Page 117 of A Dance of Water

Vale’s voice cut through the roar of rain: "Up ahead!"

"Stop by the tree line. Tie your leads off there!" She heard Tharen’s answering yell.

Luella didn’t hear Az or Bastian but knew they were right by her side, could feel the short length of the threads making her aware of their location. She was more in tune with their bond without her sight, as if the threads sought to aid her vulnerability.

In her mind, they were different…

A strong golden thread tightly wrapped around her soul led toher right, where she envisioned Az, horns poking through the hood of his cloak as his large hands wrapped around his reins, the horse skittish underneath him. The thread between her and Bastian was fragile but somehow grew stronger with every gift he left her, every gentle word and soothing touch.

The thread to the raven shifter behind her was tinged in darkness, not a bright gold, but muted.

And up ahead, where the Prima and the King led their odd procession, those threads were frayed and weak, poised to snap at a moment’s notice. She ached at the thought, her soul yearning for the blossoming of the threads.

Graves tugged back on the reins, forcing the horse to come to a stop.

His hands left her as he dismounted, and she squeezed her thighs together as the horse shifted, feeling alone and scared.

"Hop down. I’ve got you." Graves placed a hand on her thigh and banded his arm around her waist, helping her down.

She stumbled when her feet hit the ground, thighs sore, and backside achy from the long ride. Her boots sank into mud and puddles of water, squelching and sticking when she tried to take a step. Over the rain, she heard the others as they talked, boots thumping on the wet earth and the faint nickering of the horses.

They must have stopped somewhere under a thick cover of trees, for the air was not heavy with the fall of rain but merely damp with humidity. She turned her face up, her hood falling back to her shoulders. A faint drizzle hazed over her skin. The silk of her blindfold was wet when she touched it, the edges sticking to her temples uncomfortably, along with her wet hair.

Graves’s hand was still on her waist, and he led her away from the horse, steering her as he saw fit. Her steps were hesitant, and she held a hand before her, feeling the air.

The masculine voices grew louder, coming to a halt when Graves commanded her to stop.

"Luella, about your dreams," said Vale. "Tharen has had an idea."

"What idea?" she asked, terrified of what Tharen might have conjured up.

A stir in the air, a presence right before her. She flinched back into Graves’s chest.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoed by three crashes of lightning.

Tharen’s snowy scent drowned out the petrichor that permeated the forest air. "An amulet," the mage announced. A hand brushed back her wet hair where it hung over her shoulders, and she shivered from his touch, senses heightened by her lack of sight. "I’ve enchanted the stone with marks to help the wearer remember their dreams."

Something cold and delicate touched her collarbones. Tharen reached around her neck, calloused fingers brushing her skin as a soft chain clasped around her neck. She reached up and touched the stone gently, feeling the smooth edges encased in a weave of what felt like delicate metal. It was small and warm to the touch. The metal webbing around the stone reminded her of Graves’s amulet—the purple stone held in a silver cage.

Her mind was stuck on Tharen’s words. "How can this amulet help me remember my dreams?"

"The marks aid in accessing your subconscious mind and allow for memory enhancement." Tharen’s tone was filled with confidence.

"It’s warm," she whispered, fingers wrapping around the stone. "What does it look like?"

"The stone is blue, and the chain is silver." His hand took hers and forced her to trace over the metal webbing, following the chain where it rested over her chest and up to the sensitive skin of her neck.

It felt beautiful.

"Where did you get it?"

"I made it," Tharen replied simply.

"Oh," she breathed, feeling out of sorts he would craft something for her.

"Metalwork is something I enjoy. Don’t read into it," the mage snapped, pulling away from her quickly.

Graves tightened his hand on her waist.