Page 125 of The Shattered Rite
Eliryn leaned back, throat tight, watching the last dark swirl disappear.
Better?Vaeronth asked softly.
She closed her eyes. "Better."
She stayed there until the ache dulled enough to breathe without flinching.
Then, at last, she sat up. "Let’s see what we can do about finding you some proper space."
About time.But the teasing was gentle. Grateful.
Her feet still ached, the skin tight where it had torn, but her vision had stabilized—blurred, but functional. She dressed slowly: a thick overshirt and fresh riding trousers. No shoes for now, she couldn't even entertain the thought of it. Pinning her still-damp hair away from her face with simple copper clips, she left it loose down her back. Her necklace pulsed gently against her collarbone, Vaeronth’s tether both literal and symbolic.
She caught herself touching it absently as she stepped out.
I’m with you,he murmured.
"I know."
She headed towards the kitchen instinctively.
The warmth and scent of the lower halls met her instantly: roasting roots, warm bread, citrus steeping in water. Safe. Familiar. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the smell of somewhere that felt like… a home.
Marta stood alone, her hands working the dough on the table with patient strength, forearms dusted in flour, humming low beneath her breath. The sound curled through the stone like something meant to ward off shadows.
For a moment, Eliryn hesitated in the doorway, just… watching.
She used to watch her mother knead bread like that. Not often. But the likeness of it stole her breath for a moment.
Marta’s rhythm was different. Slower. Stronger. But the quiet focus was the same.
“You standing there because you’re lost,” Marta said gently, without turning, “or just too tired to ask where you need to go?”
Eliryn startled slightly. “I… maybe both.”
Marta huffed softly—just like her mother used to—and wiped her hands on her apron, finally facing her. “Sit.”
Eliryn obeyed without thinking, perching at the edge of the table like she was twelve again.
“You’re too pale,” Marta muttered, sizing her up with the same clinical sharpness of a battlefield healer. “And you haven't been eating properly.”
Eliryn let herself smile, faint but real.
“You remind me of someone,” she said softly.
“Oh?”
“Someone I miss.”
That, more than anything, seemed to catch Marta. Her gaze softened, lines of her face easing just slightly.
“What do you need, child?”
The word struck something deep in Eliryn’s chest. She hadn’t been called child in years. And never like this. Not with such warmth.
“I… Vaeronth needs air. Open skies.”
Marta nodded slowly, as if she’d expected that answer all along. “There’s a ground entrance you can use, near the eaststair. It’s not locked—kitchen staff and guards take it when they need air, though most forget it’s even there.”
