46. Chapter 46
Isla paced the stone floor of the bed chamber, her feet moving without conscious thought.
She had only the faintest memory of climbing the spiral staircase out of the library’s depths, reemerging in the glow of the sunlight that arced through the stained glass dome above.
Vaguely, she recalled telling everyone she’d needed some time to herself, heading for her bed chamber without further comment.
Where the others had ended up, she couldn’t say. She didn’t care.
Her mind raced.
Fae. She had fae blood. So did Lyra and Cael. How had her mother never told them? And why? What reason would she have to hide it from them? Did Father know? Did Gran?
She chewed on a thumbnail, turning back to face the hearth, where the light of the fire reflected off of the uncut glass worked into the seams of the ornate, stone mantle.
Her eyes slid out of focus as she watched the flames dance, her mind swirling with possibilities, trying to grasp at threads and make connections where there had always been gaps.
Did their Velari heritage have anything to do with her mother’s untimely death?
And had Father simply been collateral damage? Asmarin’s words drifted back to her…
Lyra has her own part to play in all of this. But she does not wield the power of imprint.
If Lyra’s power didn’t have to do with memory, what the hell was it?
And Cael? Isla let out a groan, pressing her palms to her eyes until she saw tiny starbursts behind her lids.
She wasn’t ready to talk to Lyra about it yet.
She understood why her sister hadn’t told her the truth last night — Isla had been barely conscious, her body finally succumbing to the accumulated exhaustion. But still, the omission stung.
She loosed a sigh, sinking slowly into the armchair she’d briefly fallen asleep in last night before Lyra had arrived, and dropped her head into her hands, groaning. One breath in. One breath out.
The Shardseeker.
She sat up, raising her right hand before her, splaying her fingers wide, staring at the stone ring that she had worn every day since her eighteenth birthday. Gran’s panicked words echoed suddenly in her mind.
Where is your mother's ring?
It's here, Gran. I never take it off.
In her mind’s eye, she watched again as the ring had glowed in that chamber beneath the library, warm threads of gold spiralling out from it, winding their way lovingly around her fingers, her palm, her wrist when she’d touched the memory shard.
Holy Gods, the memory shard. The Shattering. Etara. Roan. A terrible sacrifice. A choice that couldn’t be unmade. A horrifying, rippling effect for generations to come. And only one person who could put a stop to it. Maybe.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her head pounding like a drum.
The knock at her door cut through the air like a knife, solid and demanding. She knew it was him even before she’d even crossed the room and opened the door.
Vaelin stood in the hallway, hands gripping the door frame.
She felt her pulse already thrumming in her throat, something in her chest curling at the sight of him.
He wore only a linen tunic, trousers, and boots, and it struck her that she’d only ever seen him dressed for travel, for battle.
Without his weapon and leathers, he looked ragged, exhausted.
Like a man pushed to his breaking point.
But it was an exhaustion that stemmed from something other than fatigue. She knew, because she felt it too.
Wordlessly, she stepped back, gesturing him inside.
He didn’t move, only stood there, gripping the doorframe, muscles straining.
Seconds passed as they held each other’s gaze. Her eyes dipped briefly to the feathering in his jaw, his fingers twitching on the doorframe as though he struggled to hold himself back. To remain at the threshold of her door.
“How are you?” he ground out, as though his voice had been dragged over hot coals.
Her lips curved and she almost laughed. Almost.
His eyes bore into hers as she reached for the words to explain how she was feeling, but they slipped from her like mist, intangible. She shrugged, glancing down at her mother’s ring once more.
“Isla…” he murmured. The sound of her name on his lips, his voice low with barely held restraint, sent a flash of heat through her.
She looked up at him again. His eyes were darker than usual, his pupils blown wide, reflecting a need she knew he saw reflected in her own. The tension between them had never felt so thick. She breathed out a small sigh of acceptance, of anticipation.
“What took you so long?”
And then his lips were on hers.
As though her words had finally tipped the scales, they crashed together like a wave meeting the shoreline before it settled into its natural place.
Isla’s spatial awareness shattered and she found herself against the now-closed door, one of Vaelin’s hands buried deep in her hair, the other on her waist, pulling her against him like he was afraid she wasn’t real.
He kissed her like he was desperate to breathe and she was the air.
Her awareness narrowed to him - only him - to where their lips met at last. He pressed the length of his powerful body into hers, the door at her back, and her hands skated up over his chest, clutching at the fabric of his tunic as she pulled him closer.
A groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her lips.
She felt her own lips part in a smile, and he deepened the kiss.
She tilted her head back in answer, sliding one hand up to the back of his neck.
The warmth of his skin against hers made that tightness in her chest curl with languid pleasure.
He tore his mouth from hers, but before she could protest he pressed his lips to her neck, just below her ear.
She closed her eyes, feeling weightless.
He brushed his nose over her hair, breathing deeply as he traced the column of her neck with his lips.
A sharp intake of breath escaped her as his breath danced over the damp spots left behind.
“You are going to destroy me,” he ground out, his own voice guttural as he pulled back a fraction of an inch, catching her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger.
A sudden, deafening boom rattled the stone walls, intricate glass windows shattering. Darkness fell suddenly, despite the mid-day hour.
And the screams were everywhere.