Page 4 of Sweetling
“It’s beenweeks—” she choked.
“I couldn’t come sooner.”
Striding past her into the cottage, Allarion quickly found the provisions she’d packed.
Ravenna followed close on his heels. “What’s happened?”
The words burned Allarion’s throat. “Your father was right.”
“Where are they?” Ravenna demanded. “Allarion, where are my parents?”
He paused only long enough to glance at her, unable to hide his grief from her. “They are with you, crow. Always.”
Her rosebud mouth parted in shock, and she stood in the middle of the cottage’s solar staring at him. She looked so broken in that moment, so young, so alone. She may have been a child no longer, but Allarion only saw the girl he’d watched grow over the years.
The love her parents had for her was achingly apparent—in her every feature, in every nook of the house, in all that they had done.
Allarion suspected it was as much of a cold comfort to her as it was to him.
Ravenna’s face cracked, and a sob that ripped at his guts echoed from her chest. He reached out a hand and she took it desperately, clutching it with both of hers. Allarion pulled her into him, sheltering her with his much bigger body.
He took her few things and led her back outside to where Bellarand waited.
Neither of them looked at the house as they mounted and rode away. The lives lived there were over. The memories it held were warm and dear—and all the harder to bear because of it.
Ravenna buried her face between his shoulder blades, her tears wetting his cloak as they rode away from the home Maxim had built.
It took seven days to reach the last part of Maxim’s plan. His one last gift to his child.
They left the faelands behind, losing themselves to the forest that was at once in the human kingdom of Eirea but also within orcish territory. The fae could touch all magic that wove through the world, but they had cocooned themselves within the faelands, a hard shell that kept others out—and the fae in. They weren’t blind to the outside lands, but their sight was as milky as Amaranthe’s true eyes.
The growing distance from the faelands began to nip and gnaw at Allarion, the strain of his bonds to his homeland fraying, buthe’d counted on this. He had to cut the ties completely, but first, he had to make Ravenna safe.
Through a grove of trees, beside a clear stream bordered with berry bushes, sat the bower Maxim had made. Built into a shallow hill, timbers insulated with moss formed the outer façade. The size of a bedchamber, it had a door and window to allow fresh air. Within a cavity cut into the hill beside it sat dozens of baskets and amphorae laden with supplies for when Ravenna would need them.
She slid down Bellarand’s flank, taking in the bower with puffy, dull eyes.
Allarion came to stand beside her. “This is how it must be for now, crow. I cannot protect you yet.”
A wet, shuddering sigh left her. Wrapping her slender arms around herself, she said, “It’s preferable to missing them.”
Allarion watched as Ravenna inspected the bower, running her fingertips over the baskets and crockery—all of which her mother and father no doubt had made. She touched the mossy rooftop and oak door, a diamond cut into the top.
Beside him, Bellarand’s long ears twitched, and the unicorn turned his head toward the forest.
They are here.
Allarion looked to his right to behold more than a dozen unicorns emerging from the trees.
They ranged in color from black to dappled gray, and most were female. The mares were too fierce to ride, and it was they who led the herds of unicorns along the western coasts. They were much like the fae in that way, the fae themselves led by females. The males of their kinds were able to bond to protect both their peoples.
Their untamed energy filled the grove, but Allarion sensed no malice—just a deep, abiding sadness.
One unicorn strode forward. Oberon, Maxim’s mount.
The gray stallion touched his horn with Bellarand’s before turning to Ravenna, his head bowed low. Ravenna embraced him, burying her face against his neck.
Their shared grief was too much to bear, and Allarion had to look away.
