Feyre wore quite the number to dinner two days after our little heart-to-heart. And I wasn’t sorry she did.
I only saw her in the evenings. When I’d come visit her room with Amren to debrief the day’s meetings and check-in on where we stood with the Book of Breathings. Feyre had found nothing thus far and Varian’s commentary on armada fleets was still dry as toast.
But the meetings kept Feyre free of Tarquin - and Cresseida, who watched her like a hawk. We seemed to have come to some sort of mutual understanding since I’d snapped in her bedroom and Feyre didn’t seem to mind so much how much time I kept with Cresseida just as I didn’t mind so much when Tarquin’s gaze consumed her over dinner.
It was simply work now. Even the delicate, smokey grey dress hugging Feyre tightly as the gift from Tarquin she’d shown me wrapped a pretty little bow around her neck on full display. All of it work.
I’d been taking meetings with Tarquin and his family when a soft knock tapped on my shields, a knock that carried the pine and sunshine of Feyre with it. I offered her a sliver to curl her fingers into and received a brief vision of an old, tired building out on a tiny island of sand half buried by the tide. That was all she handed over before she slipped outside again and I knew.
She’d found where the Book of Breathings was hidden - or at least, where she thought it was.
And Nuala had certainly done her job well helping Feyre to confirm it. Tarquin had looked smug every time he admired the jewels glittering around her throat over cocktails and appetizers infused by the sea.
But I had a feeling Feyre wouldn’t have needed the necklace, nor the dress. She was a marvel all through dinner on her own, dancing past Cresseida’s frosty exterior until it had melted into a cool regard, as well as Varian’s feeble attempts at biting back commentary in all the wrong places. And the stories she wove about her day in the city were smooth and well inflected enough that Tarquin was charmed before he’d finished his first glass of wine.
I was charmed just watching her orchestrate it all. She was so focused now that she’d scented blood in the water.
“You ate it right there,” Tarquin said, complete surprise when Feyre revealed she’d eaten fish straight from the docks that day. Her face was all aglow. Tarquin may have wanted to marry her right then.
I suppressed a sigh.
Soon we’d get the book. Soon we’d betray these kind, welcoming people and repay their hospitality with lies and grievances. I hoped very much - for their sake - that Feyre didn’t fail getting in and out of that house out to sea undetected.
I leaned forward instead, chin on my fist as I rejected dinner altogether to listen. Feyre was much more delicious anyway. “They fried it with the other fishermen’s lunches,” Feyre said proudly. “Didn’t charge me extra for it.” Tarquin roared with laughter.
“I can’t say I’ve ever done that - sailor or no.”
“You should. It was delicious.”
“Well, maybe I’ll go tomorrow. If you’ll join me.”
This time, I didn’t mind so much when Feyre smiled at him, her grin stretching ear to ear. She’d told me this was difficult on her. It was difficult for me too. And the smiles... maybe I had been too caught up in them to realize she felt the weights of this mission as keenly as I did.
And even if it was for another male or for work or just for the hell of it, what did it matter? Feyre was radiant. And I hadn’t given her enough credit in this. That should have been enough.
Feyre was also acutely nervous. I returned to my plate, eyeing a particularly fat prawn with more interest than was strictly necessary.
“I’d like that,” Feyre told Tarquin. She meant the words a great deal. And yet - “Perhaps we could go for a walk in the morning down the causeway when the tide is out. There’s that little building along the way - it looks fascinating.”
My eyes reached up only long enough to note the immediate exchange Tarquin held with Cresseida, who almost forgot to finish bringing her fork all the way to her mouth.
Feyre had found the first half of the Book indeed, it seemed.
“It’s a temple ruin,” Tarquin said - bored. “Just mud and seaweed at this point. We’ve been meaning to repair it for years.” I cut into my prawns carefully.
Set Nuala and Cerridwen within the castle to check rotations and layout. Amren and Feyre could monitor the perimeter. I’d circle above to check the turrets and towers.
My mind was already ablaze on instinct with strategy, years of finishing one war only to prepare for the next.
“Maybe we’ll take the bridge then,” Feyre offered. I’ve had enough of mud for a while.”
Tarquin’s eyes narrowed. And so too, did Varian’s.
I slid my claws along the interior of Varian’s and Cresseida’s minds and was startled to feel Feyre do the same to Tarquin, her mental shields breaking as she fixed her concentration solely on the Lord of Summer.
