyed could rest, at least, but he had to go on living.
“What changed?” she asked.
“You would’ve loved the library,” he said instead of answering, his voice growing steadier. “Glass ceilings. Reading rooms that changed with the light. More books than you could count.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“Yes, it was. Not sure what’s left.” He squinted at the shadow of the city as if the library might come into focus.
“I assumed it was lost. Every book. Every work of art. Then I found the journal in your cabin, and you spoke Starscript.” He paused and exhaled slowly.
This was a lot of words for him. “Your accent was not so bad.”
She hadn’t considered how it made him feel that everything she studied, he had lived. It made more sense now, why he stuck around. She must have reminded him of home. She wished she’d known—she might have made different choices.
Nighttime forest sounds filled the space between them. She didn’t mind the quiet. With Riven, she didn’t feel like she needed to fill the silence or prove anything. His cedar scent grounded her.
“Do you remember our first night in Gateway?” she asked.
That made him chuckle. It vibrated through his chest and rolled through the valley.
“How could I forget?” he asked. “You made such a generous offer that night.”
She groaned. “I thought I was so brave and clever, but I really was a child.”
He shook his head. “I never should have said that. You were brave and clever. But you thought I was a beast. I couldn’t prove you right.”
She settled her head on his shoulder. He froze, then let out a small sigh and relaxed. Their hands were pressed to the rock beneath them, and when his pinkie finger brushed hers, it sent a jolt up her arm.
“I’m not with Lore,” she said suddenly. Her throat felt scratchy, and she swallowed to clear it. “In case you thought—I don’t know. I told him it’s over.”
“That’s good.” She liked the way his voice rumbled under her head as she leaned against him. “It’s up to you, of course, but you deserve better. He doesn’t even call you by your name.”
She was sharply aware of her legs dangling over a free-fall drop and of every point where her head and shoulder and hand touched his. Her whole body felt alive, like she could do anything.
“Well, I refuse to proposition you again,” she said, doing her best to sound casual. “It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
“I can appreciate that.” He wrapped one hand lightly around her braid and stroked the length of it, tugging a little at the end.
It was weirdly intimate. “I promise that I won’t make you ask the next time, if that’s what you’d like.
Just not tonight. You should have a choice, when it happens.
A real choice, not one you’re backed into when the world feels like it’s ending. ”
This man was so different from Lore. He wasn’t challenging her; he was guarding her choices like they mattered. Like she mattered.
“When it happens?” she asked.
“Mm-hmm. If you want.” His whole chest vibrated with the affirmation, and the nervous energy she always felt rattling around in her brain just—calmed. She let out a small sigh.
He wrapped one strong arm around her and pulled her closer. She folded against his solid chest, his heartbeat thrumming steadily beneath her ear. They stayed like that, tucked against each other, as the valley wind got colder.
“We should go back,” he murmured. “Before Dawn sends a search party.”
“One more minute.” Talia burrowed into his warmth.
His chin was resting on her head, and she felt him smile. “Sure.”
When they finally stood, he kept her hand in his. They walked back toward the glow of campfire. Riven laid out their bedrolls, close but not touching.
Talia lay down and fought to slow her breathing. Tomorrow they would venture into the ancient ruins they’d glimpsed from the cliff. They’d find out what Lore’s gods amounted to and what was left of the library Riven described. But tonight…
Tonight, she reflected on what it would take to forgive herself. She’d made a devastating mistake that she couldn’t take back, but still—it’d been ten years. Maybe it was time.
If Riven was willing to face his ghosts, she could too.