Page 80 of The Last Remaining Light

A startled laugh escaped Elowynn. “I am serious, Lora.”

“I know! That is exactly why I am concerned.”

“The foundations beneath the lower observatories are reacting to the current shifts,” Elowynn said. “The resonance feels… uneven. It has been feeling that way for a while now. Even Caelyn says in his letters that they are behaving similarly in Lumenshire.”

The words filled the space with trepidation because they both understood what she meant.

The disturbances were spreading and were no longer isolated anomalies anymore.

The eastern province.

Then Astermere.

Lumenshire.

Veylspire.

Places around the continent that were all connected through the aethercurrents beneath the world with the Celestial Spire at its very heart.

And no one seemed willing to say it aloud yet, except for Lora, who watched her with a calculating expression from across the desk.

“You look like someone about to discover something world-changing, which, by the way, I hope you are wrong about.”

Elowynn shrugged. “Me too.”

But she felt it to her core. Something was happening.

She was going to figure it out before another Blackwake arrived.

Two bells later, an empty wine bottle sat atop Elowynn’s desk. Lora had finally stumbled her way back to her own chamber to get some sleep before the tolling of the dawn bells, but Elowynn had remained awake. It had taken her the remainder of the night to finally write her letter to Caelyn.

By the time the bells marked the approach of dawn, Elowynn sealed the finished letter with a violet-blue wax and then stared at it.

Not once had she mentioned the execution.

Not once had she written the word Null.

The omissions sat uneasy in her chest.

For the first time since they had known each other, she had purposely hidden something important from Caelyn.

It was not out of distrust, because she trusted Caelyn with her life.

It was out of fear.

The notion hovered around her like a pesky fly, and every time she swatted it away, it came right back to upset her.

Pushing up from her desk, Elowynn made her way to her dresser and reached for her ivory comb. She pulled it through her long, pale locks in languid strokes, studying herself in the mirror. She was no longer the girl who arrived here one turning ago—uncertain, grieving, overwhelmed by the scale of everything around her—and she now scarcely recognized the woman looking back at her.

The city had changed her, which was inevitable, she supposed. Spend enough time in one place, you become like that place. That was what Sister Agatha had told her when she had overheard her mother talking in low whispers to one of Elowynn’s tutors. She had been upset at how Elowynn had become ‘like the abbey children’ rather than the noble she was destined to be.

Pushing the memory from her mind, Elowynn replaced the comb and crossed to her bed. With a tug at the ties, she slipped off her robe and draped it over the back of a chair. Beneath, she wore simple silk sleeping garments that covered her modestly. She had never found the heavy night robes particularly comfortable.

Pulling back the heavy quilt, she climbed into bed, grateful the span had finally ended. Tomorrow would grant her a few extra bells of rest. She drew the covers to her chin and lay staring at the veined stone ceiling overhead.

Elowynn’s mind wandered.

Knowledge alone could not save the world. But neither could fear.