Page 59 of Angel in Absentia
Clea stared in a mixture of awe and horror, lingering in prolonged silence before she dared to face the Insednian who in such a simple act had felled massive Ashanas foes.
Part of her wanted to run, but they were feet away, and there were no more Ashanas left to kill. This would be the defining moment. With the Ashanas dead, would the Lodain Veilin be next? And if so, it had just become clear that there would be no escape from the powers she’d invited here.
She faced the Insednians before her, sword in hand.
Their leader turned slowly. He was separated from the rest in intricate layers of black clothes, woven with silver in meticulous fashion. Silver claws crafted in pieces with fine engravings covered his fingers and wound up his hands. His hair was no longer in chaotic disarray like it once had been, and she would not have recognized him had his face not been just the same. His eyes, silver eyes Clea had not seen in so long, met hers.
The moment they locked eyes, Clea’s weapon felt too heavy to hold. Her heart twisted with such startling violence that she held her breath. She no longer saw the Insednians behind him. It was just the two of them, only feet away from each other. She could almost reach out and touch him.
“Ryson?” she whispered, hardly believing the word as she said it. It was as if she was resurrecting a ghost, and with it, some buried part of herself.
He faced her fully, his body moving as if in recognition of the name.
“Clea,” he replied. She recognized the depth of his voice, the subtle harshness that was natural to every word, sharp in tone, but beneath it a warmth that was distinctly his own.
The sword slipped through her fingers and fell into the grass. That sword, once a safety, felt like a burden.
She heard warnings behind her but disregarded them as she stepped forward. She saw movement behind him, Insednians drawing weapons, but disregarded them behind the sole figure that now filled her vision.
It was just the two of them again, the rest of the world falling away as if it had never been real from the start. Everything inside her shuddered, aching for years to feel the space she now stood in, and something inside her collapsed until all but her weakness remained. She stumbled fully into him and held on with everything in her, nearly choking on the accusation she hadn’t realized she’d been holding onto for so long.
“Where have you been?” she asked, voice breaking as she buried her head into his chest.
His hands rose—tentative, reverent—and curled into her hair, pulling her tight to him, and she crumbled under the pressure. She slammed her eyes closed, feeling safe for the first time in months and unwilling to relinquish that feeling. A gate inside of her opened, and feelings and thoughts that had no outlet poured out of her at last as her hands curled into his clothes.
Unable to stop herself, she cried, gritting her teeth against sobs as the grief and fear of the last few days released with full force.
“I’m not going to let anyone touch you or your people,” he whispered into her ear. She held onto him harder, trying to stifle the tears that flowed uncontrollably and unbecomingly down her cheeks.
He was an island. He had been in her memories, and here he was again. On that island, she was the only version of herself she ever knew to be true, and there she found the relief that her life was safe at last. She hadn’t realized until this moment how desperately she’d wanted to live.
After a minute, he pushed a hand through her hair, guiding her face to his, and she searched his eyes beyond the haze of her own. She wondered for a moment if they’d always been sobrilliant, so fierce, and marveled that she had not been afraid of them before.
The silver on his hands felt cool against her skin. She swallowed, wondering briefly how he’d come.
She had sent a request to the Insednians, hadn’t she? The Warlord of Shambelin.
“I waited,” he said, “for you. I would not come without your call.”
She searched his face, wondering why he’d wait when it seemed there had been a time when she’d understood those reasons. Now, she did not.
She eased away from him, still holding onto his body as she searched the clearing, as if realizing for the first time where she was. Insednians lined the clearing behind them, not attacking, simply watching. There were more of them now, an army of them.
His hands left her hair. He stepped back, eyes flashing behind her.
She turned to see that rows of Veilin had gathered behind her.
And then Ryson’s voice rang through the clearing, absolute, cold, and commanding. It was a tone she did not recognize, a tone that carried authority and consequence.
“Take the city,” he said, an order that sent an entire wave of Insednians into action.
The city had survived the Ashanas.
But she would watch it fall to him.
Chapter 19
The Warlord of Shambelin
