Page 157 of Crown of Darkness
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Chapter Thirty-One
The night is a blur.
Thiago flies us toward the north, finally setting me down somewhere near the Duke of Thornwood’s lands—and the Hallow there. We arrive back in Ceres just as dawn breaks in the east.
I take three steps, and that’s when I realize my thighs are slick, and it’s not from desire. The dull pain that’s been nagging at my back all day suddenly makes sense.
I stop halfway up the stairs in surprise.
“What is it?” Thiago asks, from behind.
“I….” I dash up the stairs into our chambers, and from there into the washroom. Stripping out of my clothes confirms the truth.
I’m not with child.
“Vi?” Thiago knocks on the door I slammed in his face. “What is it?”
“Give me a moment.”
I clean up as best I can, and then slip into a robe that’s hanging from the back of the door. A bath will have to wait. There’s another nagging sensation in my chest, and this one won’t be suppressed.
“What is it?” he repeats, when I open the door.
“My monthly finally came.”
Expression drops from his face. “Ah.”
And I wonder if we wear the same mask.
I was so certain I was with child, but the feeling that cuts through me is both of relief and loss. With the crown in our hands, there’s no longer any threat from the Mother of Night, and I guess there’s a little part of me that wanted a child.
His child.
Thiago opens his arms and I walk into them, leaning against him and closing my eyes.
“You’re upset,” he murmurs.
“No, I… I don’t know what to think. I could almost imagine her.” And the dreams. Every night the dreams. “It’s a relief right now, but….”
“You wanted her.”
“She felt real,” I admit, curling into him. “She felt so real.”
And to lose that feels like a little death inside me.
Thiago kisses the top of my head. “Go and take a bath. I’ll send for some breakfast.” He gives me a brief squeeze before he finally opens his arms. “You did it, Vi. You were right. We have the crown.”
He heads for the door as I turn back to the wash chambers, but something stops me from entering.
I never checked the little message Andraste pressed into my hands. At first we were too busy running and fighting—and then flying—but now I can’t help wondering what she was so desperate to tell me.
“I do not ask for forgiveness, only for understanding.”
I find it in the inner pocket of my dress and unroll the little scroll of paper.
It’s written in the language that Andraste and I invented when we were children—a series of dashes and swirls that only we could decipher. And it’s been so long since I’ve seen it that it takes a moment for me to understand what I’m reading.
