Page 101 of Heart’s Rescue

Silence pulls tight in the room, and the air feels heavy with the weight of the words no one is speaking. I wonder if Aloserin feels he’s being sent to his death, or if he’s calculating the chances he’ll return to the Lands Below.

“We’ll hold it open,” Lythienne says to Aloserin, as though she’s reading my mind. Or perhaps just reading the room. “We’ll see you soon, dear heart.”

Aloserin nods at her. His lips are pressed into a tight, thin line, and he’s holding his body so tight I feel like he’s going to explode. He turns to Folwynn, who seems to shrink away from him.

“Let’s get this over with,” Aloserin mutters under his breath.

“If you see her,” Orryen says suddenly, his words tumbling over themselves like he’s trying to get them out before he can stop himself. “If you see Elanerill. Tell her—”

He hesitates. Rowan's fingers tighten around my hand.

“Tell her… I hope she’s well,” Orryen finishes, his cheeks blazing.

Aloserin greets this missive with the same stiff nod he gave the king. And then he tugs Prince Folwynn toward the portal. The air shimmers and undulates around them, and the magic in the air grows thicker, warmer. There’s a sound, like the distant chime of thousands of tiny, silver bells, and Aloserin and Folwynn waver as if they’re sinking beneath the surface of a wind-ruffled pond. For a heartbeat, they don’t seem to be moving, and then they’re fading, or falling, as the magic-filled air dances around them. The last thing I see is the flash of Folwynn’s blond hair, the midnight blue of his cloak, and then he’s gone, and I feel like I’ve finally taken off a very heavy pack that I’ve carried for a very long time.

A shiver races up my spine, and my eyes blur. I’m not sure if the wave of relief and exhaustion coursing through my body is mine or Rowan's; I draw a jagged breath, turn to Rowan, and bury my head against his chest. He smells so good, so warm and comfortable and safe. His heart beats against my cheek as he runs his hands through my hair.

“So,” Rowan whispers to me. “Wanna go back to my place?”

It’s the same thing he said to me in the ruined barn after he’d wrapped me in his cloak and carried me to safety. I try to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled sort of hiccup. I lean back and meet those dazzling blue eyes.

“Of course,” I reply.

His brow furrows. “I can’t offer you anything like what you had in the Worlds Above. You know that, right?”

This time my laugh is as clear as the crystal windows of Princess Elanerill’s tower.

“I know,” I say. I lean forward, kiss him, and then pull back. “I don’t want to live in the Worlds Above, Rowan. Lady Arryn Damoira didn’t make it. I want to be Arryn of the Lands Below.”

“Arryn of the Lands Below,” Rowan says slowly, like he’s tasting the name, rolling it over his lips and tongue. “I like it.”

He leans forward and gives me the kind of kiss that would scandalize the entire royal court of the Kingdom of the Summer.

And I kiss him right back.