4 A Threat #3
Her fingers brushed the stone in her pouch before closing around the letter. She held it out for Freya.
The folds had worn soft, but the golden seal still caught the light.
Freya’s brows furrowed as she read. Her eyes widened, narrowed, then flew back to the top to read it again. When she finally finished, she let out a long, low whistle.
“Well,” she said, “this is not what I expected.”
Vaelira didn’t answer.
Freya blinked. “You’re not smiling. Why aren’t you smiling?”
“I’d be leaving Jon.”
Freya scoffed. “You’re not marching off to war, Lira. It’s the capital. You’ll be in silk and gold before the week’s out.”
When Vaelira didn’t respond, Freya leaned back, the humour fading from her voice. “You know he’d want this for you.”
“I know,” Vaelira murmured. She looked at her friend’s bandaged leg, at the shadows under her eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I feel like everything’s changing.”
“That’s because it is. Doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” She reached over and smacked Vaelira’s arm with the back of her hand. “Now get out of here before I start crying and Kili comes back.”
Vaelira left the Sanatorium with the letter clenched tightly in her fist. She knew Freya’s words should have brought her comfort, but her mind was like a raging storm.
The sky had begun to darken when she spotted Jon slipping out of the cottage.
He wore his pale-hilted dagger at his hip and his coat slung over one shoulder.
An inky black cat was rubbing against his legs, looking for attention.
He smiled and bent down to scratch the feline under the chin.
He spotted Vaelira, and his smile faltered into concern.
“What’s happened?” he asked, opening the door again and stepping aside for her.
The letter burned in her palm, but she didn’t show him. “I’ve been summoned to Caerthalyn.”
A beat of silence. Jon inhaled slowly. “You’re not angry for my sake, are you?”
“How can I not be?” she said. She unstrapped the sword from her hip and leaned it gently against the faded crimson sofa. Then she sank into the cushions. “My place is here with you. With Freya. With the people who actually need me.”
Jon sat next to her, elbows on his knees. “But we don’t need you,” he said simply, staring into the fire.
When she turned a sharp look on him, he added, “We’ll miss you. I’ll miss you, Lira. But we don’t need you to stay. You’re meant for something else.”
“Meant for?” she scoffed. “You know I don’t believe in that higher-power horseshit. What about what I want? What if I’m not interested in being whatever they think I’m supposed to be?”
His gaze was steady. “Do you think this was chance? That they chose you without a thought?” His voice softened. “It’s been generations since anyone was summoned to the Royal City. There must be a reason.”
“I’m not interested in their reasons.”
Jon sighed, rubbing his chin with a hand. “You know, mother used to love stories. She’d tell us a new one every night. You’d usually fall asleep right at the start, but I listened as she weaved stories of magical creatures and mages, and all sorts of wonderous adventures.”
“I wish I could remember.”
Jon nodded. “I asked her how she could remember the stories without the books. She said they lived inside her head, waiting for her to unravel them. She promised to one day write them all down for us and said she’d make copies to send to the Royal Library in Caerthalyn so all the little boys and girls could have their parents read to them too,” he chuckled softly.
“You should have seen the way her eyes lit up at the mention of the Royal Library, Lira. She’d get this far off look to her, like she was seeing all the way to the capital and to the thousands of books waiting for her there.
I think it was her dream to see it one day.
” He turned to her, the unspoken words lingering between them.
They weren’t the words she had wanted. She’d wanted him to rage with her.
To stay up all night and scheme a way out, or if nothing else, to say he’d run with her.
Instead, he was being reasonable, and even worse, sentimental.
Vaelira pulled away and his arm slid from her shoulders. “You’re heading out?” she asked.
Jon stood, brushing off his patched coat. It had once been their fathers. “I’m heading to Polk’s. Want to come?”
The last thing she wanted was to sit in a smoky tavern full of lewd old men and loud music. “I think I’ll get an early night.”
He nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Have fun,” she said quietly, but the door had already shut behind him.
She sat there for a while, night taking hold beyond the windows as the heat from the fire licked at her skin.
Eventually, she looked down. Her fingers had clenched tight again, knuckles pale, the letter crumpled in her fist. Without thinking, she tossed it into the fire.
The parchment curled instantly. Flames caught along the edge and devoured the page whole.
She watched until the last of it was blackened ash, then stood and headed to the bedroom.