Page 170 of First Ritual

“Wild would kill us,” Corentin said.

Uh-huh. “Your curiosity has nothing to do with it? This is pretty personal, though. The echo is my mother. I’d prefer to be alone.”

Corentin almost looked swayed by the plea.

“Nope,” said Huxley.

Corentin lost his uncertainty and recovered his scanning glare.

I could come back with Rooke another time. “Oops, lost sight of her.”

“There she is,” came Corentin’s reply.

“How the heck can you see?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a little taller, Bronte.”

True story. Groaning, I strode around the sunflower field, rounding the corner. My mother was just disappearing through the next trees. I ran to catch up, ducking and weaving through low branches and shrubs to keep her in sight.

The guys were silent followers behind me until my mother stopped at the edge of a ravine. I paused, then strode to join her on the lip.

Her hands went to her stomach. Her lips were dry and white-rimmed.

“She’s pregnant,” Huxley gasped. I felt his gaze on me. “With you.”

And Syera.

Extending her arms wide, my mother stared blankly ahead as though empty. Then she tipped forward into the ravine.

I screamed, stretching to catch her hand, but was yanked back by Corentin.

My mouth hung ajar. “She…” I scrambled for the edge again to peer down. “But she didn’t die here.”

Far, far below, I caught a glimpse of moving white. She was alive. Mother be.

Another echo burst from my chest to hurl herself into thin air and plummet into the ravine.

“Grandmother,” I wheezed.

“Cool,” Corentin said, awe clear in his voice from my grandmother’s stunt.

I had to go down there. “You guys stay up here.”

“Nope,” Huxley said.

Rolling my eyes, I tipped forward into the ravine. Cold air shuddered past me, catching on my T-shirt and hair. I peered through to the bottom, pushing out power through my battle affinity to slow my descent and land on soft feet.

Corentin thumped beside me, and Huxley landed like a cat.

“Tell me, Hazeluna. I demand it. No more sneaking around. I can see what this, whatever it is, is doing to you. Speak the words and share the burden.” My grandmother’s voice was as demanding and loud as it ever had been.

I left the guys to pad over, my gaze locked on two people I’d lost brutally five years before. This brand of pain had no real relief.

Sorrow.

Grief.

Regret.