Page 33 of Angel in Absentia
Ryson laughed. “Oh, please.”
“You are a ghost who visits, a poor reflection on the Veilin we might have revered. You are a reminder of what we failed to do, of all that still needs to be done. An alien to this world. Death. Be gone.”
“Well, that was a mouthful of cruel proclamation. Death? I thought we established I’m right here. Alive,” he said.
“You’re a mimicry of life. A mirror,” she snapped back.
Ignoring the proclamation, he walked past her. “I need your help,” he reminded her, moving a hand over the platform where the scrolls were and causing them to neatly roll up and assemble themselves back in their container on the floor. He moved around the opposite side of the platform, reaching into the air as if pulling on a thread and then gathering something as it softly fell into his arms.
He laid it out on the platform, a faint glowing image flickering with gaps of light.
Tenida had started to object but soon seemed to recognize the form. She walked up to the platform and inspected it before looking back up at him in horror.
Ryson rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t me. Can you restore her? Her body is back in Loda. Her mind is around, passively watching all of this. It found me in the Belgears and led me back to her mangled soul. I’ve gathered the pieces, but I can’t do anything else.”
Tenida moved her hands over the platform, placing a hand on the flickering forehead of the figure, barely able to make out a face. She shook her head in horror. “What happened?”
“It seems she had an encounter with the Ashanas in their cursed lands,” Ryson said, arms crossed as he inspected her gravely.
“What you’re saying is impossible,” Tenida whispered darkly.
“Rather unbelievable she’s not in worse shape,” Ryson said.
“And she beckoned for your help? Who is this?” Tenida continued, looking at the flickering figure from head to toe as if still struggling to understand any of it.
“Clea Hart. Rising Queen of Loda,” he explained. “And I’m helping, aren’t I? You act like it wasn’t a good choice.”
Tenida rested her hands on the platform, releasing a long breath. “So, the princess of Loda knows the truth then?”
“No,” Ryson said. “She doesn’t know who I am. Only has hints of the past and what really happened, but she is putting it together.Since her mind is passively experiencing all of this now, there is a fair chance she will remember it later. In fact, I hope she does.”
Tenida moved her hand through Clea’s hair as if she could feel it. The shape of Clea’s soul was only a vague reflection of the body it had inhabited for so many years.
“Dear girl,” Tenida said. “Yes, I can help her, though I’m not sure what your intentions are behind asking.” Her eyes flickered up to his suspiciously. “But I need all of the pieces here.”
“One moment,” he said, opening a dark rift and stepping through.
He was soon standing in her room. Covers were tucked around her body on the bed with intention. Clea’s long caramel-colored hair spilled over the pillow, and she was so still she almost looked dead, perhaps angelic under the morning light. This light was different from the ones he’d once found her in. He’d saved her the first time under the glow of the fire and moon, but the morning was perfectly ethereal. It suited her better, though he loathed the circumstances.
He exhaled in slow contemplation, sorting through a myriad of unsettling thoughts. Only Venennin near his own caliber would be capable of doing so much damage to a healer of her ilk from such a distance, and he could count them on one hand.
“You,” he heard on a breath and looked up to see a woman sitting on the other side of Clea’s bed.
“Oh,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Iris. I didn’t see you there.”
Iris shot up and scrambled for the door, but he flicked a hand and locked it. Flicking his other hand, he yanked her back to herchair and bound her there, her legs to its legs, her arms to its arms.
“Charmed you remember me,” he said, circling the bed. He sat down on the end of Clea’s bed, moving a long leg to scoot Iris’s chair out with his foot so that she faced him.
“You threatened to kill my cousin,” she said, glaring. “And my cat,” she added, lower.
“I don’t care about your cousin or your cat,” he replied as if her reaction were overdrawn. “I only threatened to do that because they were clearly things you cared about.”
“You act like that makes things better,” she argued back.
He nodded his head back and forth as if considering if it did or not. Glancing over at Clea, he started, “So, how is she?”
“She’s fine,” Iris barked.
