Page 19 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

And Bane had left me paper. A pen. Even a book.

No, I did not need poppy to withstand his presence.

But as Iclimbed into the carriage, clutching my book and journal, there was no sign of my husband at all.

Olwyn tucked her trunk beneath the seat, and Ellena sat across from us, her dark hair obscured by the wimple and her hands folded in her lap.

Her lips seemed permanently downturned at the corners; I couldn’t entirely blame her. She too had been shipped away from her home without warning.

As the bloodwitch lowered the bar on the door, locking us in, I motioned to get her attention.Where is Lord Bane?

Olwyn surprised me with her intuitive understanding at times. “We’re in the Rift now. He will travel outside and keep watch for warg-sign. If we’re attacked, he and Eryan are the first line of defense. I am the second line. If they make it through me, give your prayers to your ancestors that the end is quick.”

There was a grim set to her mouth. No blitheness to her tone.

“It is unlikely you will see him again before your vows are made,” she added gently. “But we travel by day, and the Rift hasbeen heavily fortified for this day. The odds of the wargs risking a breach are… lower than usual.”

Ellena had gone as pale as milk during this little speech.

I simply nodded, settling back in my seat and tucking the novel beside my leg. There was nothing to be done for it.

I’d examined the strange sigils Olwyn had left on the windows and door last night, delicately inked in what looked like blood. Though they were of no language I recognized, I felt the power in them, tingling against my fingertips when I tried to touch them.

One of those sigils gleamed on the carriage ceiling, its scarlet glow drowned out by the light of day.

If Olwyn trusted in her witchcraft enough to let me sleep unaccompanied, I would trust in it enough to keep us safe in the Rift.

There was no other choice. I couldn’t fly to Ravenscry on wings.

Instead, I watched out the window as Eryan guided the carriage out of the town and back onto the road that led into the heart of the Rift. Last night I hadn’t been able to see our surroundings as the sun set.

Now I saw that we were in the mountains. They rose around us, the towering, thickly-forested heights stealing my breath.

I knew from maps that the Rift itself was the land between the mountains: a long, wide valley cleaving between the ranges from north to south. It was the first line of defense against Foria, and as such, the most dangerous hold in Veladar.

As the next hour passed and we entered the wide, shallow bowl of the valley itself, with the road leading almost straight north, the view was obscured. Mist first appeared as creeping fingers around the bases of trees, and then became curtains, the pines reduced to tall shadows.

An hour later, the sound of the horses’ hooves were muffled. The view outside the window was a wall of roiling, ghostly white. It reminded me of mother-of-pearl, almost luminescent.

I gave up on watching the unbroken wall of fog, not a single sight of Bane to be had, and opened my journal. Ellena was staring out the window, and Olwyn was making notations of her own on a densely-worded sheet of paper.

The capped pen rested in my hand. The paper was too lovely to destroy. I might actually cry again if we hit a bump in the road and my first line was smeared or uneven, and then Olwyn might follow through on her threat of poppy.

Yesterday, I’d had my list of achievements composed. I’d been planning to write them on a scrap of the rough, gritty paper the Sisters had access to.

Now my mind was blank.

This journal would be the first chronicle of my thoughts made with ink, and I didn’t want to begin it like… like I was auditioning to be considered valuable as a human being.

I thought it over, occasionally looking out the window for a glimpse of our guardian. If he was out there, it was impossible to see him.

Finally, I forced myself to uncap the pen and applied it to the pristine page, almost cringing at the desecration.

My name is Cirrien, but I would like it if you called me Cirri. I am twenty-five years old.

There were no bumps in the road; my writing was flawless, a single line stretching across the ivory expanse.

You seem to already know that I love books. Did you read my mind?

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