Chapter 17 Lorenth
LORENTH
I'm going through inventory sheets when the bond yanks.
Not the usual gentle pull of emotion or the warm press of Senna's presence at the back of my mind. This is sharp, violent—like someone hooked a line through my ribs and jerked hard enough to drag me sideways.
My magic flares in response, instinctive and protective, reaching for her across the distance—
And hits nothing.
The bond goes silent. Not quiet. Silent. Like someone snuffed out a candle.
"Fuck—"
I drop the papers, don't even look at the merchant I'd been talking to as I spin toward the door. My wings snap open, knocking over a display of honeyed bread that crashes to the floor behind me.
"Lord Varyon—"
I don't answer. Can't. There's nothing in my head except the roaring panic, the absolute wrongness of not feeling her there. The bond has been a constant presence since yesterday—this warm, living thing that pulses with her emotions, her thoughts, her existence.
And now there's just... nothing.
I hit the street at a dead run, wings spread for balance as I dodge around pedestrians and carts. Someone shouts after me but I'm already gone, pushing through the crowd with single-minded focus.
Home. I need to get home. She went to lunch with Lora but she should be back by now, should be safe in the townhouse where I left her—
The streets blur past. I don't remember deciding to fly, but suddenly I'm airborne, wind whipping through my hair as I bank hard over the rooftops. Faster. Need to go faster.
The bond is still silent.
My magic claws at the emptiness, trying to force a connection, trying to find something—but it's like reaching into a void. She's there, I know she is. The bond doesn't break, can't break unless one of us dies. But I can't feel her.
Can't sense her emotions, can't gauge her location, can't tell if she's hurt or scared or—
I land hard on the front steps of the townhouse, wings flaring to brake my momentum. The door swings open under my hand and I'm inside, taking the stairs three at a time.
"Senna!"
Nothing.
I tear through the bedroom—empty bed, yesterday's clothes still scattered on the floor. Bathroom—empty. Study, kitchen, every room in this godsdamned house—
Empty. All of it.
The panic morphs into something colder. Something with teeth.
I force myself to stop, to breathe, to think. Lora took her to lunch. One of her usual places in the market district—but which one? There are half a dozen cafes she rotates through, and I don't know which she picked today.
Fine. I'll check them all.
I'm back in the air before the thought fully forms, diving low over the market quarter. The first cafe—outdoor seating, flowering vines—is packed with the afternoon crowd. I scan every table, every face, looking for silver-black hair or wine-red fabric.
Not there.
Second cafe. Third. Fourth.
Nothing. No sign of either of them.
My wings ache from the tight turns, the constant acceleration and braking, but I don't slow down. Can't. Every second that passes with the bond silent is another second she could be hurt, could be—
No. Not going there. She's fine. She has to be fine.
I bank hard toward the residential quarter, toward Lora's house. It's a longer flight but I push harder, faster, until the wind screams past and my flight feathers burn from the strain.
Lora's house comes into view—two stories, painted shutters, a garden out front where Kova likes to dig holes. I don't bother with the front door. Just drop straight into the courtyard and slam through the side entrance.
"Lorenth?" Lora appears in the hallway. Her eyes widen. "What—"
"Where is she?"
"What?"
"Senna. Where the fuck is she?"
Lora's expression shifts from surprised to concerned. "At your house? We finished lunch over an hour ago. She said she was heading straight back—"
"She's not there."
The words come out harsh, sharp enough that Kaelan peeks his head out of his room. I don't care. Can't make myself care about anything except the cold certainty settling in my gut.
Lora turn Kaelan around and shoos him toward the other room. "What do you mean she's not there?"
"I mean I just tore through every room in my house and she's not fucking there, Lora." I drag both hands through my hair, wings mantling with barely contained violence. "The bond went silent. I can't feel her. Can't sense her location. Something's wrong."
"Okay. Okay, let's think about this." She crosses to me, hands raised like she's approaching a spooked zarryn. "Did you check the market? Maybe she stopped somewhere on the way home—"
"I checked. She's not there."
"Then maybe—"
The pendant.
The thought cuts through the panic like a blade. The pink crystal Serai gave me, tied to my magic, designed to lead me straight to Senna no matter where she is.
I left it at home. In my study, on the desk where I tossed it after finding her the first time.
I'm moving before Lora can finish her sentence, back through the door and into the air. She calls after me but I'm already gone, wings driving me forward with brutal efficiency.
The flight back to the townhouse takes minutes that feel like hours. Every second the bond stays silent is another second my magic tries to claw its way out of my skin, tries to find her through sheer force of will.
I crash through the study window rather than waste time with the door. Glass shatters around me, cutting shallow lines across my forearms that I barely feel. My magic reacts without thought, healing me and cleaning up the glass.
But I'm focused on only one thing. The pendant sits exactly where I left it—small and pink and pulsing with faint light.
I grab it, close my fist around the smooth crystal, and push my magic into it.
The response is immediate. The pendant flares bright, warm against my palm, and then tugs. Not toward the market, not toward Lora's house.
Out of the city entirely.
Toward the human villages to the west.
My blood goes cold.
She went back. Either by choice or by force, she went back to that godsdamned village where her piece of shit husband—
The thought cuts off as rage floods in to replace the panic. Hot and vicious and absolute.
If he touched her. If he so much as looked at her wrong—
I'm airborne again before the thought finishes, the pendant clutched tight enough that the edges dig into my palm. It pulls me west, a steady tug that strengthens as I get closer.
The city falls away beneath me. Rolling hills, patches of forest, the dirt road that connects New Solas to the smaller settlements. I follow the pendant's pull, flying faster than I've ever flown, until my lungs burn and my wings scream in protest.
Don't care. She needs me. The bond might be silent but that doesn't mean she's not in danger, doesn't mean she's not hurt or scared or—
The village comes into view.
Small cluster of buildings, maybe two dozen houses total, surrounded by farmland and grazing fields. I scan for her as I descend, searching for wine-red fabric or dark curls or anything—
The pendant yanks hard to the left.
I bank, following its pull toward the edge of the village. There's a house there—small, run-down, with peeling paint and a sagging roof. The blacksmith's house. Has to be.
I land hard enough to crack the ground beneath my boots, wings flaring wide as I straighten. The pendant burns against my palm, pulsing in time with my racing heart.
She's here. Somewhere in this godsforsaken place, she's here.
And if that bastard has hurt her, if he's laid one fucking finger on what's mine—
I'm going to paint the walls with his blood.