Varian and Cresseida’s barriers were like sand - densely packed, but easy to mold and sculpt with a little moisture misting over it. Their dinner plates and recollections of today’s meetings suddenly became fascinating as I gave a gentle, suggestive squeeze inside their minds - one I could regret later.
It was a good thing taking care of the siblings was so easy. Feyre was quite the distraction herself. She slipped inside of Tarquin’s mind like a glove, her fingers flexing and pulling inside the sleeves as she impressed him with his own aura of sea and sun. Until Feyre nearly was Tarquin - even felt like him across our bond. Her scents born of spring and earth were suddenly gone, replaced by Tarquin’s distinctive notes.
Years.
Centuries.
It should have taken centuries to whizz about inside his mind and reorder the thoughts and sentences to her liking before she slipped out unnoticed as she did tonight. Tarquin gave her a lazy, reverent smile. “We’ll meet after breakfast,” he said. “Unless Rhysand wants me for more meetings.”
Cauldron, he really had no idea what Feyre had just done.
She was - I didn’t know what Feyre was anymore. Any number of adjectives didn’t seem capable of describing her in person or in powers.
I waved a hand, ignoring that Cresseida and Varian still hadn’t stirred from their meals. “By all means, Tarquin, spend the day with my lady.”
I didn’t need to be jealous anymore. Feyre was on the hunt and she’d scented blood. She ignored my little remark and looked to Tarquin cooly, batting her eyes and purring like a queen.
“Tell me what there is to see on the mainland.”
Tarquin forgot all about the little shack on the causeway.
I almost did too.
“What a fast learner you are,” I crooned in Feyre’s doorway, after the servants and members of the palace had all retired for the evening. “It takes most daemati years to master that sort of infiltration.”
Feyre’s face pinched from where she lay back on the bed, torn between pride and guilt. “You knew - that I did it?” she asked.
I affirmed that I did. “And what expert work you did, using the essence of him to trick his shields, to get past them... Clever lady.” I wondered what essence of myself she could use to fool me. What Feyre might do if she sent a dream mighty enough to the stars for reply.
“He’ll never forgive me.” Her voice was barely audible. She was watching me squarely, waiting for a reprieve or a damnation.
“He’ll never know. You get used to it. The sense that you’re crossing a boundary, that you’re violating them. For what it’s worth, I didn’t particularly enjoy convincing Varian and Cresseida to find other matters more interesting.” Her head lolled to the side and I sagged slightly against the threshold. She should be proud of what she’d done - despite the repercussions. “If you hadn’t taken care of Tarquin, the odds are we’d be knee-deep in shit right now.”
“It was my fault, anyway - I was the one who asked about the temple. I was only cleaning up my own mess.” Her face again pinched as she swiveled her head from side to side.
Was that what this was about? Residual guilt over whose fault it was? My stomach clenched, tinging with worry. Keeping Tarquin from the truth that could damn or save both our courts was a far cry from slaughtering innocent fae for the sake of an evil bitch’s evening entertainment.
“It never does,” I admitted. “Or it shouldn’t. Far too many daemati lose that sense. But here - tonight... the benefits outweighed the costs.”
“Is that also what you told yourself when you went into my mind? What was the benefit then?”
She sat up and waited for me to reply. Concerned, but... not quite so much for where we stood so much as where her own moral compass drew its lines.
Honesty. A little at a time. That was all Amren and Mor had asked of me, and it had worked for Feyre and I on this trip so far - to an extent.
I could offer a little more.
Pushing off the door, I held Feyre’s gaze as I walked softly to the bed and sat next to her. It was the most comfortable things had felt between us since we’d arrived. That made the discourse easier. “There are parts of your mind I left undisturbed, things that belong solely to you, and always will. And as for the rest...” Her chest rose, waiting.
Just a little more...
My mind went rigid at those memories, those empty days and lonely nights she’d spent in the manor of Tamlin’s court. But I could do it. I could tell her how I felt. “You scared the shit out of me for a long while, Feyre. Checking in that way... I couldn’t very well stroll into the Spring Court and ask how you were doing, could I?” She held absolutely immovable, and then heard Amren’s approach at the same time I did. It wasn’t long enough to gauge what she thought, but I wouldn’t let her go all the same. “I’ll explain the rest some other time.”
