MAEVE'S POV
Once I was on sturdy ground, we began our walk into the woods. The early morning fog was thick, coated with the wetness of mist.
Revierrie's glasses fogged over almost instantly, and he had to take them off. He tucked them into his pocket without breaking stride.
"So, do you do this often? Go traipsing through the woods at the crack of dawn?" I asked, mostly just to throw his earlier words back at him.
Revierrie chuckled. The sound was brief. Almost as quickly, he sobered.
"Not exactly. I couldn't sleep last night. I was up all night studying the failed ritual, trying to figure out what might have gone wrong."
A tiny, unwelcome pinch of guilt pricked my chest. I'd given him hell yesterday—snapped at him in front of everyone—because of that failure.
I hadn't cared then that he might've been just as shaken, maybe even more, under all his priestly composure.
