Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,36

and Peligli haven’t once stopped telling me how much they miss you.”

A sharp pang runs through the center of my chest. “They’re safe?”

“The safest place for them in Cavanos,” Y’shennria agrees. “Yes.”

It’s hard to know when you’ve been holding on to something until you finally let it go, or it leaves of its own accord. You can’t know how heavy it weighs on you until it vanishes, and all that weight is suddenly and wonderfully missing. I’d been carrying around so much worry for the three of them that only snowballed the more Vetris geared up for war, and now…

Now there’s room to breathe.

“Sometimes, the gods aren’t so bad after all.” I exhale.

“We’re searching for a way to destroy Varia’s hold over the valkerax,” Lucien starts. “Is there any way we could accompany you and Zera to Windonhigh?”

Y’shennria’s lips knit in a tight line. I know that look. It’s the “with conditions” look.

“A High Witch made this rose for me, as a favor. I was to bring back only Zera.”

“Y’shennria…please.” I turn to her. “I’ll beg if I have to.”

She thinks on this, the wind rustling through her high hair, and then she turns back to Lucien.

“You must understand, Your Highness. You may be a witch now, but you are still the prince of Cavanos. The enemy.”

“There is no enemy anymore,” Malachite cuts. “Vetris is gone.”

Fione and I both look to Lucien, but he’s completely still, even his hands slack.

“Not entirely gone,” Y’shennria starts softly.

“But debilitated enough they won’t be an issue for the witches,” the beneather presses. “Not for a long-arse time.”

“You’d be surprised at the human ability to bounce back.”

“And you’d be surprised, ma’am, at what little tolerance I have for pointless upworlder squabbling. The valkerax are here. And we have to stop them. Are your High Witches going to help or not?”

Y’shennria moves from one foot to the other, her lavender silk dress swaying uneasily with the movement. Malachite won’t give an inch, chin high and eyes red spears.

“I promise you,” he continues, hard, “that witch flesh and human flesh burn the same.”

None of us says anything, Lucien not stepping in with a reprimand, nor Fione with an addendum. Just silence. Just Y’shennria’s hazel eyes flickering over each of us in turn, and none of us blinking.

Finally, she exhales what sounds like a laugh. “I see you’re all very serious about this.”

“And I see you aren’t as much,” Lucien says. She turns her eyes on him slowly. Tension winds the air like a bard turning his lute, tight and absolute. I can’t stand to see the two of them at odds, so I step in.

“Everyone’s trying, okay?” I hold up my hands. “Y’shennria, just two days. Give us two days in Windonhigh, and we’ll be gone.”

“‘Us?’” she leads. “So you’ll leave with them?”

“I—”

“What about Crav, Peligli? Nightsinger? And…” She trails off, looking at her own hands. “You’d be safe with us.”

“I know.” I nod. “I know that. And I’m grateful for it. But I—” I gulp. “I have to finish what I started. Varia has the Bone Tree partly because of—”

“Zera,” Lucien exhales the word, like a reminder I’m not at fault.

“Because of me,” I finish. “She has it sooner, now, because of me. I enabled her power. And I’m going to disable her power. I’m not going to run from guilt anymore. I’m going to fight, like Reginall said—every moment of every day.”

Y’shennria’s silent for a long moment, her brows tightening over her sharp eyes. I know she’s tabbing me up, calculating hows and whys. Finally, she gives a quick nod.

“Very well. Two days.”

“Let us go, then,” Lucien says. “Immediately, so as to inconvenience you as little as possible.”

“It’s no inconvenience to me, Your Highness,” Y’shennria says, motioning for us to follow her over the rubble and back to the rose sprouting there. “It is the High Witches who will have issue with it. They are not the most trusting sort.”

“Understandably,” Fione murmurs.

Y’shennria gathers us around the rose and looks to Lucien. “You may have to contribute to the teleportation spell, Your Highness. They are expecting only two to return.”

Lucien nods. “Right.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Malachite warns.

Lucien shoots him a tired smile. “Yes, sir.”

Y’shennria has us clasp hands, the black rose centered in the middle of us. Lucien bows his head, his fingers holding mine going black. His left hand—it might not work, but the magic still eats at it whenever he casts. Maybe…just maybe, someone in Windonhigh can give him the witch wisdom he needs to