I twisted once, meeting Hayat’s eyes. He didn’t look away.
Rage boiled. Rage and grief and something colder.
55
Malachi
The square scattered behind us.Whispers followed like knives at our backs. What stayed with me wasn’t their stares but what Aurelia had done—shadows pouring out of her, fire twisting obediently into her hand.
The nobles had looked at her with fear. Some with calculation.
I pulled her into an alley. She fought for air, breaths short and sharp, her eyes too wide.
“Breathe,” I said. My shoulder burned where Draven’s blade had cut, but the wound was already knitting closed, warm blood drying under the leather—a dull sting compared to the noise in my head.
Aurelia pressed a hand to her ribs, gasping, then forced the words out, counting steady under her breath.One. Two. Three.The frantic edge dulled. By five her chest eased. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, pushed off the wall, and stood straight.
“We’ll check the apothecary,” she said. Her voice was steady again, though her hands trembled once before she hid them at her sides.
I let her lead. Draven’s words gnawed at me:Children of the goddesses. Half god, half king.What did that mean? What bargain had been struck, and how?
The streets narrowed. Aurelia knew the turns. She stopped at a low door with painted shutters. Herbs and smoke leaked from the seams.
Inside, shelves were crowded with jars and tinctures. A raven perched on the counter clicked its beak and spoke in a flat rasp. “Chains break. Thorns bleed. Crowns fall.”
The woman behind the counter stilled. Then she came around and pulled Aurelia into her arms. Held her tight, eyes shut. When she opened them, her gaze cut to me.
Colette’s eyes were kind, though age lined her face. Her hair had gone white shot through with gray, braided and pinned back. She was a little shorter than Aurelia, dressed in a plain work apron over dark skirts. On her wrist, half-hidden by her sleeve, I saw Sylvara’s mark.
“And who are you?” she asked, voice calm but firm.
I stepped forward. “My name is Malachi. Malachi Dravaryn.”
As I’d expected, recognition flickered.
“General Dravaryn…” She reached to her collar and tugged it lower, revealing the ink etched deep at the base of her throat. A Keeper’s mark. She’d escaped. Survived.
I pulled my own collar down in answer.
Colette stepped closer, caught my shirt, and pulled me down enough to meet her eyes. One callused hand cupped the side of my face, her thumb brushing near my jaw.
“You were just a boy when I left Nyxarra,” she murmured. Her eyes softened. “But I’d know your mother’s eyes anywhere.”
She drew back, voice steadier. “My name is Colette.”
The name tugged at some old corner of memory. Faint, elusive.
Aurelia’s gaze darted between us, confusion etched plain. “Do you two…” She gestured between us. “...know each other?”
Colette went on before I could speak. “If you’re to save your brother,” she said quietly, “you need to know the truth of who stands beside him.” She took a breath before continuing. “I came with a woman once. Jazmina. A noblewoman the king had requested. She was beautiful, with the warmest eyes. Though Talon had a queen, it was Jazmina he paraded through the halls. She bore him a son. The queen feared for her Kaelith—that Talon would pass the throne to the new boy given his love for Jazmina.”
Colette’s mouth tightened. The muscles in her throat worked once before the words broke free. “One night, Jazmina slept, and her child cried. I walked him through the corridors to let her rest. When I returned…” She shook her head. “The queen stood over her, arms painted crimson from elbow to wrist, the knife dripping steady onto the stones. Jazmina lay in a pool of blood. I ran with the boy, never looking back.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the tragedy and how Kaelith was never the same after his mother’s death. A slow ache pressed behind my ribs. “Talon killed his queen—Kaelith’s mother—for what she did. But the boy was never found.”
Aurelia’s head turned. “And is this boy still alive?”
Colette’s hands worried the front of her apron, fingers twisting the fabric before she forced them still, folding them tight.