Page 90 of The Shattered Rite
Eliryn huffed softly. “That’s one way to say ‘a complete novice.’ But yes, I’m basically winging it.”
At that, Stonefell chuckled once. A real sound. Not forced.
Then, after a pause: “Your eyes. How much can you see?”
“Shapes. Light. Motion. Blades when they’re too close for comfort.” She shrugged. “I can see you clearly if I focus hard enough—like shards of glass. I have to piece everything together. It’s… exhausting.”
“And you still made it through the trials unscathed?”
Eliryn tilted her head. “Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t sight that got me here?”
Stonefell met her gaze evenly. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
Vaeronth stirred, his voice dry in her mind.You did some of the work.
Eliryn snorted softly. “My dragon says it’s because I have amazing instincts.”
That earned her a proper huff of amusement from Stonefell, though he said nothing, and the dragon equivalent of an eye roll. A small smile flickered across her lips for the first time in what felt like hours.
The silence that followed didn’t press. It simply settled—heavy, but not unwelcome. Like the pause between battles when both sides knew neither could strike yet.
Stonefell picked absently at a seam in his bracer, the motion oddly boyish for a man who looked carved from the mountain itself. It felt almost like he wanted to ask her something—but wasn’t ready.
So she did it first.
“Can I ask you something?” Eliryn asked softly, her voice threading into the quiet like she wasn’t sure if it would be allowed.
He glanced up. “You just did.”
She snorted. “Fine. Another thing.”
A flicker of warmth crossed his expression. “Go on.”
“Did you want to be here?” she asked. “Chosen, I mean.”
Stonefell looked out toward the high, barred windows. His jaw shifted. It was a long time before he answered.
“Want’s a strange word for it,” he said at last. “I didn’t grow up dreaming of glory. Never saw myself answering to stewards with bells on their wrists.” A pause. “But it’s a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
His hands curled, then flexed again. “Redemption, maybe. Or at least a reason to keep moving.” He hesitated. “I fought in too many wrong battles. Took orders from the wrong people. When my sons died… I stopped trying to be anything better. And people stopped expecting it from me.”
She felt that like a knife to the ribs.
He wore his losses like armor.
She understood that—she wore hers like flame.
Eliryn studied his face. “And now?”
“Now the Flame called me to be one of the chosen.” He laughed once, dry and low. “Maybe it’s a cruel joke from the gods. Or maybe it’s something else. Either way, I’ve got nothing left behind me worth running back to.”
He looked at her. And this time, she didn’t look away.
“And you?”
She nodded slowly, her throat tight. “Same.”
