Free A Sky of Spells (Book #9 in the Sorcerer's Ring) by Morgan Rice Page B

failed.
    This time, she had learned
her lesson; she was humbled. She did not yearn for power now. Now, she just
wanted peace. She just wanted to be back with her people, in a place to call
home. She saw firsthand how bad life could be with the Empire, and she wanted
to get as far away from ambition as possible.
    Luanda thought of Bronson,
of how much he had cared for her, and she hated herself for letting him down.
She felt that if there was anyone left that might forgive her, might take her back
in again, it was he. She was determined to find him, not matter how far she had
to march. She only prayed he was still alive.
    Luanda came upon the rear
camp of the MacGils, all of them marching towards King’s Court on the wide road
leading West, thousands of men, exhausted but jubilant, fresh off their victory.
She was thrilled to catch up with them, to see that they had won, and she
weaved her way through, asking each if they knew where Bronson was. She asked
them all the same thing: if they had seen him, if he was alive.
    Most had ignored her with a
grunt, turning away from her, shrugging, ignorant. And those that recognized
her, sent her away with disparaging remarks.
    “Aren’t you the MacGil girl?
The one who sold us all out?” asked a soldier, elbowing his friends, who all turned
and examined her with scorn.
    I am a member of the MacGil
royal family, the firstborn daughter of King MacGil. You are a commoner. You remember
that and keep your place, she wanted to say. The old Luanda would have.
    But now, humbled, ashamed, she
merely lowered her head. She was no longer the woman she once was.
    “Yes, that is I,” she answered.
“I am sorry.”
    Luanda turned and
disappeared back into the camp, weaving her way in and out, until finally she
tapped yet another soldier on the shoulder, and as he turned, she prepared to
ask him if he knew were Bronson was.
    But as he turned she stopped
cold.
    So did he.
    All around him the men kept
marching, yet the two of them stood there, frozen, staring at each other.
    She could hardly breathe.
There, facing her, was her love.
    Bronson.
    Bronson stared back at
Luanda in shock. She stood there and, for several seconds, she did not know if
he would hate her, send her away, or embrace her.
    But suddenly his eyes welled
with tears and she could see relief flood his face, and he rushed forward and
embraced her. He held her tight, and she embraced him back. It felt so good to
be in his arms again, and she clung to him as she began sobbing, her body
wracked with tears, not realizing how much she’d held in, how upset she was.
She let it all out, crying, ashamed.
    “Luanda,” he said, holding
her. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re alive.”
    “I love you too,” she said
through her tears, unable to let go, to back away.
    She pulled back and, unable
to look into his eyes, lowered her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.
    “Forgive me,” she said
softly, unable to meet his gaze. “Please. Forgive me.”
    He embraced her again,
holding her tight.
    “I forgive you for
everything,” he said. “I know it wasn’t the real you.”
    She looked up and met his
eyes, and she saw that they did not look at her with scorn. She could see that
he still loved her as much as the day she had met him.
    “I knew that you were just caught
up in the grips of something,” he continued. “Ambition. It overwhelmed you. But
it wasn’t you. It wasn’t the Luanda I know.”
    “Thank you,” she said. “You’re
right. It wasn’t me.”
    She smiled, breathing deep, collecting
herself as she wiped away her tears.
    “And what of the others?”
she asked nervously. “Thorgrin? My sister? Are they alive?”
    She knew that if the answer
was no, she would face an angry mob who would blame it on her and want her
dead.
    Bronson smiled and nodded
back, and as she saw his face, she was overwhelmed with joy and relief.
    “They are indeed,” he
replied. “They have all gone to King’s Court, which is where we