Page 134 of The Last One
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Philia sits in the rocking chair, sipping tea. Veril has patched her wounds, and the medicine has revived her well enough. The map of Vallendor is spread across the worktable.
I set a satchel I packed with some supplies for our trip on the other side of the door from Jadon’s larger bag.
“I was telling”—Veril nods at Jadon—“about our proposed itinerary.”
Jadon holds out both Little Lava and Fury to me. “You dropped these.”
“Did I?” I don’t reach for the dagger or the longsword. We may have agreed on a limited alliance until we find Olivia and my amulet, but it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.
“You’ll need them.” He sets both weapons atop the map like a peace offering.
I push them to the side.
For a few tense moments, Jadon and I exchange glares as Veril shifts foot-to-foot. Jadon breaks first, sighs, and turns his attention to the map. “You need to reach Mount Devour…here.” Jadon jabs his finger on the jagged lines protruding from the Sea of Devour. “And according to Philia, Olivia’s being taken…” He slides his finger south. “Here. Fucking Weeton.”
Philia creeps over to join us at the worktable.
“You have no regard for the town of Weeton?” I ask.
Jadon grimaces. “Weeton is known for its marvelous views of the wasteland and for its citizens who are more outlaws than anything else. Mostly ex-soldiers who kidnap royals.”
“Fine,” I say, “but why did they take Olivia?”
Silence from Jadon.
Silence from Philia until: “Because she’s…she’s engaged.” Her face crumples like paper, and she bursts into tears.
“To you, yes?” I ask, confused.
That causes Philia to slump onto a stool and cry harder.
“Not to Philia,” Jadon says. “Olivia is engaged to someone else.”
Too astonished to gasp, I let my mind dart, searching for clues in Olivia’s words.
“Sh-sh-she…” Philia can’t catch her breath.
Veril and I exchange looks—what new nonsense now?—as he hands her a handkerchief. We all wait as she composes herself. But then, just as composure raises its lovely head, the gasps and sobs, huffs and snorts return.
Jadon comes from around the table to hug her. “Livvy will be okay.”
Which makes Philia cry harder.
We wait for composure again. I understand—it’s been a stress-filled journey. She’s tired. She’s anxious. She loves a thief who is also a cheater.
Finally, Philia lifts her head and levels her shoulders. “She was promised to him on her tenth birthday. She turned fifteen and—” Her throat catches, and she balls her hands against her lips. “And when it came time to marry… She just… She couldn’t. Her parents told her that she’d learn to love him. But they cared only about themselves. By Livvy marrying him, their station in society would improve. If she at least had one child, an heir…”
My stomach roils.Oh dear.
“She was miserable.” Philia twists the hankie. “She dreamed of running away, and every day, she planned her escape. Any time her parents gave her money, she saved some of it. She’d take geld from their chests and coat pockets. And then she’d go into town and sell her clothes, her jewels, food, just to save enough geld to survive. But it wasn’t enough. She needed something big to sell. Something impressive. Something…valuable.”
Philia meets my eyes for a second before staring down at her trembling hands. “She knew what to take. She knew where it was. No one visited that library except for Livvy, and so she went down with a sewing bag, and she took it from the shelf.”
The redhead slowly releases a breath through clenched teeth. “She stole the book with the jeweled cover. Those aren’t pieces of cut glass. Those are real rubies. Real emeralds and diamonds.” She swallows, but something remains caught in her throat. “When she returned to her room, he was there, waiting. He saw the book in Livvy’s sewing bag, and she turned around and ran before he could take it. And she’s never stopped running.”
The sitting room slides into silence with only the hearth’s fire crackling. The air in the cottage has also turned humid—Philia has shed a sea of tears.
