Chapter Eighteen #2
I never understood Ryc’s reluctance to tell Lilith about Thalion’s soul crystal being hidden in the stronghold—but I do now. It’s been a while since Ryc and I discussed the subject and I haven’t given it much thought since. He made it clear it wasn’t something she needed to know.
He’s protecting her from him… still.
Sitting shut and stored behind a series of wards and locks and guards is a kinder eternity than Thalion deserves.
“Please do not leap,” Cyran’s deep, unamused voice startles me and he grabs my arm.
Heaving a sigh, I level a flat glare up at the fae as he releases me.
“Afraid you’ll sink with all your armor?” I tease, turning back to the river.
He huffs through his nose, the faintest smile curling his lips.
“Lady Lilith said she left you here. I expected to find you gone,” he says, following my gaze westward.
I scoff a laugh, smiling. “You make it sound like I’ve a tendency to vanish without a chaperone, Cyran.”
“Yes,” he nods. There’s the tiniest hint—the tiniest spark—of a smile in his voice. “One who plagues rooftops and stalks sailors.”
My head whirls as my brows fly high.
“Stalks sailors?” I laugh, incredulous. “I watch boats come into port. I couldn’t care less about the sailors.”
Months.
Months I’ve spent with this fae and he’s never teased me. Usually he’s filled with admonishing remarks and glares when it comes to my quips… or choices.
Today’s different.
He’s different.
What’s changed?
I doubt if I were to ask I’d get an honest answer. No, if I were to ask, it might deter him—revert him. I might enjoy this new Cyran. I’d like him to stay.
I haven’t seen much of him the last couple of days.
Not since the council meeting.
“I’m sorry about your finger,” I blurt the words and his brows crease.
He lowers his gaze to mine saying, “It won’t happen again.”
As I open my mouth to argue—knowing I can’t make any such guarantee—he lifts his right hand, flashing the silver-fingered gauntlet upon it. My argument shatters as I burst into laughter.
Apparently he knows it too.
Glad to see we’re on the same page.
“How did it go?” he asks, returning his hand to the banister. “Find King Alaryc’s gift?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Next time then,” he says.
The thought of Lilith bursting into my quarters before dawn a second time pulls a deep, annoyed groan from me.
“Cyran, please, if you’re at post do not let Lilith burst into my quarters before the sun,” I say, not caring how imploring I sound. “One of these days, I will achieve a full night’s rest.”
“You’re not sleeping?” he sounds concerned. “Should Drunina check you over?”
I shake my head. “No, no. I sleep—granted, erratic hours—but it’s not always restful. I’ve strange dreams.”
“Dreams aren’t meant to be understood,” Cyran offers.
Maybe for mortals.
But this, this feels like the times I would dream of Ryc. I’m left feeling disjointed and I don’t want to spend centuries trying to figure out its meaning.
A few stubborn leaves lose their grip in a cold gust and, launched from their branch, drift into the river. They ride the surface of the placid flowing water, becoming specks of orange against a dark, curling ribbon.
“Lilith found Fenryn’s gift,” I say, breaking the extended silence. “In the second shop we visited no less. I don’t know how many rings I looked at today, but nothing felt like Ryc.”
Nothing stood out.
Nothing reminded me of him.
“You’ve read The Joining?” he asks, surprised.
“If you count the abbreviated version delivered via Lilith’s early morning lecture,” I reply and he gives me a flat look. “Don’t look at me like that, Cyran, your face will freeze that way in this cold.”
“You should read it,” he says. “Both you and King Alaryc are now subject to the whims of the council. You could be made to ascend tomorrow. It would benefit you to understand what’s expected of you during the Joining ritual.”
I groan at the truth of his words.
“I will. I gave my word,” I say, and it sounds a lot like I’m trying to convince myself. I sigh. “I just… I need the world to not fall apart.”
I need to not fall apart.
How can I focus on some faerie tradition requiring me to give a piece of myself away when all I have left are pieces?
A white streak swoops before me and, startled, I reel back with a gasp.
Cyran catches me, quickly bracing an arm against my back.
Otherwise I would have met the ground. As I pull myself upright with his assistance, I glance right, at the parapet, and the raven tucks its wings away, pinning its eye against me.
I’m greeted with a low warble.
The damn bird has returned. Wrangling my surprise aside and ignoring the creature’s pointed stare, the dark chain pooled beneath its feet captures my attention. There’s what appears to be a pendant sitting between its talons, but it’s mangled and tarnished by time.
“What is this?” Cyran asks, studying the creature.
He reaches around me and the creature pulls its head into its chest, its beak opening as it screeches. Cyran freezes. But the loud, punctuated screeching continues.
“Not for you, it says,” I laugh over the bird’s sound as I lean away from it, lifting my shoulder to guard my ear.
Cyran draws his hand away and the creature silences itself.
“Is this the same creature you found?” he asks.
“It shouldn’t be. That creature died,” I reply flatly, watching the raven as I slowly straighten myself. “That being said, this creature followed me into the veil last week.”
Lavender eyes dart from me to the bird.
It pecks at the chain before turning its eye to me.
“Is that possible?” Cyran asks, his voice a near whisper.
“Is passing through wards as if they don’t exist possible?” I ask, shrugging.
“For a conduit of Aether, yes,” he answers.
“A wh—” I stop myself as the raven takes the chain in its beak and hoists its head.
The bowl-like pendant swings and as I lean closer, the bird takes a couple of steps back. Like the chain itself, it’s tarnished, but as it slows in its swing, letters etched into the convex side become clear. Much of it too darkened and dirty to read.
But a single word, near the bottom, catches my eye.
Celesta
“Impossible,” I breathe and my hand darts out, snatching the chain.
The raven caws, releasing the chain, and takes off in a flap of feathers.
“This is mine,” I whisper, turning to Cyran. “This is my necklace.”
It looks nothing like it had when Sunshine passed it to me, but the magic… it’s still there. It thrums against my skin, along my fingers, a low, steady vibration. Having worn it against my heart for a few weeks, it’s a familiar feeling.
My eyes race to the rooftops of the castle, to the trees, along the curtain wall—nothing. No white.
Gone.
The raven is gone once again.
“Why did a raven have your necklace?” Cyran asks, confused.
“I threw it,” I answer and the confused crease between his brows deepens. “In a fit of rage before the eclipse. Launched it from my balcony hoping it would land in the river.”
Cyran remains silent.
But the question of why remains etched in his features.
Rather than answer, I swing my arm out over the water, ready to give it the burial I thought I’d given it months ago. I’ve no need for it.
Yet I pause.
Staring at the swinging chain, I sigh.
Without the damned thing, I wouldn’t have been able to escape the hells. I wouldn’t have emerged in the safety of the Moon Temple.
An idea strikes hot, and it feels right.
Drawing back my arm, I swing my legs over the parapet and leap down.
“Cyran.” I tuck the necklace into my cloak pocket. “Know any silversmiths capable of working with spelled silver?”
“There’s at least one in Ollora, but I believe he stopped forging earlier this year,” Cyran replies.
“Any chance he would be willing to take on one more commission?”
Cyran purses his lips. “For the future Sovereign Queen of Erus?” he asks, falling into step beside me.
Beside me and not behind me.
Yes, I very much like this version of Cyran.
“He may consider it,” he says.
A smile curls my lips. “Tomorrow then,” I say, glancing up at him. “Once Ryc has shut himself in his office, I’d like to visit this silversmith.”