Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I instinctively hold them closer to myself, and Quin gently pulls them to him. It wasn’t a request. He pushes his fingers against one of the braids, grimaces, and starts to undo the fastenings.
“Stop it,” I say.
“They’re biting into your skin.” He continues until both my forearms are bare. He plucks the bejewelled fastenings free and tosses his hair unceremoniously into the fire.
I start with a gasp and lunge to save them—
Quin snatches my hand and pulls it back from the flames. He massages the deep red indents running up my arms. “They were hurting you.”
“They’re our memories!”
Quin pulls at something under his cloak and settles a pouch into my palm. A pebbly weight shifts over my skin and I glance sharply at him; he stares at the pouch as he presses my fingers closed around it.
“A dromveske?” I croak.
“In return.”
I roll my fingers around the runes filling it. There are a lot. I look at him again.
“I made this for you while you were gone,” he says. “They’re safe.”
“You’re giving me your memories?”
“Of us.”
My chest heaves and my throat pinches at his emphasis, his promise. A hot tear threatens to break through my mask. I quickly attach the pouch to my belt. With feigned levity, I toss out, “Well, this certainly beats the fight I thought you brought me here for.”
“I contemplated being upset.”
I drop my smile and nod. “I am sorry about your mother—”
“Not about her. About you risking your life for mine.”
I open my mouth and shut it again. Then open, and frown. “Wait, you’re not upset I gifted your mother to the Skeldar king?”
“Cael!” he says in utter exhaustion, and sighs. Gently, he places the bag buffering us behind the bench, and pats for me to slide closer.
I shakily shift half an inch; Quin slides the rest of the distance and bops my nose with his finger. His voice is rumbly and as warm as the fire before us. “I’m not upset for two reasons. I know that for now she’s safe, with her first love.”
I nod quietly and stare over the flames and the fireflies. “And the other reason?” I murmur.
A braid drifts over my shoulder as he leans in. “I trust you wouldn’t have made the decision easily.”
I turn my face to his, and slowly shake my head. He’s wrong. “It was easy. I always knew who I’d choose.”
“Then you were thinking of the bigger picture.”
I stare into his eyes. My voice breaks, but my gaze does not. “No, I wasn’t.”
His breath suspends and I keep staring at him as flames crackle and fireflies dance in the dark. My heart races, and his stare on mine . . . I glance away into the dark, hoping the night’s cold whispers will wash over my heated cheeks.
Fireflies dart frantically at the sound of approaching footsteps. I’m hopeful for the reprieve they’ll bring.
I’m devastated.
Our time is up.
It’s time for Quin to return to Lumin. Our stolen moment, ending so soon. I barely grasped it.
With a sinking stomach, I stand. Quin clasps me and gently tugs me onto his lap. “Cael . . .” Breathless, I let him steer my face towards his. His hair falls like a curtain either side of us as he cups my face, his thumb brushing over an escaped tear. He leans in to whisper against my mouth, lips combing mine. “I’ll remember this.”
My lips still tingle as Quin pulls away. “Look after my mother.”
I blink and nod, and he leaves me, soaring through the air towards the harbour where his brother waits for him.
I stare in his long-gone direction as I’m escorted back to the castle, to dilapidated quarters that Casimiria and I will share.
I retire to my bed—a mattress on the floor of what might have been a woodshed—and huddle close to my lantern, using its light. The dromveske swings in my fingers.
I swallow hard and tip the contents onto the mattress. Dozens of carved grey and white pebbles spill out, along with some chalk Quin must have pilfered from Yngvarr’s dromveske. And . . . a letter.
I hesitate. This is a farewell of sorts. A memento of a story that has reached its conclusion. To be looked back on fondly, to watch from time to time, to reminisce.
On a shivery breath, I open the letter and read.
The paper falls from my fingers, drifting to the runes scattered across my mattress. Runes that will unmask him. Runes that will tell me the truth, that will help me find . . .
I snap up the stones and chalk.