Page 120 of Kissed By the Gods
I don’t even think I fault him for not understanding. I’ve been living this for years, and I’m only now beginning to understand.
“We cannot send a full contingent of warriors to Solmire because you had a bad dream.” He scoffs, like I’m a child who woke him because of a nightmare. The other archons are just as annoyed, just as skeptical.
“But it wasn’t a dream,” I try again to explain. Again.
“Let’s go back,” the Elder says, his milky eyes flicking to Vaeloria, standing next to me. We’re in the courtyard because she refuses to leave my side. I wasn’t ready to be parted from her, either. The Elder cleared the outdoor spaces, aside from the watch tower, trying to secure some level of privacy when I demanded an emergency assembly of the archons. But I’m sure there are Altor listening from every available nook and cranny.
I shove my hands into my curls, tugging, clawing, frustration burning like fire beneath my skin. My exasperation is a living, breathing thing—practically vibrating off me. Every second wewaste here is another second Ryot and Einarr are stranded—alone—on Solmire.
But Vaeloria cannot make the trip to Solmire. I know she can’t. She pushed with all she had to make it here as quickly as she did, her pace a brutal, magnificent thing. Now, as we stand in the courtyard, awash in the bright light of the high moon, her body trembles next to me. I need to take her to the galehold. She needs to rest.
But first—I have to convince these men that I’m not insane.
“Tell us how you received your faravar,” the Elder continues, and all the men nod. Each of them is morbidly curious about my white, petite, female beast. None of them have seen such a thing, not even in the priests’ accounts of our history.
But the Elder must sense my fury boiling over—he lifts a hand, stilling me with a quiet authority I can’t ignore.
“She came to me on Elandors Veil,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“After you’d summited the peak?” he asks, his cloudy eyes still somehow sharp.
“Ye—” I start to say yes, then stop. The memory catches, slippery and half-lost in the corners of my mind.
“Noooo,” I say, drawing it out. I dig in the dark corners of my memory where the impressions of my dreams—that aren’t fucking dreams—seem to live, most of them covered in layers and layers of darkness. Forgotten. Forgotten, sometimes, before I even open my eyes.
But this one—this one breaks through.
“I’d made it nearly to the top, but an ice storm started, and I camped in a cave for the night. I dreamed of her, of entering a dark place. There were creatures I didn’t recognize and looming towers. An old language was spoken on stale air. I found her in the darkness. When I woke the next morning, she was with me.”
The Elder is nodding seriously, stroking his chin as I speak. He’s not surprised—not in the least. He knows. It takes the others longer. It’s Archon Lyathin who pales first.
“Veilstrider,” he murmurs, a sick fascination blooming across his face.
Strider. I cast a glance at Vaeloria. That’s what she calls me—but it’s not spoken like that. She says it like it’s my name, a name that’s always been mine.
But now… hearing it from Archon Lyathin … it feels wrong. Corrupted.
Across the courtyard, the three remaining archons have gone pale, but it’s not fear that hollows out their faces—it’s something worse. Their eyes gleam with the sharp glint of discovery. Nausea surges up my throat, sudden and hot, because they’re not looking at me like a fellow warrior, a student to train, or even a nuisance.
They’re looking at me like I’m a weapon. A thing to wield.
Vaeloria shifts beside me, feathers rustling softly, grounding me in the storm. I press my fingers to her coat, anchoring myself to her warmth.
“And your beast?” the Elder demands. “What is her name?”
Lyathin scoffs. “She couldn’t possibly know that yet. Their bond won’t be strong enough.”
But the Elder doesn’t back down, doesn’t tear his gaze from mine, and the others go unnaturally still in anticipation, waiting for my reply.
“Vaeloria,” I murmur, my fist clenching in her mane.
“Veil guide,” Robias breathes out. “She’s your guide to crossing the Veil, the link to bring you home.” He jumps to his feet, clapping his hands together. “This is incredible! There hasn’t been a veilstrider recorded among the gifted in nearly 700 years!”
They all start speaking at once.
“In a battle, she could?—”
“Her training needs to be handed over?—”
