Page 65 of The Stolen Throne
The walls are no longer impenetrable, and Devourers could get to my people. That terrifying knowledge hasn’t strayed far from my mind since Bene told me how he got in. Fear on a continual loop for days while the zariphate has traveled farther west rather than south.
I’m supposed to protect my people, and I’m the one who should do something about it. But I don’t have time. That’s probably why I can’t let it go. I want to head south and heal it, but everyone else agreed that one crack is less of a threat than Eidolon.
I can’t be in two places at once.
Touching my amulet through my clothing, I silently pray to the goddess I think is in there. “Please let the walls around Aryd not come crashing down until I can fix them.”
Not that she can do much about it, either, if she’s trapped inside the glass.
I push the thought to the back of the list of urgent matters. I need to focus on what I actually can do instead.
“Knock, knock,” I call out before drawing back the flap of the tent I was directed to and stepping inside.
Only to whirl around on a gasp at the sight that greets me. Pella, half-naked, is standing in the middle of the space.
“I didn’t say come in,” she says from behind me. “Rude.”
I press my palms into my eyeballs. “My eyes. I’m never going to be able to unsee that.”
“Too close to the goddesses’ perfection for you?” Satisfaction curls around every word. Probably because she knows it’s closer to the truth than I’d like. “I understand if you need to leave.”
Before I can answer, Vida comes in behind me. “Oh good! You’re here.”
She’s carrying a stack of materials that are different from what makes up Wanderer clothing.
Zariph Cainis moved the zariphate closer to Yolyn Zag, the southernmost city of Aryd that lies at the base of the Patience Mountains near the salt flats. No doubt Vida’s materials came from there so she can make those of us heading to Tyndra warmer clothes for the journey. Yolyn Zag has the closest working portal to us. That’s the way we’ll get to the Shadowood.
Me. Reven. Vos. Horus. Tziah. Bene. Cain. And…
I take a closer look at what Pella is dressing in. Warm layers of fur-lined leather. Someone shoot an arrow through me. “Um…you’re coming to Tyndra?”
Pella doesn’t bother to look up from lacing up her leather gauntlets. “Someone has to look after my father’s interests.”
“Cain—”
“Will put you first.”
I’m not sure she’s wrong about that, and awkwardness steals into my limbs. I don’t know where to put my hands or where to look.
Vida glances between us. Several times. Then moves over to a pallet where she sets down her materials. “Well, let’s make sure that you are dressed appropriately for the terrain.”
I’m hustled into a corner, where I strip and dress in clothing more appropriate for an icy dominion. The Shadowood itself is more temperate, so Vida is sending us only with basics.
When I turn around, she stops helping Pella with the more complicated straps and buckles of Tyndran wear meant to keep out the cold and faces me, head tipped to one side. After a second, she wrinkles her nose.
“What?” I look down. “I thought I hooked it all up correctly.”
“You did. It’s just…” She sighs. “It’s so functional.”
“Why is that bad?” Pella’s lip curls into a sneer. “Because she’s a queen?”
I’m not a queen, I want to mumble. I don’t.
“No, silly.” Vida bats Pella with a hand, and Pella doesn’t cut it off with the nasty curved blade I know is always strapped to her back. Surprising.
She catches my stare and returns it with a flat-lipped one of her own.
Vida doesn’t seem to notice. “I’d want to dress you all better. Not just Meren.” She gives the pile of materials an offended glare. “But this is all they brought me.”
