Draven’s smile went oily. “No need for curtseys. She isn’t a lady here.” He made a little flourish toward the hand like he’d rehearsed it.
“Pretty thing,” the hooded man said, voice deep and curious. His head tilted. “Who marked you?”
He meant the scar. The one everyone pretended not to see.
Against every instinct—and because humiliating Draven was almost worth the risk—I placed my hand in the stranger’s.
The world jolted.
Images seared through me. A bride veiled in blood. A voice whispering,I told you I’d find you. Two divine figures standing together—one crowned in flame, the other cloaked in night.
I tore my hand back. The stranger didn’t move. Hayat’s stare snapped to mine, questions bright and sharp.
“Interesting,” the figure murmured, low enough that it felt like the word was for him alone.
The air tightened around the sound. Something in me wanted to follow it, a thread tugging behind my ribs, but Hayat closed his fingers around my wrist before I could take a step. “Come on,” he muttered, steering me toward the alley.
The market surged back—fishmongers shouting, gulls wheeling, laughter too loud. I realized the air had been trapped somewhere inside me.
“Who was that?” I asked as we turned away, my voice low.
“Probably some noble from the outlying houses.” He didn’t quite meet my eyes. “They’re gathering early this year for the patron ceremony.”
I glanced back once, but the hooded figure was already gone.
The square rang too loud in my ears as we left. I told myself it was only nerves. But something deeper stirred, whispering what I already feared. Nyxarra did not wait quietly.
By the time we returned, dusk had begun to creep across the horizon. The cliffs burned gold, the sea a restless shadow below.
Aeryn stood too close to the edge, wind in his curls.
“Aeryn,” I called. My voice went high.
His body tilted forward. Just a breath, but enough. My pack slipped; an apple bounced down the incline and wobbled to a stop at his feet. I lunged after it.
I caught his arm as his knees buckled. His eyes snapped open, distant, out of reach.
“No,” I gasped. “Aeryn. Look at me. Stay with me.”
For a moment, only the wind moved.
He blinked, dazed. His weight sagged into mine. “I’m still here,” he whispered, voice cracked. “I’m here.”
But the way he said it chilled me. Like he was trying to convince himself more than me. Like he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep holding on. Something in me twisted, sharp, decisive. Whatever time we had left was shrinking.
Hayat’s hand pressed my shoulder. “Let’s get him inside,” he said quietly.
We did. We settled him by the fire, and I pressed a pastry into his hand like it could keep him tethered. He didn’t eat it. He just held it and stared at nothing for a while, the glow of the hearth soft against the hollow in his cheeks.
The quiet that followed was worse than any scream. I could almost hear what he wasn’t saying.I’m tired. I’m slipping. I don’t know how to stop it.If the darkness inside him was learning to move unseen, then it was growing. And growing things eventually bloom or burst.
I wanted to tell him I had a plan, that I knew what to do, that I wouldn’t let him go where I couldn’t follow. But lies would break easier than he would.
So I touched his hand instead, let the silence settle, and made a promise he couldn’t yet hear. That I was leaving. That I’d come back with something to make him whole again. The truth felt crueler than silence. If he knew, he’d try to stop me, or worse, follow. And I couldn’t risk losing him to the same darkness that already hunted his mind.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said at last. I watched his lashes flutter with exhaustion, watched his fingers go slack around the pastry, and I understood with a clarity that hurt. I wasn’t preparing to rescue him. I was preparing to fight whatever was already inside him.
3