Page 32 of Angel in Absentia
Ryson held her hand, but Clea could not see it, only feel its pull as he guided her forward.
She realized then very little about what was happening, only that she had been observing this strange sequence passively, reaching for it, following the trail of her own heart to this distant land.
Ryson seemed to see her when none others could, and when he saw her, she became more aware of her own existence, drowning in an ocean of vacancy and desperately waiting for someone to pull her out of the mire.
“Something’s happened,” he whispered, looking her over though it seemed there was nothing really to see.
Her thoughts floated loosely; Clea felt like she was underwater in a world where everyone spoke another language that she knew but for some reason could not digest and understand. She could only observe passively, following this fine thread to her heart, which rested in his chest, the rest of her broken across planes.
“You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, haven’t you, Princess?” he asked tenderly, reaching out a hand, and though she did not feel his touch, she knew, somehow, he was touching her.
“Rest,” he whispered, and like the command itself was a curse, she felt a wave of ease calm some lingering panic inside her chest. It felt as though she’d been wandering for weeks, and though she wasn’t completely sure what was happening, she at last knew she would be okay.
Ryson turned back toward the exit, walking forward in long, brisk strides as a split formed in the air ahead of him. Air tore through the room, whisking his hair back as his clothes whipped and morphed. Intricate black garments inlaid with silver thread crossed his body. Vines of silver grew down his hands, encasing his fingers in engraved silver claws with delicate designs and fine chains. Before he crossed through the dark portal, he was a different version of himself, an apparition of dark prestige.
Prince and Alina both watched him carefully, as if attempting to decipher his movements.
“I’m off,” he said and walked back into the portal that dissolved without a trace.
CHAPTER 10
FRACTURES
YSON MATERIALIZED IN the healing temple of Ruedom.
He was seated on a windowsill against a column, looking down at a small Veilin woman arranging scrolls and taking notes on a clipboard.
The healing temple of Ruedom was beautiful and grand, built at the very center of the city and older than the walls that protected it.
“Hi, Tenida,” Ryson greeted, and the woman jolted so hard and fast she dropped her clipboard and spun around to see him.
Eyes wide, she inspected him as he hopped off the ledge and strolled over, hands behind his back as he did a somewhat playful loop, inspecting both her and the temple in contrast. The temple hadn’t changed a bit since his last visit, but Tenida had aged greatly.
“Glad I caught you before you died. Temple is beautiful as always. Are those carvings new?” he asked.
“What are you doing here?” she said, bending down and gathering her things to her chest before placing them on the platform next to the scrolls. “You’re supposed to be—”
“Asleep?” he offered. “I’ll admit the clash with Oliver did rather put me out of sorts. I had a little rest, and honestly thought itcould be my last, but by sheer miraculous fate, I found the will to wake up again. A muse, as it were.”
Tenida watched him with peppered hair, and despite her age and small stature, he recognized the same will and fire in her eyes as her predecessors. He could feel her power stirring and wondered if she’d risk using it. He wanted to dare her. Maybe, under other circumstances, he would.
The door started to open at the opposite end of the temple, but Ryson extended out a hand and froze it in time, not caring to look as he kept his eyes on Tenida, who watched the action tensely.
If she was considering using her power, she’d just changed her mind. Her students were nearby.
Ryson folded one arm under the other, inspecting the intricate silver claws that covered his fingertips. It was a known and common practice for sifted Venennin to wear such adornments on their hands, allowing them to touch Veilin without the risk of reversing their sifting and sending their bodies into a state of agony.
Tenida seemed to understand this, watching the tipped silver claws that were engraved intricately and made with a master’s workmanship. They were almost ceremonial in nature, and he watched her mind process the possibility that they were used for ceremonial sacrifices of Veilin under the full moon.
They were. But not these. Ryson considered it a silly practice carried on by extremists claiming their own version of the Insednian religion, though he did nothing to staunch the rumors. The rumors, he quite liked.
“I need your help,” he offered, tipping his open palm toward her and allowing her to eye the claws and the silver plating beneath. One cut from cursed silver was all it would take to make an Insednian out of her. Sometimes he bore the claws only as a reminder of that.
Tenida said nothing for a while, and he continued to stand over her, patiently.
“Your predecessor warned you I might show up from time to time, didn’t he?” Ryson said.
“Yes, and that you were the scourge of the healing temple of Ruedom.”
