Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,35

with Mal and Fione on my heels, Lucien is sitting by the rose, stock-still, his hands folded in his lap. He looks comfortable, but there’s a sheen of sweat on his temple, and his grimace is one of pain.

“Is he all right?” Fione asks.

“He’s not doing that overexerting thing again, is he?” Malachite reaches out to shake Lucien’s shoulder when a voice cuts through the air.

“I wouldn’t touch him if I were you.”

All three of us whirl, Malachite’s unsheathing blade ringing, the rapid clicks of Fione’s crossbow cane unfolding, and my claws piercing out through my flesh instantly, bloodied and over-ready. I freeze at the figure standing on the pile with us, velvet purple cloak billowing around them. They lower their hood, and all it takes is seeing that gorgeous mass of fluffy hair pinned with amethysts to know.

My claws jerk back in, my eyes wide. “Y…Y’shennria?”

Her dark face with its high cheekbones lights up, softly and all at once. “Zera.”

Her voice. It’s the same. Cool, precise. It echoes even now in my head as it always has, teaching me, reminding me of the rules.

In Vetrisian court custom, one does not embrace. Unless one is family.

I run, unthinkingly—scrabbling over the pile, bricks and wood flying, my arms reaching for her through the swirling dust.

And she catches me, hands and all.

Scarred neck and all.

Smile and all.

…

“I must admit—you surprised me, Your Highness,” Y’shennria says, her arm laced in mine as we walk the perimeter of Ravenshaunt. “The rose’s spell was to bring me to Ravenshaunt should Zera return, but I didn’t expect to find you here—casting your own spell of all things!”

“You find me just as surprised, Lady Y’shennria,” Lucien admits. “With all due respect, Father and his ministers had you branded a traitor. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“On the chopping block, maybe,” Malachite offers.

“Malachite,” Fione warns. “Manners.”

Y’shennria smiles, her every step like air over water—all elegance and measured steps. “Oh, Your Grace, I hardly think that’s of much concern now, considering the position we’re all in.”

Just having Y’shennria close, the ability to walk with her like this—it’s everything I’ve been wanting. To have someone who knows what I’ve been through is a silent source of strength. It’s strange to say, but even her lavender perfume relaxes me. Lucien, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. His posture’s completely changed—from Whisper-relaxed to Prince-straight. Y’shennria clearly reminds him of the court, of his position. Of everything he left back in Vetris.

“Now then.” Y’shennria’s smile fades, her seriousness bringing the faintest of creases to her mouth. “I’d appreciate it greatly if you would tell me why you’re all here, and with Zera still Heartless.”

Catching Y’shennria up on all of what’d happened after she left is easier than I expected—a lot of it she’d heard from secondhand witch sources inside Vetris. She’s already acutely aware of King Sref’s movements thanks to Windonhigh’s vigilance, so I don’t need to tell her about his army gathering. Or being destroyed. Evlorasin escaping was another thing she didn’t need to be told—the whole country knows a radiant, rainbow-sheathed valkerax had burst forth from under the city and flew away. Everything else is fair game—Varia, the Bone Tree, Evlorasin’s training. She wants to know everything. And, unlike nearly everyone else I’ve encountered, her dark eyes hold not a scrap of judgment for my choices.

“You did what you thought was best for your own future. Albeit misguidedly.” She looks at Lucien with a small smile. “It sounds as if she’s given you enough headaches for a lifetime, Your Highness.”

“Two lifetimes.” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“And it sounds as if you wish for her to give you more. Why else would you make her your Heartless?”

“Necessity,” I blurt before he can say anything. “Varia didn’t seem keen on letting me go, even after our agreement.”

“You are very useful.” Y’shennria’s lip-twist is so small, I’m guessing only I notice it. I give her a casual shrug and a full-blown smirk.

“And here I am, unable to admit to it because you taught me modesty above all things—”

“Forgive me, Lady Y’shennria,” Fione interrupts. “But where have you been?”

“The only place Old God families like me are safe anymore,” she answers swiftly. “Windonhigh.”

There’s a beat as the four of us share a look. Y’shennria obviously notices it—she’s a master of social cues, after all—but she pretends she doesn’t.

“I was planning on bringing Zera up to Windonhigh, should she come,” Y’shennria continues, glancing over at me. “Nightsinger’s there. And Crav