Page 72 of A Promise so Bold and Broken

Opening her mouth, she screamed her devastation across the darkening reflection of the sky.

Lessia screamed for her mother, for her useless death, for the regret that she’d never be able to rid herself of, until her throat was raw.

She cursed the gods.

She cursed fate.

She cursed every single decision that had led her to this moment.

And most of all, she cursed herself.

Out of breath, she fell to her knees and slammed her hands against the hard rocks, glad when they pierced her skin and blood began staining the gray stone.

What was the point?

What was the point of all this pain?

What was the point of it all?

The gods’ gifts were supposed to be the foundation a Fae needed to wander the path to their fate.

But hers?

Her “gift”?

It was poison.

It was cursed.

It might not have ultimately killed her mother, not in the way she thought it had her sister, but given what her father had said, it had surely shortened her life.

And ithadbeen directly responsible for the disaster with Loche.

While fury—white-hot fury—built within her, golden light cast back from Ydren’s scales as she swam by, and Lessia blinked hard to repress the magic brightening her eyes, her nails pressing into her palms as she stared at the large wyvern.

Ydren had swum by a few times in the hour or so Lessia had stood atop the cliff, and she was sure the wyvern reported her whereabouts to Raine and the others.

Perhaps she’d even reported that Lessia had screamed and screamed and screamed at the sky until her voice drifted away like the mist floating atop the waves in the distance.

But so far, they’d left her alone.

She guessed Merrick might have stopped anyone who’d thought of checking up on her, and a tiny ember of gratitude wrangled with the rage pressing on her chest for the Death Whisperer.

Watching Ydren as she sailed through the water, droplets trickling down her long neck like heavy teardrops gliding down a child’s cheek, Lessia thought again on the strange path her life had taken her.

It had been filled with darkness and sorrow and fear, yes.

But then more faces joined Merrick’s in her mind—Amalise and Ardow, Kalia and the children, Soria and Pellie, her family and even Loche, although shadows still mingled with his hard features—and she realized there was light as well.

She’d been happy.

Up until her twelfth year, she’d been more than happy.

And after that…

She’d found friends.

Unlikely, strange friendships that still managed to warm a small part of her chest.

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