Page 282 of Burn Her They Said
My chest constricts—because Sutrea saved the one containing Hendry’s most recent portrait. And the ones Fray drew of Varic and me in the carriage, along with the messages we wrote each other. I open my mouth to ask what else he has discovered when he raises his hand to show me a pristine black leather sketchbook just like all the rest, though this one looks?—
“New.” His tone is neutral as he runs his hand over the cover.
He turns toward Sutrea and nods, apparently exchanging a private message with her.
“Blank pages to fill,” I say, and he nods while hugging it close to his chest.
I quirk my lips to the side behind the mask at the thoughtfulness of his Dragon, or whoever placed this in his pack. My cheeks wobble as I stare at Fray patting Sutrea’s shoulder before he drops down her side to reach the ground. Her amethyst eyes look none the wiser, yet she must have been the one who ensured he would have these—to remember, and to begin anew, with the ability to document whatever catches his eye going forward.
I turn back to the white sheet above us and part my lips to scream at Malin to give me more information as to the last known status of both Cirrin and Varic, when a deep blue Dragon’s form pierces through the thickening mist. Guilt squeezes my chest from the disappointment unfurling in my chest as I selfishly wished the scales would be emerald.
Cirrin lifts his head, and Fray’s shoulders relax as he peers up at his friend.
A strange sense of urgency overtakes my body—as if my magic detects some sort of distress in my healer.
I sprint as fast as my weary legs can carry me past Lars and Malin when Cirrin drops down from the black leather harness. He gently pats Brea’s side when I snatch his wrist and scan his features in search of answers behind his deep brown eyes, which widen with the edge of his mask rising higher. Amusement and confusion flow back to me through our connection as he turns to look up at the sky at the same time a Dragon screeches from above.
“I’m fine, Tasch,” Cirrin assures me. “Go to him.” He gestures toward the clearing with his chin, and I turn toward the area I assume they will land. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, though I know Varic will admonish me for doing so.
Panic strikes my chest as I slowly start plodding in that direction.
Because what if Varic didn’t make it? What if he isn’t on Minea’s back?
No. Minea would never abandon him.
Unless he’s dead.
He could always be transporting Varic’s corpse.
I shake my head and frantically scan the fluffy white line as my mind fills with doubts as to the status of the rider who had better be secured to Minea’s back—alive and unharmed.
My brows furrow as a soft pinkish-red dot emerges from the fog, burning brighter the closer it drifts, while dispersing the cloudy vapor around it. My heart leaps as the ember grows closer, appearing just like the one that found me in the crumbling Throne Room.
All breathing ceases as this embodiment of Varic’s love for me draws nearer. Its deep-pink and amber hue casts a trail of light as it sails toward me and lands on my chest with that prickly warmth spreading outward—the sensation which grows even when the ember is no longer visible. The familiar flushing spreads out, then rises, signaling that Varic is close enough for his eyes to be roving my being. With a feeling I now know to mean he is near enough to send his love to find me.
I feel it now more than ever as my pulse kicks with the need to see him. To show him I feel it too. But I don’t have to wait. He didn’t.
My lungs pull in the frigid air, and I conjure the threads of all he means to me, then weave it into a tightly wound tendril. Only once I feel every bit of it do I send it out, where I nervously scan every inch of fog. Time slows down as I wait with the thrum of his own love coursing through my veins. Equally comforting and alarming me—a placeholder to keep my company until he finally returns to me.
After what feels like days, or hours, Minea’s bright green scales finally burst through the fog. I don’t say a word, nor do I dare to spare anyone else a glance—I just pivot and jog closer to where they seem to be aiming.
My lungs scream from this rare burst of exertion as I force them to take in more frigid air until I halt with a cough from the burning in my esophagus.
Minea hovers so close I can nearly see Varic, but the damned Dragon’s wings obscure him from view.
Then my heart jolts in my chest when a pair of polished black boots slide over Minea’s side, already freed from the restraints despite the Dragon having yet to land on the ground.
I freeze as I take in the shape of those legs. That back. The mess of windswept waves. Yet I still can’t seem to move as I stare at Varic’s form when he drops to the ground, just before his Dragon’s paws crush the icy stalks of grass under them.
My breath catches the moment he turns, and his impossibly bright brown eyes meet mine—the exact thing I needed to reanimate my body. I grab hold of the mask and tear it off my face, then wipe the grit and grime from my skin before dropping it. I refuse to be hidden from him. I need Varic to see me. To know that I am here and this is real.
That we made it out alive. Together.
Choked sobs tear from my chest as he rips his own mask off, and my chest shudders when his widened grin beams back at me as I take a step closer—then pause when an eerie sensation descends over my being.
Because this is all too perfect. Unlike how anything has gone for us up to this moment.
Not earlier this evening, and certainly not now.
