Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
This blood also meant she was not with child now.
Sudden agony split open her heart. Until that moment, Elina had not even known of the hope she’d carried within her. But Warrick had left her with nothing.
Nothing but dreams and lies.
The numbness shattered. The sobs erupted before she knew they were swelling and she nearly dropped to her knees, crushed by the force of them. As if she’d drowned in that river, had sucked in water instead of the lifesaving air that Warrick had given, and now the drowning river spilled from her in tears.
And rage. Screaming, she struck with the axe, over and over again. Not seeing a tree but seeing her uncle, her mother, her father, Lady Faraine, Serjeant Iarthil, Nanny Char—and Warrick.
Could not one of them have loved her as she had loved them? Not one? Would she always be so…so…
Unloved.
Her arms gave out and Elina stumbled back before she slid to the ground, weeping.
She knew not for how long she cried. Eventually she would have to rise. And go onward. But though she had the strength, she had not the heart.
Until something fluttered against her hand. Eyes still blurry with tears, she only saw red. But not blood.
A ribbon.
Warrick the Ghost
The Glass Mountains
Warrick had thought seeing Elina suffer the purge was agony. He had known nothing.
Agony was seeing his Elina, and she was never laughing. Agony was seeing the dullness of her eyes and the numbness of her heart.
Agony was Elina never seeing him. Not as he rode beside her. Not his horse or any of his possessions.
Yet she whispered his name in her sleep. Every night, he lay beside her—and at times it seemed she knew he was there, though they could not touch. Yet he could breathe in her sweet scent. He could feel her breath, her warmth.
And he could help her. Protect her. Though Warrick could not touch her horse or belongings without his fingers passing through them as if through air, he could perform some tasks for her as they traveled and made camp—and she’d had attendants for so long that she likely did not notice how much seemed to get done on its own.
Or she was too numb to notice. Too hurt to see anything.
Until her storm of rage and tears.
He knew not what had set her off but he was glad of it. Glad to see something other than that horrible nothing. Though it had been agony, too, watching as her fury and hurt erupted from so deep within that it seemed every part of her heart must have been shattered. Agony to see her stagger back and sink down in front of the fire, her face in her hands, her chest heaving with sobbing breaths.
Throat aching and thick, he knelt beside her. “I am here, Elina.” He’d seen how often she looked down the road behind them, as if waiting for him to come. “I am here, and I wish for nothing more than to hold you. Tie the ribbon again. I cannot bear this.”
He laid the ribbon before her, praying she would see it. The ribbon and the vows they’d spoken were not his or hers, but theirs.
When she spotted it, her breath caught on a gasping shudder. Her reddened eyes stared in wonder. Her brows drew together in confusion.
She glanced around as if searching for how it had come to be on the ground, her gaze sweeping through Warrick before returning to the ribbon. With a trembling hand, she reached for it.
More tears spilled down her cheeks as she slid the satin through her fingers, weaving through them as on the day of their wedding. Her thumbs smoothed over the severed ends, where the cut edges had begun to fray, though the rest of the ribbon had not.
“Tie it, Elina,” he urged hoarsely. “I’ve hurt you, I know this. But I beg you to let me make it right.”
Again she glanced up, her eyes searching the road—then squeezing shut again, her breath hitching brokenly. The ribbon crumpled between her fisted fingers.
“Foolish girl,” she spat. “After all this. You still want to believe in that stupid prophecy, to pretend that there is any true magic within you. As if you could speak any wish into truth.” Sobbing, she pressed her hand to her face, her tears soaking into the red satin. “As if your love has ever changed anything. As if anyone has ever loved you.”
“I do. My wife, my queen.” Desperately Warrick cradled her face in his hands, feeling her phantom warmth and the wetness of her tears as they dripped from her chin. “I love you. Please, Elina. Believe in what you’ve done. In what you can do. It is magic. True magic. Tie the ribbon, and you will see.”
Slowly her sobs eased. Her despairing gaze turned to the road.