My Second pushed through the door nonchalantly and owned Feyre’s bed as she climbed atop. “It seems like a stupid place to hide a book,” she said, no preamble. We might have been chatting about needlework or some such sport for all she cared.
“And the last place one would look,” I said. I stood, letting Amren take my spot while I sat by the window. The sea sparkled behind me in greeting amid the waiting moonlight. Perhaps this would be the last I’d see of Adriata for a long while. I silently asked the stars that gleamed above that sea for the opposite. “They could spell it easily enough against wet and decay. A place only visible for brief moments throughout the day - when the land around it is exposed for all to see? You could not ask for a better place. We have the eyes of thousands watching us.”
“So how do we get in?” Feyre asked.
“It’s likely warded against winnowing. I won’t risk tripping any alarms by trying. So we go in at night, the old-fashioned way. I can carry you both, then keep watch.”
“Such gallantry,” Amren said, “to do the easy part, then leave us helpless females to dig through the mud and seaweed.”
“Someone needs to be circling high enough to see anyone approaching - or sound the alarm. And masking you from sight.”
Much as I worried for alerting Tarquin, that I might never make it back to this city on friendly turns, Amren’s quick wit had me missing home - missing my friends. It would be equal parts burden and freedom to remove ourselves from Tarquin’s shining seaside palace.
Feyre too seemed to share that worry. She looked the most tense I’d seen her all week during out stay. “The locks respond to his touch; let’s hope they respond to mine.”
They will , I thought, thinking of how easily Tarquin himself had bent to a single caress from Feyre over dinner. I wasn’t worried about Feyre anymore. It was the rest of the court who worried me.
Suddenly, I longed for the freedom of the skies.
“When do we move?” Amren asked.
I was about to jest that we should do it now, just so I could get out of this palace for a few hours to clear my head. But Feyre seemed to know just what I had in mind, answering first, “Tomorrow night. We note the guard’s rotation tonight at low tide - figure out where the watchers are. Who we might need to take out before we make our move.”
“You think like an Illyrian,” I said, gaping a bit.
“I believe that’s supposed to be a compliment,” Amren added. I snorted. Yes, I was very much looking forward to returning home to our family, where Amren’s sharp tongue was hissing at Cassian and Azriel instead of me (most of the time).
I stood, and enjoyed the cool release of Night air under my skin as I anticipated the next several hours of work under the thought of home . “Nuala and Cerridwen are already on the move inside the castle. I’ll take to the skies. The two of you should go for a midnight walk - considering how hot it is.” Feyre gave me a sharp, battle ready look. Dangerously anxious - but excited.
It was the last thing I saw as I slipped outside into the seaside darkness and took to the skies.
I was selfishly fortunate that I did not have to endure Tarquin’s charms for the majority of the day. And that Cresseida and Varian were easier to trade jabs with and ignore.
Feyre came back when the sun was highest, looking haunted, but managed to keep up her spirits reasonably well through dinner, even as Tarquin continued to wish her well and express his sorrow we were departing on the morrow. Sorrow that was real and genuine, my gut realized, twisting in horror.
He pulled me aside in the middle of drinks afterward, and I felt like I could have been sick listening to him look out at his city the way I sometimes stared at Velaris from the House of Wind or my townhouse roof. He wanted an alliance. And freedom for not only his people, but all of Prythian.
My blood raced and I had to settle my heartbeat, lest he hear it quickening in my chest. I could have asked him then... Asked for the Book, and kept Feyre and Amren from such enormous risk the following day, but...
Tarquin’s focus was his court in front of him, those shops and towns and boats surrounding the sea. He was the same High Lord that I was - nothing if not dedicated. Which meant there was no guarantee he wouldn’t sell us out or accidentally let slip the information I’d be forced to give up in order to freely acquire his half of the book, and that was decidedly the one thing I could not do. It risked far, far too much.
So I focused on Feyre, keeping her upright when Tarquin kissed her cheek before bed. His eyes were so light, merry. Like he trusted us.
Feyre and Amren met in my room, dressed in fighting leathers and adorned with knives the way High Fae wore their jewels. We barely spoke. Nuala and Cerridwen had already departed. Azriel likely knew by now to expect us.
Casting my glamor over the three of us, we left the palace of Adriata in the still of night one final time, knowing we would not be back. Only the sound of the restless waves below and my wings tormenting the air behind us broke that icy silence we flew through.
