Page 110 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
I can’t let them give up hope yet, though there is no hope left.
I would rather they die still believing help is coming soon.
Glorana mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, nestling closer to my paw.
But it is Brisa who places her tiny hand against my muzzle and whispers,“Na velar sha,Bene.”
Her words bring tears springing to my eyes; I shut them tight, refusing to let her see.
Tucking my head alongside her body, I rumble back, “I love you, too, Auntie.”
My heart aches. I should have protected them better. All of them—Brisa, Glorana, Velda, Aurelia. My people who will have to face Malice and his goblin horde without their king.
I should have told Aurelia everything from the very beginning. All of this could have been avoided if only I had been completely truthful from the start. Foolishly, I thought I was protecting her by keeping secrets. I thought I was doing the right thing by shielding her from the painful reality of our situation.
But all I have managed to do is hurt her.
Even though I promised I wouldn't.
And now there is nothing I can do to help her overcome the hurt borne of my own pride and stupidity beyond pray for her safety.
Clenching my eyes shut tighter, I do just that.
Please watch over Velda, wherever she might be, and grant my people Your mercy in the war to come.
And… please, help Aurelia. I beg You to help her. She needs You now more than ever. Watch over her. Help her to know that she's not alone.
And that's she so much more than Malice would have her believe.
Chapter 35
Aurelia
Isit on my bed, staring at nothing, Bene’s letter clasped in my hand.
My tears have long since dried, but still I sit. Still I stare.
Is this truly all I was made for? Passing along a gift to someone else?
Is this truly all I was meant to do?
Is this truly the only thing that makes me… desirable as a wife?
The sudden ache in my chest steals the very breath from my lungs. I suppose Malice was right about me. I suppose there was a part of me thatdiddelight in the idea that I might actually be special. That I might actually be important in some way.
But now I see I’m not important at all.
I am but a vessel.
My gaze lowers to the water-stained parchment in my grip, to the three words scrawled at the very bottom.
Faithfully Yours, Bene.
Even to him—my oldest friend, mydearestfriend—I am merely an accessory.
The moment that thought settles in my mind like a canker sore, I know it’s not entirely true. But I don’t care. I crumple the letter and fling it away, where it disappears behind some box.
I’m tired of thinking.
