I’m scared, Thisbe. I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing. Florence and Simber are convincing me to trust what Fifer wrote, but I’m so conflicted about it. I’m tempted to write you a send spell every day. I don’t want to put you in danger, but why aren’t you letting us know what’s happening? Are you trapped? Did the Revinir take your components away? Are you even… alive? I can’t dwell on that thought. I wish I had some answers. I wish you could reassure me that you’re okay—I think that would help me cope with this. Everyone here is being wonderful—that’s not the problem. But right now I feel stuck in a strange land, waiting in limbo for something terrible to happen. Not having a home to go to. And hoping my whole life isn’t about to get upended because something terrible has happened to you.

I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You’re gone… and I’m hollow.

Ever yours,

Rohan

Rohan put the pen down. He’d look at the letter again later; tweak a few things, maybe. Or rip it up and throw it away. He knew he’d needed to write it, but now that he’d gotten it all out, he wasn’t sure if he wanted Thisbe to read it. What kind of pressure would baring his soul put on her, especially if she didn’t feel the same way about him as he felt about her? Maybe he’d hold on to it. Read some of it to her later—the part about their mothers. And let the love part come naturally if it was meant to be. When he saw her again. That felt better.

He yawned and went back to bed. This time sleep came.

Another Story

While Thisbe, Fifer, and Dev bided their time in Ashguard’s palace, the Grimere group gathered again in the dining room in Artimé’s mansion, joined by Henry and Thatcher and their family. Rohan had been thinking about Asha’s revelation about how she and Reza both had an image similar to Rohan’s flashing through their minds. He’d meant to call everyone together so they could describe their images and talk through them, but he hadn’t had a chance before now. With all of them together tonight, he brought up the idea.

They’d all been thinking similarly and were eager to discuss it. Asha began, briefly describing the image that a number of them had seen of Nadia being forced onto the ship. She went on to describe an image of an old gray-haired man with a beard, whom she declared to be Ashguard the curmudgeon. She was one of the few who knew for a fact that Ashguard was her grandfather.

“How do you know so certainly?” Rohan asked her.