Aelion Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

They rode hard until dusk, Lyra silent in the saddle ahead of him. The bracelet on her wrist caught the last light. Aelion watched her shoulders stiffen each time he spoke, and knew his careful voice was building a wall. When the small inn rose from the road, its single lit window promised shelter and nothing else. The innkeeper had one room. One bed. Lyra's jaw tightened, but she climbed the stairs without argument. Aelion stood at the window instead of sitting. Across the field, the broken arches of an old Fae kingdom glowed faintly blue, water threading through the stones. He had passed these ruins for centuries without speaking. Tonight he could not afford another century of silence. "Why did you come after me?" Lyra asked behind him. "Duty?" He turned. He drew from his coat the amulet he had carried for thirty years — its twin, he believed, somewhere near her heart. It pulsed soft gold in his palm. "I had this made the first night I heard you sing," he said. "Duty was assigned this week. This is older." She crossed the room. She did not take the amulet, but she did not look away either. "Then sleep in the bed," she said quietly. "I'll take the chair." "No," Aelion answered. "We share it, or I take the floor. Your choice." Lyra studied him a long moment, then sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her. The doubt did not vanish. But it bent, and let him in.