Page 93 of The Last Remaining Light

Korvel shifted toward her, the terrace lights catching along the silver embroidery of his collar.

“Then accept mine,” he said.

Elowynn stilled with the glass of wine on her lips. The offer was not exactly surprising. Korvel had asked her to enough events over the turnings that refusal had become almost a ritual between them.

Tonight, however, something in his voice felt different. She found herself trying to determine what it was.

Lowering the glass, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Most people simply say yes or no, Elowynn.”

The use of her given name on his tongue always made her recoil. She had never liked the way he said it.

“I am not most people.”

“No,” he murmured. “You’re not.”

A gust of cold wind swept along the terrace, stirring loose strands of her hair against her cheek. Korvel’s gaze followed the movement before returning to her eyes.

“The Council will attend,” he said finally. “So will the Conclave heads. Several Collegium patrons. It would be useful for you to be seen.”

“Ah,” she said, pointing her wine glass toward him. “See? I knew there was an ulterior motive here.”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “At least I’m honest.”

Elowynn tilted her head, studying him with a penetrating stare. “Are you?”

The question hung between them like a rope pulled too tight.

Korvel smiled, though something unreadable hovered beneath it. “Often enough to remain interesting.”

She should refuse. She really should.

Lora would say accepting anything from Korvel without knowing his motive was like walking willingly into a room and admiring the trap design before stepping into it.

Her mother would remind her of the danger that can lurk behind the face of powerful men.

Caelyn would tell her to be careful and trust her instincts.

The thought of Caelyn stung unexpectedly. She had not realized how long it had been since she had truly thought of him outside the distance of their letters. A sudden ache flared beneath her ribs, and she lifted her free hand instinctively to press near her ribs.

Caelyn.

He would be twenty-seven now. Somewhere far south in Lumenshire, perhaps repairing old resonance systems or standing beside the sea walls beneath winter clouds. Still writing. Still waiting moons between letters. Still occupying some part of her life that no distance had managed to erase.

Elowynn peered back toward Korvel, who had seemed to take on a concerned expression when she reached for her ribs.

With Veylspire shimmering below them, beautiful and dangerous and full of moving pieces, Elowynn had a thought.

Perhaps it was time to study the board more closely.

“Very well,” she said. “I will accept your invitation.”

Chapter Twenty

“Love can become volatile when it finally decides it has waited long enough.”

— Note found half burned within the Undercroft