“Who are you? Speak quickly!” the woman barks. She’s got bronze-toned skin and raven-black hair that’s tied back behind her, trailing over one leather-armor covered shoulder. Her eyes are a deep purple. The man beside her is pale, with dark hair and golden eyes like mine.
“I am Sarielle, Queen of Valaron. We seek refuge here. Wherever…this… is.”
“You’re in Eldare,” the man says, a rumble of power moving across him.
The two of them glance at each other for the barest of moments, as if ascertaining the truth of my statement.
“My realm was overtaken by a tyrant named Avonia. I was forced to flee. I was raised in Eldare. I assure you I mean it no harm.”
“If you were raised in Eldare, then how did you get to Valaron? Let alone become its queen?” the woman asks, her gaze sharp.
“It’s quite a long story,” I say. “I am happy to tell you, but please let me make sure my husband is okay.”
The man looks over at the nightmare. “And that thing?”
“A nightmare. It obeys me, and will do you no harm, either.”
Another shared glance between the two warriors. The moment stretches, my heart pounding in my chest. Then the woman nods. “I’m Zara, and this is my husband, Asher. We will help you, so long as you are no threat to Eldare, or the rest of Aureon.”
Relief floods through me. We’d escaped, and we’re alive. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed possible an hour ago. In this moment, it’s all that matters. “You have my word, Zara.”
I turn my gaze from the warriors back to Zyren and I drop to my knees in the grass next to him. My hands flutter overhis chest as the adrenaline spiking through my veins dissipates. He doesn’t appear to have any obvious wounds. I rest one hand gently over his heart. “Zyren? Are you okay?”
His eyes blink and then open. He looks at his surroundings, his expression dazed. Slowly, he sits up, wincing in pain as he moves. His eyes travel over me, Owyn, the newcomers, and the nightmare behind us. Then they move back to me.
I pull him into a careful hug. “You’re alive. Thank the goddess.”
When I pull back again, he’s looking at me with the strangest expression. His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine.
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “How did I get here? And who are you?”
