The Wind Weaver (Reign of Remnants, #1)

by Julie Johnson

“Either stab me with that dagger or put it on the nightstand,” he mutters. “At this point, I really don’t care which.”

“Where the hell are you going?” Penn is scowling. “To spill secrets to your enemies, of course,”

“Four elements. Four Remnants, reincarnated in flesh and blood. A fated tetrad, bearing the marks of the gods. Scattered across the land. Should all four come together and be bound as one, the balance will be restored. Maegic will return, the blight will end, the land will recover, all will rejoice. Bounty, glory, et cetera.”

He is startlingly close. His eyes are a living flame, burning into mine. “What do I feel like?” “Like…a hot swallow of tea after a day out in the chill.” I test the current between us, exploring it, running my mind across it like hands over a precious object. “Like the faint char of a bonfire in the air from somewhere far away. A hint of flame and heat.”

“Is that what I feel like to you?” I ask. “No. You…” A muscle leaps in his cheek as his jaw tightens. “You are like a crisp trickle of water down the back of a sun-scorched neck. Like cold aloe on a burn.”

“Rhya.” His voice is very nearly a caress. “Some grief is too heavy to carry alone. Let go of it. Give it to me. I will carry it for you.” The whimper slips out. His hands tighten at the sound. Yet his words remain whisper soft. “Stop running from a past you can’t change. Walk forward with me instead.”

“What the skies is he doing here?” Farley splutters. “Helping,” Soren fires back. “Which is more than I can say for you, tripod. Do you plan to swing that walking stick at every Reaver who comes your way?”