It’s too much, too intense.
With a final, powerful thrust, I bury myself deep inside her.
When we part, I rest my forehead against hers. “You’re my family now, Everly. My home.”
Chapter
Seventy-One
CENRIC
I rise before the sun,careful not to wake Everly as I dress. Her peaceful face tugs at my heart, but I force myself to look away. There’s work to be done.
Outside, the camp stirs to life. I find Praxis by the dying embers of last night’s fire, sharpening one of his daggers.
“Watch over Everly while I’m gone,” I tell him, my voice low.
A brisk breeze ruffles his hair as he looks up. “Where are you going?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be back soon. Just keep her safe.”
Without waiting for a response, I stride to the corral and saddle Arrow.
His brown coat gleams in the early morning light. I check the saddle, ensuring it’s secure, then grasp the pommel and swing myself up.
The leather creaks as I settle into thefamiliar seat. I gather the reins, and with a gentle nudge of my heels, Arrow steps forward.
His hooves crunch on the frost-covered grass as we make our way through the sleeping camp. Tents loom like ghostly shapes in the pre-dawn gloom. The scent of last night’s campfires lingers in the air, mixing with the crisp smell of pine. As we pass the perimeter, I nod to the sentries standing guard.
The road to Karra stretches before me, winding through the forest. As the first rays of sunlight pierce through the canopy, dappling the path ahead, I glance over my shoulder at the shrinking camp.
I turn back around, determined to see this through, to right a wrong, to make Praxis happy.
The portcullis groans as it rises, revealing Karra’s imposing silhouette against the pale morning sky. Towering walls stand before me, their dark surface glistening with melting frost.
Arrow’s hooves clatter on the cobblestones as we pass beneath the gate, the shadows of the gatehouse momentarily enveloping us. The city unfolds before my eyes—a labyrinth of narrow, winding streets lined with buildings of various heights and styles.
I dismount, then lead my horse through the streets. At the first stall, I describe Rosa and the girls to an old woman selling herbs. She shakes her head and says she hasn’t seen them.
I move on, repeating the process with a burly blacksmith, then a harried-looking fruit seller. Each time, I’m met with blank stares or shrugs.
Frustration builds in my chest as I approach a fourthmerchant, this one selling bolts of brightly colored fabric. The woman eyes me as I stop in front of her.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say. “A blonde woman, traveling with two young girls who look like her. Have you seen them?”
The merchant’s eyes light up with recognition. “Yes, I’ve seen them. The woman bought some blue fabric from me yesterday.”
My heart races. “Do you know where they live?”
She hesitates, clearly torn between helping and minding her own business. I reach into my cloak and place a gold coin on her table.
Her eyes widen. “There’s a cottage on the edge of town, near the eastern gate. It’s got a red door and flowers in the window boxes.”
I nod my thanks and turn away. The eastern gate isn’t far, and I quicken my pace, leading my horse through the winding streets.
The cottage appears as the merchant described it: red door, window boxes bursting with colorful winter blooms. I tie my horse to a nearby post and approach.
I raise my hand to knock, then pause. What will I say?