Gently, I let Amren and Feyre down at the little temple out to sea, squeezing Feyre’s hand before letting go: Don’t get caught, but please be safe.
I didn’t have to tell Amren to do the same for Feyre in return.
I waited several long minutes in the sky, circling overhead. The guards stationed about the palace didn’t so much as look in my direction as I kept watch.
Below, Feyre and Amren were quiet.
But the bond was alive with restless energy - one I didn’t recognize or understand. It drove me insane waiting.
Feyre.
Amren.
The Book.
My court.
Prythian .
The names of places and players traded stations of importance like a shuffling dance the longer the temple door remained shut. My insides tensed, but the guards never moved. Not once.
The Book. We had to get the Book. It contained everything. It was worth Tarquin’s wrath if we had to betray him. To save Prythian with it, to keep Velaris safe...
Anything. I’d do anything to make sure Amren got Feyre out with that book alive. Anything to -
The sea shifted - all at once in a great sweeping wave that seemed to move backwards from its natural tide. And promptly collapsed in a great heap upon the little temple that sent a wave of pure, carnal power radiating outward toward the city, searching...
I felt it hit me, the weight of it dragging me down out of the air, alerting me to the threat swimming about within the four stone walls below.
Danger , it said. Thieves .
I moved just as the first guard called out on the topmost palace tower. Another scurried down the bridge way, heading for a door. My wings tucked in and I shot down, an arrow piercing through the air, before landing and connecting with the side of the guard’s head against my bare knuckles.
Two more guards flanked me on either side as the first sentinel went down. One seemed to take a step back as he spotted the wings looming behind me, eyes blown wide. The other drew his sword and lunged, begging his brother to join him in the fray. Knife in hand, I slashed back and disarmed them both without much thought, my senses suddenly on overdrive, hands and muscles moving of their own accord.
And it felt good , the power in those fists. One I hadn’t truly touched in a very long while.
Why had I delayed getting back in the ring with Cassian? With Azriel? This was easy . The only thing in life that was. This - I was born for this.
Another wave of power crested against the palace, this time angrier than the last and just as urgent.
I flew from station to station casting swords aside and bringing guard upon guard down, savoring the feel of their blood curdling at the sight of me if it kept the guilt from Tarquin discovering my work from coming.
But where was Feyre and Amren? Where was the Book ?
That little door in the sea remained shut. But the sea thrashed about more and more intensely with each body that fell to my command.
A third wave of warning hit as motion to my right caught my attention. A guard lunging for the doorway inside. I landed, the ground cracking like veined marble beneath my feet, and twisted the man’s arm back so painfully he cried out and lost his concentration. He fell to the floor unharmed, but unconscious.
My heart was pounding in my chest. Bodies. Too many bodies and not enough Feyre, Amren .
Horror struck me down where I stood, rooted to the spot. Though there was no blood, I’d made a mistake. Tarquin would need only see the fallen to know what had transpired against him. My stomach knotted. We wouldn’t even be able to leave a word of goodbye like this.
Why hadn’t I just broken into their minds? Held the palace in ignorance rather than fight them all off?
Because you’re a fool, that’s why. A fool who has forgotten how to trade one weapon for another.
A flash of metal through the air caught my sight, and I was on the verge of attacking once more when - there. I felt it. Relief and freedom. Fresh air pouring into Feyre’s lungs as she hit the surface and swam for her life.
I followed the bond through the air until I found her and Amren pulling themselves on the shore. Behind me, the guard I left behind shouted and disappeared inside.
Too late now.
My leathers groaned tightly all around me as I landed on the sand in front of Feyre and Amren, who were drenched head to toe and looked like they’d just emerged from hell itself. “What are you two doing?” I asked, unable to make sense of what had happened in the absence of that bond.
The Book was nowhere in sight.
Amren sat up and almost spat at my feet in the sand. “Where the hell were you?”
I gaped at her. “You two set off every damned trigger in the place. I was hunting down each guard who went to sound the alarm. I thought you had it covered.”
Her eyes turned to slits. “That place ,” she hissed at me, “or that damned book, nearly nullified my powers. We almost drowned.”
Drowned. They’d come this close to death and I... I hadn’t even known. I looked sharply to Feyre, feeling like I could fall over. “I didn’t feel it through the bond-”
“It probably nullified that, too, you stupid bastard,” Amren said, venom dripping off her tongue.
