Page 46

I have little time to consider whether telling Calysian the truth about the grimoire—and his past—was the smartest decision. We’re up with the sun, Calysian waiting while I say goodbye to Fliora. Her thin arms circle my waist and squeeze tight, even as I fight not to drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness for everything I’ve cost her.

“He’s very handsome,” she whispers, and Calysian pretends not to hear, although I catch his smile.

“Looks aren’t everything,” I mutter.

“But they don’t hurt,” Yalanda appears, placing a hand on her niece’s shoulder. She gives Calysian an appraising look that tells me she knows who he is. And something dark and malevolent flickers through her eyes—so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it.

“When all this is done, I hope you find a handsome man of your own,” she tells me. “One who will give you a quiet life with laughter and joy.”

The undertone is clear but unnecessary. She’s warning me away from the dark god. As if I would be that stupid.

I give her a nod. “I don’t need a man for that life,” I say aloud.

She smiles at me. “No. You don’t.” She hands me a canvas bag. “Some clothes and other supplies.”

“Thank you.”

Fliora hugs me again. When she finally pulls away, tears are rolling down her cheeks. “Will you visit?”

“You want me to?”

She nods, and my chest tightens. “Yes. When all of this is done, I’ll visit.”

Her eyes suddenly lighten, her head tilting unnaturally. “You need to take the horses.”

I stare at her. “We are.”

“Not now. Later. When you think you shouldn’t take them, you’re wrong. They have to go too.” Her eyes clear, and she frowns.

“A hint of your mother’s sight,” Yalanda murmurs. “A gift.”

My eyes are hot as Calysian and I leave Ferelith behind, and neither of us talk, so it takes me a couple of hours to realize he’s in a dark mood. When I finally glance at him, he’s practically seething, his jaw tight.

“What’s wrong with you?”

His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on his reins, but he still doesn’t look at me. The air around me turns cold, and I shiver. “A quiet life with laughter and joy? That’s what she wished for you? With an imaginary handsome man to provide it for you?”

“Uh—”

“You would want such a life?”

“A joy-filled life?” I stare at him. “It sounds a lot better than the life I’ve lived so far.”

He nudges Fox into a trot. “Forget it. We need to move faster.”

Hope picks up her pace without me needing to cue her, and I scowl at Calysian. “Is this the grimoire? Is it already changing you?”

His brows slam down. “No.”

The path narrows, and I roll my eyes, falling behind him. I know enough from studying the map to tell we’ll soon be leaving Sylvarin and reaching disputed territory.

To many people, the territory west of the Lacana Mountains isn’t disputed at all—the mountains providing a clear border between the kingdoms of Sylvarin and Telanthris. But to Vicana, the territory is, and always has been, part of Sylvarin.

What little I know about the territory is thanks to Lonn. He would read aloud from history books occasionally while we ate lunch on the ship. Together, we’d spoken of the places we wanted to go. The things we wanted to see.

And if I choose to believe Kyldare, Lonn is dead.

Grief carves a hole in my chest, and for a moment I can’t breathe. Lonn, with his infrequent yet wide smile. Lonn with his sly teasing and love for the early morning hours. Lonn, who insisted I learn to fight with knives when he noticed my overreliance on my sword.