Page 94 of The Spark that Ignites
Emmery stared down at her hands, her cheeks heating. “Not really. Have you?”
“I was. Or ... I thought I was once.”
She raised a brow. “And?”
Vesper cleared his throat, and a sad smile tugged his mouth “I think I liked the idea of it more than actually being in love. But she’s only a memory now, so ...”
The question rose in her throat, but Emmery swallowed it down. From the bloodstained floor and the state of the kingdom, it likely wouldn’t be a happy memory.
“Love is dangerous,” Emmery mused, her voice low. “Terrifying and raw. It can make you mad and sane simultaneously. Vulnerable. But it’s the great equalizer. We all suffer from it.” Vesper studied her with such a complex expression, she retracted. “But what do I know?”
“I’ve never felt it, but I’ve seen true love and what it is to lose it. Sometimes it’s so palpable between two people you can feel it in the air around them.” Vesper paused, followed by another bright laugh. Emmery savoured the sound. After what he had been through, he deserved to laugh. “But like you said, what do I know?”
He stood from the throne, and walked over, plopping beside her. He took a long swig of his drink before speaking. “I was thinking”—he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth—“when did you want to call your sister?”
Her shoulders tightened involuntarily. “When you’re ready I suppose?”
“What about tonight?” Vesper held her gaze. “I have what we need. We could do it now.”
Emmery inspected her hands as if they were the most interesting thing in this room, her chest suddenly in knots. “Is it a good idea? We’ve been ... drinking.”
“I’m practically sober.” Vesper gave her a lopsided smile that was certainly anything but. “Are you ready? I don’t want to push.”
His words settled into her chest, the knots tightening. Would she ever be ready? But she was desperate to see Maela and speak to her again in case her plan failed. She had the celestial trumpet, access to the bones and stones, and spell scripture inthe dungeon but so many things could go wrong. The thought warred in her head each night.
“We don’t have much time before the Fallen Equinox. And I’ll barely find time to take a piss with my bloody insane schedule next week,” Vesper pressed, “so if we don’t do it now, it will have to wait.”
Emmery nodded through the immense pressure in her heart, not able to acknowledge a glimpse of humour from his joke. She couldn’t wait. There wouldn’t be an after the Fallen Equinox for them. “Let’s do it now.”
“You’re sure?” Only familiar kindness lit his eyes. “We can wait.”
“I don’t know if I ever will be.” Taking a gulp of her drink as if the courage she needed lay at the bottom of the bottle, she added, “But, for the moment, I’m sure.”
Vesper clambered to his wobbly feet. “Meet me in the garden in ten minutes then.”
He left her in the throne room, her pulse pounding in her ears. She was about to see her sister again. Emmery repeated it to herself. But it didn’t feel real.
On numb legs, Emmery walked to the garden. She sat amongst the lilies until Vesper emerged through the glass doors carrying a pouch and a globe of some kind. He kneeled in the flowers with her, opening the bag of powder.
Seeing the question in her eyes, Vesper said, “Ground Hollow hound bones are used to contain spirits, but we can’t hold her long. Probably only a few minutes.” Sprinkling it in a circle between them, he added, “I’ve never done this with a human, so hopefully it works the same.”
Emmery eyed the glass orb of red liquid clutched in his hand, her stomach churning. The viscosity was off, thicker, but it couldn’t be anything other than— “Is that blood?
A curt nod.
“Do I want to ask what from?”
“Probably not.” He surrendered a wobbly smile. “Are you ready?”
What would she say to Maela if she only had minutes? There was so much she wanted to tell her. Gods, there was no way she would ever be ready for this.
Emmery nodded, her heart lodged in her throat.
“She won’t be able to hear you but tell me what you want to say, and I’ll relay it.” Vesper clutched the orb, speaking words in a language she didn’t recognize. The orb glimmered in his palm along with the moonlit glow of his eyes. Emmery sucked in a breath as the air picked up around them, heavy with the scent of burial plots and acrid soil. Was this the scent of death? It was oddly reminiscent of the Waking Wood.
Her brows knit as light surged from the circle. A swirl of crimson and white wisps gathered, and there she was.
Small and delicate, her wild red hair still in those braids Emmery wove that night.
