Page 48 of The Sundered Blade

But what she would rather do was lost in the sound of the doors crashing open and reverberating against the wall.

Kyrion loomed in the doorway, his face drawn and his eyes like twin stars beneath his brows.

His breath sawed in and out of his chest, and his hands clenched on the doorframe as a single word emerged.

“Leisa.”

A bolt of pure fear shot through Vaniell’s chest as he strode across the hall to grasp Kyrion’s arm.

“What is it? What do you know? Is she injured? Or…” He couldn’t say the word.

“Hurt. Taken. Confined. I feel pain and rage.” Kyrion’s expression was raw, stark, and… utterly afraid. Vaniell had never seen the night elf afraid before, and in the face of that terror, every thought vanished but for one.

Karreya.Was she safe? Or was she, too, hurt and alone, feeling pain and rage with no one to help her?

They were too far away. Distant and unreachable as the stars. What could he do—what could any of them do—when they remained mired in plans and logistics and the movements of armies?

He should never have agreed to this. Should never have left her side.

“I’m going.” Kyrion’s voice. Cold and implacable.

“Going where?” Danric moved towards them, concern written on his brow, Evaraine at his heels.

“To wherever Leisa is.” For Kyrion, the answer was simple. “You have what you need from me, and my mother is more than capable of leading our warriors. In the event of my death, my brother Cer will take my place.”

Danric eyed him for a few moments, arms crossed over his chest, and Vaniell saw the thoughts flickering across his face. Danric had been born with the mantle of responsibility weighing heavily on his shoulders, and he had never once shrugged it off for merely personal concerns. In a moment like this, he would weigh duty against love, and duty would always win…

“I wish you well, my friend,” Danric said earnestly. “Go swiftly. Ask for whatever you need from the quartermaster, and know that we will be following as quickly as we are able.”

Vaniell’s mouth opened and then snapped hastily shut as Evaraine reached out and took her husband’s arm. Love, it seemed, had changed the former prince of Garimore. Perhaps, in the end, love changed everyone brave enough to receive it.

“Would that I could come with you,” Evaraine said wistfully to Kyrion. “I owe Leisa everything, as does every citizen of Farhall, and perhaps all of Abreia. She has saved me so many times… Please find her, if you can, and we will see to everything else.”

Kyrion’s grip on his control seemed to grow ever more tenuous as he nodded, teeth clenched so tightly that his jaw trembled. The glow of his eyes intensified, as fear and anger radiated from every line of his body.

Enchanter he might be, but Vaniell could not fail to sense the vast well of magic lurking behind those eyes. Whoever had dared to hurt Leisa… There would be no escape if ever he came within reach of Kyrion’s vengeance.

The night elf suddenly looked up, straight at Vaniell, that bright silver gaze searing into his, piercing to his soul and forcing him back a step as he confronted the power that roiled in its depths. He expected anger. Bitterness. Perhaps even a desire for retribution. But he found only a single question.

“Are you coming?”

It shocked Vaniell to his core.

“I will be nothing more than a liability,” he warned quietly. “I was born to thrive in ballrooms, not on battlefields. Whether I wish to go or not, my presence might put your mission at risk.”

“That is not what I asked, Princeling.”

Vaniell paused, mind racing. Perhaps he was no longer needed here. But could he face returning to Hanselm at Kyrion’s side?

It was Lythienne who spoke up first, addressing him coolly from her position beside the now pale and miserable Rethwyn. “Why do you hesitate, Prince of Garimore?”

For so many reasons. He wanted to believe Kyrion asked him out of friendship, but he was afraid to find out. He wanted to believe Karreya would be pleased to see him, but he was afraid to know the answer. He wanted to think that he could be a help, not a hindrance, but he could not bear learning he was wrong through failure to save a friend.

Doubt.

It had never been able to rule him until he discovered he still had the capacity to care.

He had never been careful with his life, so why must he be so careful with his heart?

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