Page 260 of A Dance of Water

"Make way for King Vale’s return!" Bastian bellowed, voice echoing off the stone walls.

The crowd parted with a low cheer, leaving a perfect, narrow path.

He snapped his reins and rode again.

Soon, every block of the city whispered of the King’s early return from the Temples. Gossip filled the air.

Perhaps Vale was right in his plan to carry on as normal—they were cutting it too close already by returning earlier than normal. Usually, the King would journey back from the Temples at dawn, returning to the castle just before the start of the final ball.

They were nearly an entire day early—a dangerous deviation from tradition.

Set into the very top of the mountain, the castle loomed. Blue banners, inlaid with gold, fluttering in the wind. It was picking up.

Bastian’s eyes stung from the frigid gusts, and he chanced a look at the sky, noting the dark, foreboding mass of clouds, roiling, growing. In the far distance, so far that even his vampiric eyesstrained to make it out, the mass of clouds seemed to converge—right over the spot he knew Luella rode with Vale.

His eyes widened.

He twisted in the saddle, frantic to part the way for her.

"Make way for the King!" Bastian called, over and over, even though the streets were already clear, word of Vale’s arrival spreading like wildfire.

Would he be fast enough?

79

HEALING HER

THAREN

Tharen’s shoulders knocked against the stone of the thin servants’ passage. He growled, turning his body so he could fit.

Fuck,fuck!

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The sense of doom in his gut was suffocating.

Finally, the path twisted down and around. He knew he was nearing his apothecary, where it was nestled deep within the castle.

The call in his soul roared with pain and urgency, driving him faster through the narrow corridor. He had to get back to her.

Tharen knew she was giving in to the pain—just as he knew he could never run from her.

He shoved the small, hidden doorway to the side, grunting as the stone slid away, revealing the dim mess of his apothecary.

"What…" The mage’s lip curled at the sight before him.

Ransacked.

Scrolls were strewn across the floor, books splayed out in disarray.

Tharen walked into the room, unsheathing one of the swords crossed over his back and holding it before him. He did not quiet his steps. If someone was hiding, he wanted to be known. Wanted whoever dared to break into his apothecary to know that their time waslimited.

He let his Spirit magic seep into the air, eyes lighting with an unnaturally light blue as he swept the room for hints of an aura.

Nothing.

It was bare.

And that made his hackles rise.

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