Page 197 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Will you?”
“Fair point.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry, Caer.”
“I’m not,” he said. “At least you won’t be in any danger, now.”
“I’m in more danger than ever!” Her throat went raw. “It’s already over for me if something happens to you, don’t you understand? I might as well die when you die because I’m dead anyway!”
“Ais, you’re going to live forever—”
“And I’ll miss you every second of it!”
Caer stilled, his jaw tight. Without another word, he drew Aislinn into his arms, his hands on her back, shielded by her hair. “A dangerous vow to make, Princess. I wouldn’t want you held to it. I’d prefer you to be happy.”
“I can’t make that vow,” she murmured against his chest. “So please don’t ask it of me.”
“I won’t, cariad. I promise.”
She wasn’t familiar with the word, but she liked how it sounded, lilting and soft. “Cariad,” she started, “what does it mean?”
“Darling,” he said, “beloved.Dearest.”
“It’s prettier, the way you say it.”
“Then I shall whisper it to no one else,” he promised. “For as long as I live, I am yours. And you are mine, Ais. We don’t need a spell to prove it.”
Maybe,she thought.But I might need one to keep you here.
Theyslept,theyate,they planned. Juliana contacted the knights in the city and informed them of the plan. Caer practised his magic on Dillon. Hawthorn and Beau flexed their magic. Flora pilfered supplies. Aislinn sparred with anyone that would have her, before collapsing in the corner to sharpen knives. Her mother joined her, and they both said nothing as they worked.
Time sped forward, slowly, endlessly, exponentially.
Aeron’s deadline loomed.
The company lapsed into silence.
They had been filling their time with preparation, refusing to look at the time, to stop, to think, to wonder if they’d ever see the dawn again or if they should say something to their loved ones. Aislinn had caught Luna talking to Dillon, lamenting the fact she couldn’t go and see her family for fear they might turn them in.
“I don’tthinkthey would,” she’d whispered, voice hoarse. “But I know we can’t risk it.”
No one wanted to risk it—no one wanted to risk saying anything that might sound like goodbye.
Minerva’s metal fingers strummed on the table.
“You know,” said Bell brightly, “we haven’t played a game of Wyverns and Wastelands in a while. I’m sure I could come up with a simple campaign, if anyone is interested?”
Minerva looked at her like she’d gone mad. “We don’t have any cards.”
“We can make them up.”
“Make them up! Fort would be furious.”
“I have a few,” Luna admitted. “I, um, kept my favourites on me. Well, actually,herfavourites. But… mine too, now.” She pulled a small stack out of her boots. “I’ve enough for one each?”
Minerva snorted softly. Her fingers stilled. “Hmm. High likelihood of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?”
Bell’s spur of the moment campaign was as silly and underdeveloped as it should have been, and the majority of the cards provided absolutely no help to anyone. Yet, somehow, their characters kept persevering through the Bog of Unending Stench, and although most of the laughter was forced, some of it wasn’t.
