Page 57 of This Midsummer Heart
When I am through answering Lina’s questions about her home, I aim one at her and her ledger. “You said we’re in the last slot tonight. Does that mean the tide will be coming in on our heels?”
“Can’t say for sure, the way things have been going lately. But we’ve got a system. There will still be some light in the sky when you cross, so watch carefully for the beacon. With the help of mirrors, we can send a signal to almost a third of the way across the land bridge. It’ll warn you when we see signs of the tide rising behind you.”
“Behind us,” I repeat, almost dumbstruck. “You mean the waters close in behind the travelers?”
“Strange but true,” she replies. “It’s been consistent over the past week.”
“So if we see the beacon’s signal?”
“Ride south, fast.” She hesitates as Auberon joins, her eyes passing quickly over his ears and blue-tinted skin before fixing completely on me. “Don’t you need another horse for your companion?”
I shake my head. “This mare will carry us both.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Quite.”
Mostly.
I suppose that in a few hours, we’ll find out.
This outpost at the northern end of the land bridge truly has thought of everything. I catch a few hours sleep in a bunk house for female travelers, waking sore to the smell of freshly brewed tea. I gravitate towards it, my wings drooping at my back.
I find Auberon in the common room between the two bunk houses, sitting alone at a round table for two and sipping on tea himself.
“Did you get any sleep?” I ask him, because it very much looks like the answer is no.
He drags his hand down the stubble on his chin audibly, then rubs at his eyes. “Does that answer your question?”
I sit down across from him, trying not to think of the last time we were seated like this, back in Avalonne. “You’re worried about the crossing?”
“I’m worried about a great many things,” he replies. “The crossing just happens to be the most urgent one.”
“What else worries you?” I ask, pausing to sip at my own cup of tea. It’s weak and stale, but despite the oppressive humidity this close to the sea, I savor the hot steam.
“That I shouldn’t be crossing at all. That I should stay here with my people.” He runs his fingers over the handle of the outpost’s tin mug. “The entire reason to go to Nox was to preserve my remaining magic. Now I have more than ever. I shouldn’t be going south at all.”
“You’re Houselord of the Elves,” I remind him.
He blinks back at me. “You can’t possibly still believe that.”
I meet his gaze, not flinching.
“Did someone tell you, or did you figure out what it meant?” he demands, his shoulders rising higher than necessary as he leans over the table, placing his elbows and forearms down like a shield.
“The fetes who spoke with Robin told me. The Houselord of the Guild of Scribes, too.”
Auberon breaks his gaze, fixing his eyes on the wood grain in the middle of the table. “So you’ve been pretending not to know this whole time. You don’t change, do you, Titaine?”
“I didn’t want to humiliate you further.” It’s suddenly hard to keep my tone even. “If you’d wanted me to know, you would have told me yourself.”
“Which do you think is more humiliating? You humoring me, or you being honest?”
“You’re still a king! What is there to be humiliated about?”
His finger jabs into the table, the movement so quick my wings quiver as I startle. “I didn’t live up to my own people’s standard,” he says. “What could be more humbling than that?”
“Why do you care?”
