No answers came. Only the steady beat of Malachi’s heart beneath my cheek as we lay together, and the hush of waves beyond the window.
Tomorrow, I would go into town with Aeryn one last time before we left, for however long that meant. Aeryn would return to Synnex once he was healed. He deserved that safety, that quiet place that still belonged to him. I’d make sure of it.
Plans were fragile things, but they were something to hold.
For now, I let my eyes close and whispered a vow into the dark: I would not lose them. Not Aeryn. Not Malachi. Not my friends. Not the fragile shape of home I had finally pieced together.
Even if the cost was everything else.
59
Malachi
The morning came slow,like it wasn’t sure it wanted to touch us yet. I woke first, though I didn’t move. Sheets tangled around Aurelia’s legs, her skin kissed gold where sunlight had managed to slip through the shutters. The fabric was sun-bleached, worn soft with years. She turned her face into the pillow and breathed deep, as if the scent of home lived in the linen.
Her lashes lifted, blue eyes catching on me. “Good morning,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep.
I touched the scar that cut across her cheek, let my fingertip trace its pale ridge. She didn’t flinch. She only looked at me like she was weighing how much of herself to hand me today.
A breeze stirred the curtains, carrying the salt of the sea and teasing across our bare skin. The quiet was intimate, unhurried. She slid closer, pressed her mouth to mine, and we sank back into each other. Slow this time. Like learning one another all over again.
Later, I rose and went to the washroom. The stone basin filled hot as I drew water to bathe, sluicing it across my chest. WhenAurelia appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and smile crooked, I thought I might never grow tired of this—her slipping into my mornings as if she’d always belonged there. She joined me without hesitation, steam softening the lines of her body, water running in rivulets over her shoulders.
We dressed together, tugging on tunics and boots. “What’s the plan for today?” I asked as I buckled my belt. “And when do we move? Through the woods we’ll need to keep pace with the light.”
Her hands stilled at her cloak’s clasp. “We’ll go into town this morning. Get what we can, make sure Aeryn is ready. Then we leave as soon as we’re packed. I don’t care if the path is darker.”
She turned, determination plain in the set of her jaw. I understood the hurry well enough. The patron ceremony was almost here, and every hour we lingered made the ground beneath us less our own.
The house was quiet when we left. Morning light poured through the windows, pooling across the table in amber puddles. Someone had tidied, but not completely. A cup lingered in the sink. A blanket slouched over a chair. The scent of rosemary and wine from last night’s supper still clung faint in the air.
We took the long road down to the harbor—the one carved into the cliffs and half-swallowed by dunegrass. The sea muttered at our left, blue upon blue, gulls crying sharp above the surf. Aeryn’s hands were buried in his pockets. He walked with a false confidence, but still I started to recognize the fracture lines he tried to hide. Aurelia knew. Every glance she gave him was a small act of guarding.
The harbor road wound on, and Aurelia slowed her steps until Aeryn matched her pace. She bumped her shoulder lightly against his.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
“I’m always quiet.” His tone was flat but not sharp.
She arched her brow. “You’re sulking. That’s different.”
Aeryn huffed, almost a laugh, and kicked a pebble down the road. It clattered against the stone. “Maybe I like sulking.”
“Maybe I’ll buy you something sweet to fix it.” She glanced toward the town ahead, where the stalls began to crest into view. “Honey cakes, if you behave.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “I’m not a child.”
“No,” she said, softer this time. “But you’re still my little brother.”
His expression faltered at that, but he didn’t argue. He just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and kept walking.
The town opened before us, louder than yesterday. Fishmongers calling, children darting through the stalls, the air heavy with brine and oil and citrus. A man shouted about pickled shrimp. A woman’s laughter spilled from a window. Somewhere, a fiddler played off-key. The notes carried on the wind like scraps of color.
Near the bread stall, a hooded man stared too long. I caught the squint of his eye, the twitch of recognition, and felt my spine lift. I nudged Aeryn forward.
We ended at the library. Pale stone walls worn soft by salt winds, the air inside heavy with parchment and sea. Aeryn drifted into the poetry alcove and Aurelia let him, her watchful silence saying more than words could. He trailed his fingers along the spines, reverent, as if the words themselves might hold him together.
“You used to recite this one,” she murmured, pulling down a slim book. “Do you remember?”