Both POVs
Lenora
Sixth year, late summer.
I was at the bridge at dusk — the usual time, the time that was whenever we both finished and found each other.
The river was lower than spring, moving more slowly. The mist had not yet risen. The light was doing the thing I loved: everything amber and specific, the world insisting on its own edges before dark took them.
I thought about six years.
The girl who had walked into this river, pretending to be dead.
The woman standing at this bridge now, who was very much alive and had no interest in pretending otherwise.
Between those two: the fire, the exile, the two years in the confluence. The blood-moon ceremony. The inquiry. Verath. Marcelline's letter, Corvan's arrival, Harlan's return. The council's first session, the fifth session, the f
