Chapter 20
Ellowyn
“We rescued Peytor,” Torin’s voice sounded from behind me, and I shot to my feet, a bolt of adrenaline coursing through my body, lighting my blood on fire.
How could he do that with just one word? With one look?
I ran at him with a squeal before jumping directly into his arms. I hit his chest with an oomph, and he laughed into my ear, spinning me around in our shared joy.
Peytor was safe. Peytor was alive. Peytor was home.
Caught up in the emotions of the moment, I reared back before slamming my lips to Torin’s, pouring my thankfulness, my love, my excitement into the kiss.
He groaned into my mouth before matching my fervor with his own.
We were a mess of teeth and lips and tongues, his hands coming to cup my bottom and pull me hard against him.
His growing erection met my core, and it was my turn to moan into his mouth at the sensation.
My hands flew up to frame his face, eliminating any remaining distance between us.
Gods, this was what a kiss was supposed to feel like.
Touch starved and aching for affection, I shamelessly rubbed myself against Torin’s body, chasing a high that built the longer our mouths stayed connected.
A throat cleared from behind us, and Torin and I broke away with a gasp.
My heart thudded in my ears, red canvassing my chest and throat.
Who else could be here? Fate? No, I would’ve felt his oppressive presence.
“Would you like to say hi to your brother?” Torin whispered, fighting to catch his breath. His eyes kept darting from my lips to my face, trying to see my reaction while simultaneously holding himself back from taking my mouth again.
My fingers flexed against his cheeks as my eyes went wide.
“He’s . . . here? How?”
Torin smiled slyly before reluctantly setting me down on shaking feet. His hands thankfully stayed bracketed to my hips as we looked into each other’s eyes.
“Am I interrupting something?” Peytor’s question carried across the dead space, humor lacing every word.
I turned on a gasp, hands reaching behind me to steady myself against Torin’s steadfast presence.
The man who stood feet from me vaguely resembled my brother, but was far from what I expected—he was thinner than I remembered, faint scars dotting his exposed forearms, and his chestnut hair was shaggily cut.
His eyes held the most change—they were dark and haunted, shadows flickering through his grey-green irises.
But beneath it all, he was still my brother. His shit-eating grin was still there, plastered on his stupidly handsome face, framed by a strong nose and jaw. I saw so much of my father in Peytor at that moment.
“Peytor?” I called hesitantly and watched as his face broke into a true smile, one that lit his face and chased the shadows from his eyes.
“Hi, Ell.”
“Peytor!” I exclaimed, pushing myself off of Torin and scrambling over the hard-packed earth in a crazed effort to reach my brother.
I heard both men chuckle as I threw my body at Peytor, burying my head in the crook of his neck and squeezing him tight.
His return embrace was equally encompassing, and I wiggled against him, trying to bury myself in him.
It reminded me of when we were children and a day’s separation felt like a year.
“Are you okay?” he asked me, and I chuffed a laugh through my tears.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
He shrugged his still massive shoulders, the motion causing my head to bob.
“I asked first.”
“Are you still mad at me?” I asked tentatively into his neck instead of responding. I felt his chest vibrate with a rumble.
“No, Ellowyn,” he sighed. “I’m not mad at you. My anger was misplaced, I know that now.”
I pulled away from him to stare into his familiar grey eyes, flecked with the green of our mother’s heritage.
“Thank you. I am sorry, for what it’s worth. I know not much, and I know sorry can never bring Finian back, but I am sorry,” I said lamely, twining my hands together. I felt Torin’s presence at my back as he grasped my fingers in his own, gently prying my hands apart to hold them.
Peytor’s lips quirked into a smile, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
“Thank you, Ellowyn. But it’s unnecessary. I’ve made peace with it. But this”—he gestured between Torin and me with a finger—“this warrants an explanation.”
Torin chuckled against my back, and I rolled my eyes.
“You were there at my Awakening, remember?” I said, and Peytor squinted at me teasingly. “Or maybe you don’t, since you were preoccupied with Dria.”
“Don’t remind me.” Peytor threw his head back on a groan while Torin and I laughed.
“I’m sure she’d be happy to know you survived. Maybe you should send her something to ease her sadness and pining?” Torin chimed in.
“Okay, that’s enough, you two. If this is how you’re going to be together, then I don’t support it.” But there was no heat to his statement.
The mood was light and happy, and I didn’t want to disturb the bubble of peace I found myself in, but I felt like I was missing something vital.
“So,” I started, and both men sobered. “How are you here, Peytor?”
He quickly pulled down the collar of his tunic, exposing the expanse of skin just above his heart. I averted my gaze from the bones I could see at the top of his rib cage, focusing instead on the black rune that seemed to shimmer in the unnatural light of the Dreamscape.
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a Tethering Rune,” Torin explained as Peytor let his shirt fall back in place.