Shit.
Cassian was right. I was rusty. Very rusty.
“Did you get it?” I asked, my question directed specifically to Feyre. I’d deal with my own ineptitude later. She merely tapped her chest where a small, indiscernible lump lay hidden. Shouting taunted me from the palace. “Good,” I said, reaching out and grabbing the pair of them off the floor. Feyre still hadn’t said anything, but she looked alarmed at how quickly I moved, taking in the activity at the palace. “I missed some guards,” I mumbled tightly and winnowed.
Winnowed far, far away where the truth would catch up with me soon enough.
The townhouse was a welcome sight. Even Cassian’s cursing as Feyre and Amren toppled together onto the carpet, a mess of sand and sea and storm.
“What the hell?” My general shot up out of his chair at the dining table, Mor and Az right behind him looking stunned. This wasn’t the welcome home they had planned, surely.
“I’m waiting for an explanation too,” I said, feeling hot, and coming around to survey Amren and Feyre properly now that there was decent light.
Amren looked less than pleased as she ignored me, and gaped at Feyre. “How?”
Feyre blew out a stream of air. “During the Tithe, the water-wraith emissary said they had no gold, no food to pay. They were starving. So I gave her some of my jewelry to pay her dues. She swore that she and her sisters would never forget the kindness.”
It made no sense. Absolutely no sense, even as I sniffed and could just pickup the lightest notes of the wraiths on Feyre’s skin where they must have pulled her to freedom in the sea.
Feyre, for her part, looked like she might be slightly sick just thinking on it.
“Can someone explain, please?” Mor said. Amren chuckled, wholly at Feyre.
“What?” Feyre was squinting at her.
“Only an immortal with a mortal heart would have given one of those horrible beasts the money. It’s so...” Human . She laughed - hoarsely, but a laugh all the same. Amren rarely bothered. “Whatever luck you live by, girl... thank the Cauldron.”
Feyre considered what Amren had said for a moment before her lips twitched, and a chuckle was birthed between them. A chuckle that quickly grew into a full, rich, exasperated laugh shared only between the two of them. They fell back onto the carpet.
Mor, for once, did not look inclined to join in on the private joke. Azriel’s shadows were flying in and out of him, bees relaying honey - or death? - to their master. I looked at Cassian, and he shrugged.
It is what it is, Rhys .
I sighed and suddenly realized how exhausted I was. And if I knew Tarquin as the High Lord I suspected he was, further unpleasantries were on the horizon. “Ladies,” I said. Feyre and Amren ceased their cackling at once. They found themselves cleaned via Amren’s magic by the time we joined our party at the table.
Feyre stood upright as she reached inside her chest pocket and pulled out a small, metal box that clattered in ancient warning against the table. Everyone stared.
“One last task, Feyre.” Only her eyes moved to spot me motioning. “Unlock it, please.”
She sank into a chair, her hands shaking a little as she placed them on the table. I could have sworn the box almost jumped at the sudden nearness of her power, it was so alive. So aware .
Feyre’s lips pursed, a sly brow going steadily up after a heartbeat had passed, and she said to no one in particular, “Hello.” No one - except the box. “No,” came her next reply - curling and curious and distinctly other .
The power thrumming through the room was obvious, but it fell upon my ears as though muffled, Feyre the only channel to understanding it. Her hand laid flat on the lid. “Please,” she said. Nothing happened. Feyre’s fingers pressed tightly. “Open.”
I would have drawn a deep breath if I’d thought it wouldn’t disturb her process. Whatever was going on inside that Book’s mind, I didn’t like what it foretold.
As quickly as the box had appeared from Feyre’s pockets, it opened with a sudden click . Feyre sat back at once. “I never want to hear that voice again,” Cassian said darkly.
“Well, you will,” I replied, the only one willing to reach out and remove the lid. “Because you’re coming with us to see those mortal queens as soon as they deign to visit.”
Feyre sagged further in her chair. But her gaze remained sharp, as did we all when the lid was gone and the stone tablets within that dingy little box were revealed. Amren sat bolt upright, her face made of stone.
The plates were carved in an ancient language. None of us touched them. Even just looking at the lines of script none could read felt like a violation. Heat raced through me from a mere glance at the first word - a silent warning of intrusion.
