“No,” I grind out, dipping my quill in the ink again and continuing to scribe my message.
“She’s still here.”
I pause, eyes closing as I release another sigh. Slowly, I set my quill on the desk, lean back in my chair, cross my fucking arms, and give Pyrok my full, undivided attention. Lifting a brow, I wait for him to continue.
“I’ve seen her at the markets.”
I quirk a brow. “Oh?”
He nods. “Buying shit.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. Which he doesn’t.
“Well, what kind of shit?”
He rolls his eyes, like it’s an outrageous question—except it’s not. Not to the organ in my chest that’s far too soft for its own good.
Pyrok begins ticking things off his fingers. “Leather, soap, poultice, towels. She did go to The Curly Quill and waited outside while a kid went in to pick up a bag of something for her, but I can’t tell you what because I can’t see through leather. And I think she bought a sack of feathers from the local goggin bird breeder, but it could’ve been grain.” He shrugs. “I tried to keep my distance.”
I frown, my gaze dropping to the pile of crushed larks while I pick through his words. It sounds to me like she’s settling in, not preparing to leave. Which makes no sense. Unless she’s been … remembering things. Perhaps forming a new attachment to the place.
My chest aches at the thought, and it’s an effort not to groan as I scrub my face again—in desperate need of a bath and maybe a wall to bash my head against.
“Are you attending The Great Flurrt celebrations?” Pyrok asks, and I lean forward, getting to work unfolding the rest of the scrunched larks.
“I’ll be lifting the platforms, of course.”
“I mean the actual festival.”
I quirk a brow, sliding him half the pile. “Have I ever?”
He still makes no move to help, instead narrowing his eyes on me. “You really think now’s the right time to turn all stubborn prick?”
Perfect time, actually.
“The last Great Flurrt we spent together was the last time I saw her alive.” I flatten another lark and slap it on the pile. “We spent the slumber together, and the following dae I flew off to help rebuild a village. The next time I saw Elluin, her limp body was being carted into the sky by her mourning dragon,” I growl, slamming another lark on the fucking pile. “So no, the idea of inviting her to The Great Flurrt celebration doesn’t thrill me, nor will I apologize for my reluctance.”
“Maybe this time will be different?”
I chuckle—low and without humor. “Maybe she’ll fillet my heart in a different direction? Undoubtedly. She’s quite fond of filleting. Quite good at it, too.”
Pyrok sighs, bashing his fist against the arm of his chair. “Look, all I know is I heard her ask a merchant if they’d seen the King around. Do with that as you will,” he mutters, then shoves to a stand and stalks toward the door.
I frown. “Where are you going?”
“To get drunk in Grihm’s suite while I raid his dagger collection,” he drawls, moving through the doorway. “Since he’s probably dead already, the asshole.”
The sound of his boot steps tapers off, and I tip my head, staring at the ceiling.
Fucking … fuck.
Abandoning the larks, I push up and drift toward my balcony doors, pull them wide, then step out into the sun’s harsh glare, overlooking Dhomm and the Loff.
The western point.
I walk all the way to the vine-clothed balustrade, resting my elbows against it, my heart blocking my airway when I see a shape in the distance—right where the water laps at the bouldered shore. Frowning, I stalk into my office and snatch my seeing scope off the desk, then move back onto the balcony and stretch the tool, putting it to my eye and pointing it in the direction of the shape.
My ribs crack at the sight.
Raeve’s stepping from stone to stone—feet bare, hair mostly piled atop her head, her cheeks and shoulders a little sun-kissed. She’s dressed in the short black sleep shift she was wearing when I took her to visit Slátra, one of the thin shoulder straps falling down her arm.
She doesn’t bother to lift it back into place, like she hasn’t even noticed, instead bending down and plucking a shell from between the stones. She inspects it from all angles before placing it in a basket hanging off her arm.
I swallow as she straightens, casting her crisp, glacier eyes toward—
My heart stills.