Page 104 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Truth be told, she would’ve preferred it that way. Alora rasped, “Thank you.”

The entire night sky seemed to flicker in his eyes.

Surveying his face, how his tunic shifted as he sat on the edge of the chair and clasped her palm in his, revealing bloodsplattered on his chest and neck in the movement. Her finger smoothed over the split ridges of his knuckles, sending an ache to her heart. “Are you okay?”

With a sharp breathy laugh, “You are lying in a bed, bandaged and bruised, after making your best attempt to gain an audience with Maker of the Skies, and inquire if I am alright?” Gray locks tickled his forehead as he astonishingly shook his head.

“You’re right. Must be the fever.” She smiled, attempting to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

Garrik placed the chilled cup to her lips and watched with fine attention for when she finished and returned it beside them. He was silent for a moment. That astonished face fell to something brutal as Garrik dropped his voice to a shame-filled whisper. “I went out of my mind. I could not find you.”

The devastation plaguing his features forced a dagger through her heart.No.He wasn’t the one to blame. She wouldn’t let him shoulder this responsibility, too. “After I read your note, I went searching for you. Thinking you’d returned to the valley, I thought it was you at the tree line.” Alora shook her head. “I should’ve realized you wouldn’t lure me so far from camp.”

Garrik straightened, his expression unreadable. “My … note,” he repeated flatly. Eyes darkening. “Do you still have it?”

Alora scanned the room, finding her leggings pooled on the rugs near her bookshelves.

Registering her inclination, Garrik stood and collected them. He searched the pockets before pulling out the crumpled page. By the lantern on the reading table, he held it between his fingers, low in the light, to where she saw the words outlined from the other side.

For a moment, silver swirled with darkness, scanning the bloodstained parchment. Tracing the simple words smudged across it. His lips went taut, almost unnoticeably, and thenloosened to a calm expression before he pocketed the note and returned to the chair beside her.

They sat in silence, allowing the crackling fires outside and voices from camp to cloud around them.

Garrik seemed lost in a distant world. His eyes, though they were on her, appeared dull, deep in thought.

“How is Deimon?” she broke the silence. “I can’t imagine he’s taking capturing me lightly.”

Blinking, Garrik returned, rolling his shoulders against the chair, and explained, “He inquired about your wellbeing. Sends his apologies,” and drew in a long breath as if to calm himself.

Alora shivered under the cloths and bandages, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea. But Garrik’s hands were instantly there, replacing the cloths with fresh ones almost too cold to bear.

“Don’t demote him,” she requested, shivering. “He should remain the Wingborne’s general. He was protecting camp. None of them knew it was me.”

Garrik reclined in the seat, furrowing his brows as if he’d heard a ridiculous notion. “Deimon is not General of the Wingborne.”

It was her turn for confusion.

“Thalon commands the Wingborne. Whatever made you think Deimon was general?”

Alora thought of the ride to Alynthia. After they’d returned from Maraz. After Garrik had flown her on Smokeshadow wings and they spent the night in the inn. Before Nevilier forced him to Galdheir…

“Thalon said the General of the Wingborne taught you to fly. I assumed…” Alora’s voice drifted away. Carrying a thought so bizarre, she was surprised when it left her lips. “Did you give Thalon his shadow? Can his shadow fly?”

A breathy laugh was his response.

“What?”

A grin he never let anyone but her see swelled his cheeks. “You know nothing about Tarrent-Garren Guardians, do you?”

That wasn’t an answer.

She shook her head, frowning. “I know they are bred as warriors and their duties are to protect nobility, cities, and kingdoms. Thalon was given to Magnelis?—”

“Thalon was ordered to me. The once shit-spoiled little High Prince.”

“You’re still a shit-spoiledlittleHigh Prince.”

Garrik barked a laugh. Leaning back, he crossed his arms. No doubt to flex his biceps and widened his knees with a wolfish smirk. “What vision of me makes you think anypartis little?”

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