“Because of my magic, I need someone to tether to. I would imagine that you will need one as well, Ellowyn. Essentially, my soul is tied to his. I can call to him, direct him toward my location, as long as he doesn’t obscure the rune.
Tethering also allows me to pull him into the Dreamscape with me. ”
“Because our souls exist here,” I said, and Torin nodded.
“Exactly. While we see each other as flesh and blood, it’s just the reflection our soul takes on in this place.”
“How did you find all of this out?”
“We have an . . . interesting visitor in camp with us,” Peytor said, his eyes darting to Torin’s, searching for some sort of acknowledgment before continuing. “The Bondsmith was held captive in the south, but Torin rescued her and brought her north.”
I turned in Torin’s arms. “Just a regular old savior, aren’t you?”
Torin blushed before shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a complex I’m trying to fight.”
Peytor snorted. “No you’re not. You saved the Bondsmith, then me”—he ticked his fingers—“now we’re balls-deep in figuring out how to save Ellowyn from her nasty husband. And those are the only ones I know about. Yeah, I think the savior-complex is alive and well.”
Torin made a crude hand gesture at my brother, but I batted it down.
“Focus, gentlemen.”
“Yes, Mother,” Peytor snarked, and I rolled my eyes.
How good it felt to speak to him again, to interact like we did in Hestin. It was just another piece of normalcy, a brief reprieve from the depressing state of my life in Vespera.
But maybe this is where I do the most good—helping Torin and Peytor in the Dreamscape. I could live with that.
“Eventually I want to hear . . . well, everything,” I said, looking straight at Peytor as I squeezed Torin’s hands. “But I know we’re probably on borrowed time right now. There’s no rhyme or reason as to how much time Torin and I are given here on any given night. And I want to help while I can.”
Torin’s arms tightened around my waist as he pressed a gentle kiss into my hair. “Then that is what we shall do,” he mumbled.
Peytor and Torin quickly ran through the basics of their plan, and I chewed my lip in thought.
“It’s not bad, per se,” I hesitated, and Peytor chuckled at my admission.
“What would you change about it, Ell?” Torin asked.
I thought for a moment then shrugged.
“Don’t you think it’s suspicious if you just show up at Vespera’s gates and suddenly ask to join the Academy?
You’re a southern lord, Torin. And, if you’re confident in your sources, then there is already speculation that you’re part of the rebellion.
Alois isn’t going to let you anywhere near his Academy or army without a really damn good reason. ”
“We figured as much.” Peytor blew out a heavy breath, and I felt Torin tense behind me.
“There is always the chance that the gods make a move in the Borderlands,” Torin said.
“The likelihood is actually quite high that they do. They’ve been trapped for centuries—all of this freedom and access to their magic will eventually force them to do something brash.
Inevitably, it will create a power vacuum that is too strong for Vespera and the north to ignore—your husband will have to step in or risk losing Elyria to the gods completely. ”
I chewed my lip in thought. “Then we wait for that time.”
Both boys raised their eyebrows at me.
“Ell, you need to get out of there. We can move up the timeline—” Torin started, and I shushed him with a finger to his mouth. Heat ran through me with the motion, and I had to take a breath to calm my awakened body.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the ‘master general’ here?” I snarked, peeling my finger from his lips as they lifted into a smirk.
“Yes. And if I think I can enter Vespera now without sustaining heavy losses, then that is what I need to do. For you, for me, for Elyria.”
I shook my head again, peeling myself out of his arms before crossing my own.
“No. I can handle another few weeks or months here. Let me see what I can do from the inside. Or at least what information I can find that would help.”
Torin carved his hands through his hair, the motion leaving the ends sticking up at wayward angles. Peytor’s arms were crossed, his face set into hard lines; it was the same look Father got when he made up his mind, his word final.
Ire rose in me; I knew that they both loved me, even after everything I’d done, and their actions came with good intentions. But I needed to find a way for myself.
“Let me do this. Please. I need . . . I need to be able to do things for and on my own. I know you mean well and only want to protect me, but fuck.” I exhaled and Peytor’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at my curse.
“I’ve been protected all my life, and look where that’s gotten me. ” I thrust my arms wide.
Torin at least seemed to contemplate my words.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sky beginning to dance and writhe again, and I knew our time was coming to a close.
“Please. At least just wait until there is a better, safer time to come to Vespera. Showing up at the gates without a legitimate reason isn’t just foolish—it’s suicide.”
“Fine,” Torin said, unhappy but acquiescing nonetheless. “I have . . . connections that could help provoke the gods a bit. I’ll see what I can do.”
His voice faded, as did their spectral images, as they were wrenched from the Dreamscape.
Fuck.
I could only hope that they listened to my plea and heeded my words.
Stupid, stubborn men.