I’d spent years despising what he’d become—and now I tasted the same rot. Here I was, wanting Aurelia though she was not mine, though she had been claimed. I hadn’t forced her hand, hadn’t taken more than she’d offered. But the guilt tasted just as bitter.
Because I knew what I wanted her for. Not just her body, but what she was.
The woman capable of restoring balance—or undoing it.
I had vowed to protect my people. To keep Nyxarra’s borders safe, whatever the cost. And from the moment Aurelia crossed our gate, I suspected she was the key. I told myself I’d watch her. Steer her. Use her if I could.
But if Kaelith ever sensed what had happened between us, he would use it. Not against me—no, he liked sharing—but against her.
The camp was quiet, mist and dew dampening the world. I rose, joints stiff from half-sleep, and fed the mares. Their breath bloomed white in the cold air. One nosed my palm. The other stamped, ears flicking toward the tree line, hearing things I could not.
I left them, stripping down and wading into the stream that wound just beyond the tents. The water was mountain-cold,biting as it closed over my skin. I welcomed it. Let it wash the sweat and the shame from me, if only for a breath. I lingered there longer than I should have, staring at the current tugging past my arms, at how easily it carried everything downstream. I envied it.
By the time I returned, the mist had thickened. The others were still bundled tight in their blankets.
We had half a day’s ride if the terrain held. By dusk we should hit the split ridgeline, where the moss grew thick and the birdsong went silent. A clearing. I trusted my instincts to bring us there. We’d find ghosts, or those who still remembered them.
The others stirred. Santiago cursed his back. Lysara threatened to sew his mouth shut. Gabriel stayed quiet, though I caught the way he watched Aurelia from the corner of his eye.
Aurelia hadn’t looked at me once this morning. Her gaze clung to the woods instead, following the bent shafts of light, the strange thickness of the mist. Her fingers twitched when the branches groaned, as though she expected something. She was nearing the end of her transition. Lysara’s throat was whole this morning—no wound, no bruise. Santiago’s work, no doubt. His hand had been glowing against her in the dark. I should have been relieved. Instead, the sight drew a tautness into the camp.
Aurelia noticed it, too. I saw the way her jaw tightened when her eyes flicked—just once—toward Lysara. The way she pressed her palms against her knees as though anchoring herself. She hadn’t spoken of what happened, but the guilt was there, coiled beneath her skin, impossible to miss.
Before we broke camp, Lysara crossed to her. She lowered herself to Aurelia’s level, close enough that if I weren’t standing right by Aurelia, I’d never have heard what they were saying.
“You carry guilt like a wound that won’t close,” Lysara said softly.
Aurelia looked away. “I hurt you.”
Lysara tilted her head, voice steady. “I’ve lived many centuries, Aurelia. This is hardly the worst of my wounds. And you see? Already mended.” She brushed her fingers lightly at her throat, where no mark remained. “Santiago was happy enough to keep me in his tent all night fussing over me. Even after he’d already healed my wound.” She winked.
Something flickered in Aurelia’s eyes—relief. She let out a small, startled huff of air that was almost a laugh. Lysara caught it, her lips curving.
“We all falter, Aurelia. Sometimes the ones we wound most are those we hold closest. The mercy is that love, friendship, and trust bend. They forgive. They remind us it’s alright to be flawed, because none of us are meant to be perfect.” Her voice was warm, steady, the kind that made truths easier to bear.
She reached out, gathering Aurelia into her arms. Aurelia stiffened for a breath, then let herself fold into it, her cheek resting briefly against Lysara’s shoulder.
When they parted, Aurelia’s shoulders eased. She still didn’t meet Lysara’s gaze, but the tightness around her mouth had softened, as though the weight had shifted just enough to let her breathe.
We finished packing. I cinched the mare’s girth strap and scanned the mist-heavy horizon. “If we keep a steady pace, we’ll reach where the village used to be by morning,” I said. “There’s a clearing under the split ridge—we’ll rest there before pressing on. I don’t know what’s still there, but I remember the terrain enough to find the ridge.”
Santiago nodded, more sober now. “And if they’re there?”
“If they’re there,” I said, “we approach peacefully.”
“As long as they do,” Gabriel muttered darkly.
While the others busied themselves, I crossed to Aurelia. “How are you feeling?” I asked quietly, brushing a wild curl from her cheek. My fingers lingered a beat too long.
She blinked and exhaled. “Like we should keep moving. I need to get to Aeryn.”
I nodded. I offered my hand as she mounted. She ignored it again. She swung up and settled into my lap with more ease than yesterday, her body relaxed against mine.
“I didn’t need help,” she said.
“I know,” I replied. “You wouldn’t ask even if you did.”
She didn’t move away.