Page 138 of The Reaping Rose

My heart.

My happiness.

I didn’t know what it meant until I flip the stone over now and see the grooves on the other side. A mark I always thought was a spiderweb. Glancing at the ground, at the charred pattern in the dirt webbing out, I realize my mother saw something else entirely.

Lightning.

Chapter 46

Wilder

I stand in the doorway watching Seren run a wet cloth over Letia’s forehead. She’s been in and out of sleep since we removed the aeraliss ring, fighting consciousness. Her skin where the ring once sat is no longer laced with angry crimson veins.

They’re glowing gold.

Liquid sunlight threads climb Letia’s skin where the red trails were. They glimmer up her chest and neck to her cheek. Her skin isn’t just bright; she’s beaming.

When we stripped the ring from her hand, we planned to move it to her other one as fast as we could, but that never happened. The moment it was taken off, the band cracked in half, and the pain ceased. Letia collapsed in relief and passed out.

The two pieces of the ring now sit on the table beside her bed.

She’s alive. Breathing well.

It doesn’t make sense.

I turn to leave the room and find Rior waiting for me in the hallway.

“How is this possible?” he asks, falling into step beside me. “Are you sure she’s not Fae? Or at least half, like Elorie?”

I scratch the back of my neck. “She’s not Fae. I had an alchemist double-check after she survived the removal of the ring. Her blood is purely human.”

“The other humans haven’t had any reaction to the aeraliss.” Rior glances my way. “And if she is human, she shouldn’t be breathing right now. We’ve all seen what happens when a mortal comes here without the rings.”

I swallow hard, knowing he’s right.

When the Arch to the Mortal Realm was freely open, there were humans who tried to step through to our side. They went mad in a matter of minutes before shredding into aether.

“I don’t know how it’s possible, but Letia’s blood is human. I’m sure of it.” I shake my head. “Is Celeste here yet?”

This time, it’s Rior who stiffens. His shoulders pull tight as he nods. “She’s in the meeting hall ready for you.”

“You’re welcome to sit this one out if you’d like.”

“I’ll be fine.” His answer is quick, but his tone is clipped.

Rior has done his best to avoid Celeste since she left for Zealeh with his brother, spending the past few hundred years as far south as possible. It wasn’t until the Arch to Sarrow closed with his brother on the other side that Rior attempted to reach out. Celeste, in her grief, refused to reciprocate, either because of their past or because Rior refuses to accept that Roane is dead, and his hope hurts her more.

But after she rejected him then, he stopped trying, looking out for her from afar and making sure she had no inkling that he was watching over her.

It’s not my place to get involved in that particular matter, so I keep my thoughts to myself as we head to the meeting hall.

The doors are open when we arrive, and Celeste is a golden beacon in the center of the room. Her arms are crossed over her chest, one finger tapping at her annoyance or boredom. Her umber skin glows with the sun streaming through the window. It shimmers off the headband of golden leaves that keep her tight black curls off her face.

A black silk dress hugs her body, pinching inward where a cage of gold hugs her ribs like a corset. Large gold vines wrap her wrists and forearms.

She’s dressed in the royal attire of Zealeh.

While there is only one crown in Vaelier—the one I’m set to claim—Zealeh has always treated their lords and ladies as a second set of royalty. Their customs are strong, and their people are devoted to their territory.