Page 111 of Elysian

“At least until we can return to not being hunted.”

“Bondmate,” Cassiel drawled, not turning around. I panted, approaching. Jude ran inside.

“I could not stop her.”

Cassiel whipped his head around and pierced him with a look. “You are no one to stop her.”

Jude scoffed.

“Stop—never mind—I figured it out.” I shook the grimoire. “The way to reach the cenote. The way to create more Warlords. I know how.”

Morak exploded to his feet. “Well done,” he hissed with intensity. He met Liadan’s eyes. “Now we move. Did we decide who will attempt it?”

“There were volunteers that the stone showed to have the potential⁠—”

They continued speaking, not allowing me a word in edgewise. Cassiel seemed bored.

“Wait.” Voices drowned Tabby out.

“Some will need to remain to protect⁠—”

“You cannot!” I shouted.

Silence and all those around turned to look at me.

“What do you mean?” Archer said, menace in his tone.

A hiss from Cassiel had everyone shrinking. The silence turned heavy.

“We cannot fight this way!” Tabby shouted.

“His Highness,” Archer began, pure mockery in his tone, “cannot see reason⁠—”

“Enough. Let the women talk,” Tabby interrupted. Archer mulishly clamped his lips together.

“Finally, someone with some sense,” I announced. “I must go.”

“It is much too dangerous,” Cassiel proclaimed.

I scrutinized each and every face. “There is no choice. An Awakened redblood must be present for the path to be seen.”

We did not waste a single moment. While I rested, Liadan would discover which of those with Warlord potential would come with us.

I lay across the bedding, enveloped in fur, all the candles snuffed out. The time to leave on our journey was near, yet I could not force myself into slumber.

Cassiel ran his fingertips over the lines of my face. I would have swatted him away if the slow caresses were not calming.

We had lain here for a while now.

“What are your thoughts?” His question came out slightly stilted, as if asking cost him.

“How I hope—” I stopped myself. What was I doing speaking to him as if conversation between us was typical? “Nothing.”

I could feel him holding his breath. Finally he grunted. He did not ask me anything further. Guilt prodded at my conscience.

“You do not speak with me of mundane things,” he mused. There was no intonation in his voice. “You never seem inclined to.”

Is that hurt in his tone?