Page 150 of Kissed By the Gods
Fuck.
I wrap my arms around her, and though my own heart stutters in my chest, I murmur in her ear with a confidence that I don’t feel. “You’re safe,” I tell her. “I’m here.”
I wrap her in one of the sheets to keep her chilled body warm, and then I dress with alacrity, gripping the hilt of my sword with a terrified strength.
I’ll keep her safe here.
And I pray to Thayana and to Serephelle and to any god who will listen to keep her safethere.
In the Veil.
“I don’t choose where I walk. The Veil does.”
Personal journal of the First Veilstrider
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
LEINA
The ground—that’snot really ground at all—beneath me is not solid.
It shifts and crumbles, slipping away whenever I try to anchor myself until I’m not walking anymore at all. I’m swimming—if it can even be called that—dragging myself through a heavy, resistant darkness that clings to my limbs like thick oil.
Without Vaeloria beside me, everything feels wrong. The Veil does not open willingly.
It presses against me, pulling me back, pushing me sideways, as though the very air is alive and angry at my presence.
When I finally break the surface, gasping and choking on it, I’m not alone.
“Hello,” Bri says. She comes forward and grasps … Not my hand. There are no shapes like that here, but the pressure of her touch is real, even if nothing else is. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Are you a veilstrider, Bri?”
She laughs, as if I’ve asked the ridiculous. “No, of course not. That’syou. Don’t you know who you are?”
I huff, holding her tight, pulling her closer. I scan the Veil for the creatures that lurk, the ones who don’t want us here. “Not as well as you, apparently.” And man, does it gall that a child has better command over my gift than me.
“Don’t be afraid, Leina, please. You’re making the Veil afraid.”
I whip my head down to her. “It can feel?”
She tilts hers up to me. “Can’t you tell?”
The Veil pulses around us, like it’s listening. Or breathing. It twists under my skin, a chill racing down my spine. The shadows ripple outward from where we stand, but not with threat—almost as if they’re … watching.
“Bri,” I whisper, tightening my hold, “why are you here?”
Her expression shifts. The laughter behind her eyes fades.
“My father and my amma say I’m not supposed to tell anyone about what I see, about what’s whispered to me in the dark,” she says. Her eyes drop to the side, like a child about to do something they know will get them into trouble. But then—gods, bless her brave little soul—she straightens. She squares her shoulders like a warrior.
“But this is different. If I don’t tell you, then everyone dies.” Her lip quivers. “I don’t want everyone to die.”
Sweet Serephelle. I think of Irielle, burning in her lace, only because she was pretty. And I vow that no harm will come to this special, gifted child because of me. “Bri, I will never tell another soul about you and your gift.”
