Whether it’s Drina always killing me, Roman always tricking me, or Jude either intentionally or unintentionally sabotaging me—something is always standing in the way of Damen’s and my ultimate happiness.
And I can’t help but wonder if there’s some kind of reason behind it.
The universe is not nearly as chaotic as it seems.
There’s a definite reason for everything.
But when the Great Halls decide to shut you out, no amount of clever rephrasing can change that.
This one is on me.
It’s my job to find the shirt. My job to determine if Haven even realizes what it is that she’s keeping from me.
Is she holding it for sentimental reasons, because it’s the last thing Roman wore on the night he died?
Does she keep it as a visual reminder that helps fuel her rage against Jude and me?
Or does she know about the stain and the promise it holds?
Has she known all along what I’m just discovering now?
All I know for sure is that without the aid of Summerland, I’ve got no choice but to head back to the earth plane to see what I can learn there.
And I’m just about to make the portal again, when I sense him.
Damen.
He’s here.
Somewhere close by.
So, instead, I close my eyes and make one last request, asking for Summerland to lead me to him.
ten
The next thing I know, I’m making my way through the field of blazing red tulips, following the pull of Damen’s energy all the way to the front door of the pavilion.
I pause just outside it, unsure if I should really go in. At first, thinking it odd that he’d come here without me, then figuring it’s just his way of being near me when I’m busy elsewhere, I poke my head inside, barely making out the top of his head peeking up from the couch. Just about to call out, let him know that I’m here and share what I’ve learned about the shirt, when I see it.
The screen.
And the horrible scene that’s projected upon it.
It’s my Southern life.
My slave life.
Back when I was helpless and abused, but not without hope.
And on this particular day there seems to be an abundance of hope—at least, all things considered anyway. Because even though it takes me a moment to catch up to what’s truly going on, one thing is clear—I’m being sold. Removed from my horribly abusive master so I can go work for a much younger man with dark wavy hair, a long, lean build, and heavily lashed eyes that I recognize immediately.
Damen.
He bought me. Rescued me. Just like he said!
And yet—if that’s the case, then why do I look so sad? Why is my bottom lip quivering, my dark eyes tearing, on the day when my one true love, my soul mate, my knight in shining armor has come to save me from a life of drudgery?
Why do I look so unhappy, with shaking limbs and a gaze filled with fear—continually glancing over my shoulder while dragging my feet—so clearly reluctant to join him?