“Yes,” said Cintra, nodding encouragingly. “Drink the godsblood, utter the Oath you’ve already memorized, and then you will be one of us. One of Narcissi’s Forsworn, a loyal Protector of the Goddess of the Wood.”

As she pressed the liquid to her lips, Cainan could hardly believe this was happening, the last year passing in a blur, his and Sinna’s daily visits to the solitary cabin in the woods so enjoyable that he would almost miss them, though having Cora living here in the Rocklands would be even better, of course.

After telling the Sightless about Cora, and her Ability, they’d approved her initiation and training. For the last four seasons, he and Sinna had taught her everything she needed to know. About Narcissi’s history. About the last Blood Tide. About godsblood and its sacred principles. About the Forsworn and what they were charged with doing. She’d been the best possible student, devouring the knowledge as one might a feast, asking insightful and delightful questions at every turn. Sometimes challenging what they said as well, making them delve deeper into the details of the Forsworn Oath, strengthening their own conviction to its tenets.

The entire experience had been nothing short of transformative, not just for Cora, but for Cainan and, though she wouldn’t admit it, Sinna too.

Now, decorum no longer required that he hold back his smile as Cora threw back the godsblood in a single gulp, her eyes widening in awe, her lips glistening gold. He smiled and laughed and applauded with the rest of the Forsworn, enjoying this moment more than any other in his entire life, including his own initiation into this elite group.

His smile persisted as her Oath slid off her lips as easily as a waterfall over the edge of a cliff, every word perfect, every declaration meaningful and proud. “…and I shall eschew the ways of husband and wife, for my only love shall be Narcissi, my only spouse the Goddess of the Wood whom I serve…”

At last, his smile faltered, for as wonderful as everything about this long-awaited day had been, it also meant the final slamming of the door for something else that he selfishly desired. Or, more specifically, that his heart desired. That his ever-growing love for this woman be allowed to bloom as the flowers in spring.

In his mind, he watched that door slam, using his own hand to turn the key in the lock.

For whatever love he had for Cora could never be.

“I’m. Not. Dead. Yet,” he grunted, pushing off from one wall and running the three steps to the other wall, using his hand to prevent a bruising crash, shoving off and heading back the other way. Back and forth he went, fifty times, a hundred, two hundred, five hundred, a thousand. Only then did he stop, dropping to a crouch, panting, head between his knees.