Was this what it had felt like when Feyre had to trick Tarquin’s mind? The wards around the temple? The Book itself? Dark and foreign and unwelcome?
“What language is that?” Mor dared to ask. I didn’t have to answer for Amren who rattled like a snake staring dumbfounded - and maybe even a bit afraid .
“It is no language of this world,” she said, her voice quiet.
Azriel matched her pace. “What is it, then?”
“It is the Leshon Kaodesh. The Holy Tongue.” Her eyes were shining. It seemed I’d chosen well to keep this secret from her. Had the Book been a failure in this regard, the devastation for Amren would have likely destroyed her.
Gently, bracing her for the full realization that her freedom was at her fingertips, I spoke, “I heard a legend that it was written in a tongue of mighty beings who feared the Cauldron’s power and made the Book to combat it. Mighty beings who were here... and then vanished. You are the only one who can uncode it.”
“Don’t play those sort of games, Rhysand.” Mor’s warning was not a joke. I shook her off.
“Not a game. It was a gamble that Amren would be able to read it - and a lucky one.” Amren’s eyes sharpened, finding me with nostrils flaring, braced to attack. I wondered that smoke didn’t pour forth from them. So much emotion boiling inside the one who pretended to feel so little. I smiled. “I thought, too,” I carefully explained as Amren studied me and debated whether or not she’d enjoy slashing my throat or ripping out my heart more, “that the Book might also contain the spell to free you - and send you home. If they were the ones who wrote it in the first place.”
Amren didn’t move. Not one single inch.
“Shit,” Cassian swore.
“I did not tell you my suspicions, because I did not want to get your hopes up. But if the legends about the language were indeed right... Perhaps you might find what you’ve been looking for, Amren.”
Finally, she spoke, but her voice was chained to death. “I need the other piece before I can begin decoding it.”
I nodded. Anything she needed. “Hopefully our request to the mortal queens will be answered soon.” My eyes fell on the carpet - stained with sand and salt and water. Another dark blot to fall on the pages of history from my court. “And hopefully the next encounter will go better than this one.”
That lit the fire back inside Amren. “Thank you,” she said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she did not speak again for some time - to anyone.
Mor gave a dramatic sigh and the tension in the room cracked. “So what the hell happened exactly? I’m not exactly sure how water wraiths resulted in all this mess.” Her chuckle was half-hearted, broken off by Azriel’s musing interruption.
“Even if the book can nullify the Cauldron... there’s Jurian to contend with.” Mor again looked as uneasy as the rest of us. “That’s the piece that doesn’t fit. Why resurrect him in the first place? And how does the king keep him bound? What does the king have over Jurian to keep him loyal?”
A sly shadow snaked along Azriel’s arm, disappearing at the fingertip he tapped along the wood grain of the dining table. I wondered if it didn’t disappear inside that metal box still sitting untouched.
Finally, I sat. “I’d considered that,” I admitted. “Jurian was... obsessive in his pursuits of things.” Selfish. “He died with many of those goals left unfinished.”
Mor leveled a flat stare at me. “If he suspects Miryam is alive-”
“Odds are, Jurian believes Miryam is gone. And who better to raise his former lover than a king with a Cauldron able to resurrect the dead?” Mor looked away, blinking back a near groan.
Cassian braced himself against the table, his hands landing well away from the Book. “Would Jurian ally with Hybern just because he thinks Miryam is dead and wants her back?”
I looked at Feyre, who sat quietly by taking every word in. I doubted she knew any of the story, but she was already familiar enough with it. Azriel hadn’t needed to send word of Tamlin after two days in the Summer Court, but I wouldn’t doubt he’d do anything to get back the woman he loved if he thought it within the realm of possibility. Especially when it was with meFeyre now resided.
Jurian would be no different.
“He’d do it to get revenge on Drakon for winning her heart,” I said. At least Tamlin wouldn’t have that exact problem. I gritted my teeth. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Feyre found me watching her from across the table. She looked as tired as I felt, but there was something there considering me in that gaze. Something quiet and steadfast.
Her chin dipped almost imperceptible, and I felt a smooth, soothing stroke along my adamant walls requesting access: To the dreams that are answered , she told me, and was gone.
I followed her across the bridge, melting into the touch I applied wishing it were her skin. I was so tired. But she’d made all of this worth it.
To the huntresses who remember to reach back for those less fortunate I breathed to her, and water wraiths who swim very, very fast.