Chapter Thirty-Seven
Shroud of Sorrow
“Do you really have to go?” Finiferia asked. She gave Lysandir a pleading look.
They were strolling together beneath the shimmering boughs of Melaquenya in an unoccupied area of the forest. Most of the elves tended to give both of them a wide berth in any case.
The earthy scent of sun-warmed moss filled her nostrils. Pregnancy seemed to heighten her sense of smell. The trees around them were silent, other than the wordless whisper of an errant breeze. Still, the forest pulsed with life, which seemed to echo the one that came from within her own belly. She placed her hands over the swollen front of her dress to comfort herself.
She had not sensed Alfialys’s familiar presence within her—not yet. But there was still time.
Meanwhile, she had found he
