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The High Prince’s hand rested on his hip as he shook his head low, shoulders tense as they rose. “You punished yourself enough tonight. I will honor that penance. Now, go to bed before you pass out.”

The ice from his words stabbed every last bit of hope she desperately held on to. She said nothing in return because she simply couldn’t form anything but her quickened breaths.

He began moving toward his tent again.

But she couldn’t leave the night this way. Not like this. He had to know that she didn’t mean any of what she’d said. And before her better judgment stopped her, Alora took a hard step forward, boot sliding in the dirt and gravel before her traitorous lips blurted, “I’m sorry.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and voice like shards of ice, he said, “Don’t bother.”

Thunder rattled her tent.Its mighty power not nearly as violent as the throat-tearing screaming before it. The horrific nightmare. It had returned. Causing her to wake in a blazing sweat as rumbling roared outside.

One thing was certain—she wouldn’t find any more sleep tonight. Not after the screaming, not after the bloody hand reached for her and cried out her name through the darkness.

She was blistering-hot even in the chilled night air. Her entire body shook while her heart had taken off with itself.

Lightning illuminated her tent with each strike. She watched, hoping her heavy eyes would return and drift into a calm dream, but after some time, determined it wouldn’t happen. Instead of laying in bed, Alora decided it was the perfect weather to read.

The amethyst glow of the moon shone through the rain that tapped a soothing rhythm on the canvas. It was unnerving in a way. Usually winds of such storms shook the canvas, but this time, it barely moved.

A certain magic in the air, Alora swung her legs over the side before lighting a lantern with a flame on her finger. Feet gently sliding into soft furs, she walked barefoot to her bookshelf. Twirling one toe against the wooden floor, she raked her eyes over the books smelling of leather and metal—Garrik’s scent—until a green book laid in her hand.

Deciding on her bed and massive mounds of pillows instead of her emerald reading chair, she plopped onto the blankets, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, expecting her world to transform in her mind.

But tonight. Her thoughts raced. Rereading the same lines over and over and over.

She’d grown fond of these characters. They were easy to love, and normally when her eyes would glide across the text, she’d follow their story well. An enchanting, winged lover in disguise, found families, and a healing journey. The story had picked up its pace, a heart-pounding, incredible escape from the grasp of an old friend. But tonight, instead of picturing their incredible magic and standoff, she pictured Garrik’s broken face. The betrayal wholly in his eyes.

Alora turned the page absentmindedly, out of habit. Her eyes scanned, wildly hallucinating about the tavern instead. In that page turn, her hand grazed across something coarse.

A small piece of parchment was wedged in the seam. A whorl of shadow misted away from it.

She recognized the scent right away. Metal and leather with the bite of vanilla and oak.

Was it a forgotten place holder from a time when he enjoyed reading?

The paper scratched against her fingers as she marveled at the way the penmanship gracefully flowed across the paper. Although still crafted in artistic curves, lines, and dots, it lacked the luster she’d seen on correspondences, maps, and a once goodnight wish that accompanied her burning Blazebloom.

Her thumb brushed the words, eyes scanning each spot the ink pooled heavily at, as if he’d stopped his quill, waiting to find the words to follow.

You saved my life today. Why?

Alora ran her fingers across the ink. The burned-out hovel narrowed in her vision. The way Garrik’s ears had bled. The way his body burst with veins as he screamed and unleashed his power.

The way his face turned blue as she sucked the air from the room.

The question struck her like a damning blow in the arena. One she could’ve anticipated but was too distracted to counteract as it slammed into her chest.

“How could I not try? I couldn’t lose … the both of you.” Alora closed the book with a thump and set it beside her on a pillow. Pulling her excruciatingly sore muscles, her knees bent to herchest, and she wrapped her arms around them. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to stream down her cheeks.

At least he was speaking to her—sort of.

Another note drifted from Smokeshadows above her head. Weaving through the air like a feather falling.

You are right. You do not require my aid. I was

—the ink on the page pooled heavily again?—

afraid of