34
I felt it before I opened my eyes—bereft.
His absence sank my empty stomach. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to rely on his presence. Hadn’t thought to count the mornings it had pushed me out of bed before sleep had wholly cleared my mind.
Not this morning.
I stayed there until I was forced to feed the gardens, where Paphin glowered at me, and Tyressa peppered me with questions. I told them the same thing I’d shared with Meront, Darcen, and Haynes—that I’d been teaching Prince Voran how to read after he’d saved my life.
When Paphin eventually spoke, it was with unmistakable contempt for my actions. Each word bitten between his teeth. “The older wards are still sleeping because they spent most of the night hunting for him.”
Tyressa gasped. “They found him?”
“No. He likely fled right after harming Lord Haynes. Just as well,” Paphin said. “He never should have been here in the first rotting place.”
Though I’d already known Voran wasn’t returning to the archives, it took effort to keep tears from entering my eyes. As they continued discussing him, I stayed quiet and focused on feeding the soil. Then I retreated to my room.
When curfew had long passed, I crept down the hall to the stairs, then down the hall to his room.
It was foolish to be here. To think I might have found him sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped between his spread knees, blue eyes tracking my every breath. The bedding was gone. The chest of drawers had been searched, each drawer open. His nightstand was the same.
All that remained was the book of fables.
I crossed the room to collect it. My hair was no longer inside. Maybe he’d taken it with him. My chest shouldn’t have lightened at the mere thought. As I ventured back down the hall and stairs, I held the book close to my chest, hoping I might find something other than his scent within the pages.
Upon entering the hall, I halted.
“Celestine,” I breathed.
She didn’t speak. For several failed heartbeats, she just stared at me.
Then she went back into her room.
I hurried to mine and closed the door. Leaning against it, I brushed a tear from my cheek. I didn’t know what I’d expected. Questions. Perhaps some outrage. I supposed, despite who Voran was, I’d thought she’d at least talk to me before deciding that she never wanted to again.
But just like everyone else, she hadn’t come to my room since he’d left.
I tucked the book in my nightstand drawer and flopped onto my bed. As more tears tried to push free, I rolled my face into the pillow, clenching it while squeezing my eyes shut. I should have known I’d lose more than—
Something brushed my finger.
I frowned and sat up, then lifted the pillow. Beneath it lay a tiny piece of parchment.
A note.
Find what lies beneath the soil I disturbed, and let no one take it from you.
I didn’t need to question who the horrid handwriting belonged to.
My eyes darted to the door as I wondered when he might have snuck this in here. Perhaps today, while I was gardening, or last evening when I’d bathed. Perhaps I’d just missed him, and he’d been here while I was in his room.
Then I read the note again and gasped.
Still wet from the afternoon storm, long blades of grass dampened my legs as I walked deeper into the trees.
Continuously, I looked back toward the clearing—attempting to remember exactly where I’d exited the woods on that fateful day.
The day the prisoners had escaped. The day I’d found Voran digging in the soil.
Lost to the memory, I flinched when sticks snapped beneath my feet.
Their differing sizes snagged my gaze, then drew my hands. As I removed them from the soil they’d been placed atop, tears burned my eyes yet again. I closed them before looking up at the canopy of branches above.
He might have been a poor reader, but Voran was too smart to leave such a sign here for weeks. And when he’d known the other wards would be hunting for him.
Which meant he’d recently been right here.
I dug.
The soil warmed and further softened around my hands, my magic awakened by the emotion and anticipation blistering each breath. Dirt sprinkled my evening robes. Nightbirds ceased chirping, and cicadas took longer breaks between their calling, as if curious about my presence or what I might find.
It wasn’t buried deep.
Something sliced my middle finger, and I pulled my hand out. I stared at the blood spiraling toward my palm, then at the hole I’d made. Within it, more blood speckled the soil.
Not blood, I realized, reaching in to carefully brush at the dirt.
Crimson.
I dug around the object until I could safely pry it free. Gently, I set it upon the small pile of dirt. It was larger than my head, the sharp scales a red that shimmered in the moonlight.
They do not wish to watch over you like infants.
Voran hadn’t come to the Archives of Avyshla for protection. Not for himself.
He’d come to guard the wyvern egg stolen by his uncle—because the babe within would not develop in Valadorn’s wintry climate.