Page 72 of Kissed By the Gods
Faelon tilts his head, studying me. His grin is gone now. “I might’ve seen her once before, but I can’t be certain. She didn’t give me a name.”
His grin comes back, saucy and full of attitude. “She didn’t give me a kiss, either, can you believe?”
I huff a laugh, even as my fingers tighten on the letter. “Shocking, Faelon. Truly shocking.” I desperately try to ignore the way I want to rip open the envelope clutched in my hand.
He presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “It still hurts.” Faelon chuckles and winks, then turns to go inside, whistling low under his breath like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I wait until the whistle fades, until the air is still and the only sound is the steady drum of my own heart pounding in my ears.
Only then do I tear open the envelope. Inside, there’s a single sheet of parchment, written in a familiar, looping scrawl that makes my breath catch in my throat. Seb.
It’s written in the stilted, secret language my mother taught us, and the one her mother taught her. It’s one we used when the soldiers came to raid the villages, one that lives only in old prayers and even older songs.
Leina—
We’re safe. We found them. Leo’s become friends with a little girl named Bri.
I press a fist to my mouth, blinking hard against the sudden sting behind my eyes. They're alive. Seb and Leo are alive, and they’re safe. For now.
We have a chance, Leina. There’s an Altor here; his name is Aelric. He’s Maera’s husband, can you believe it? He’s found out for us that you’re safe, too, and I’m so relieved.
Oh, my gods. The missing Altor from my cast! My breath comes faster as I keep reading.
Aelric wants us to find all the information we can on the Kingdom of Aish. There’ve been no diplomatic ties between Aish and Faraengard, and he says we may need their support to succeed in the rebellion. He thinks you might be able to find out more in the Reckoning Hall.
All our love,
Seb
I jump to my feet, crumbling the letter in my hands. I’m tempted to keep it, but I toss it into a lantern as I turn the corner. I watch it burn—this one piece of my brothers I have. I don’t even shed a tear, because Archon Lyathin is right. The Synod is no place for false comforts.
And then I stride toward the Reckoning Hall. Ryot’s warning to get rest before our patrol echoes distantly in my mind, but I can’t rest. Not now.
Aish. All I know about it is that it’s an isolated, desert land that lies to the south of the Valespire Peaks.
But I’m going to find out more—right now.
“The desert of Aish does not forgive, and neither do its people.”
The Unspoken Histories, author unknown
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Ebonmere Seastretches to the west in an endless blue that swallows the horizon. There’s no wind today, and the water is deceptively serene, but every so often the surface breaks to reveal what lies beneath—scales that flash silver and violet before sliding back under the water or a massive tail that slams against the serenity, creating waves that crash and roll.
Ahead, a cluster of spires pierce the surface. At first, I think it’s an outcropping of jagged rocks, but then one of the spires flexes and moves, revealing the long, armored back of some creature, basking half-asleep in the shallows.
“What is that?” I shout to Ryot, sitting in front of me as we glide through the air.
He follows my pointing finger out to the drifting mass of armored spines. It barely seems to notice us, but even from this height, I can sense its power, like a mountain slumbering.
“Sea-wardens,” he says. “They’re apparently as old as the Veil itself, if the stories are true.”
Einarr tilts his wings slightly, banking us farther inland, away from the creature.
“Don’t worry. They won’t bother with anything that flies. They’re lazy.”
