Kaelith.My heart twisted at the name. My mother had told us stories of Nyxarra—its leaders, their cruelty, their hunger for power. Kaelith, prince and heir to King Talon, was said to be more ruthless than his father, the kind of man who ruled through fear as much as blood.
In every story that mattered, it was Kaelith who decided who was allowed through Nyxarra’s gates. If he truly held the reins, then every path to the Etherblooms led through him.
I didn’t have time to waste.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way the room spun around me. The cold stone bit into my feet. I tried to stand. My knees buckled. The room wheeled. I would have hit the floor if Malachi hadn’t caught me, his hands closing around my arms with an ease that did not feel human.
His grip was iron, unyielding. I wanted to wrench free, to claw at him until his eyes bled, but my body betrayed me. I was too weak to do more than stand there, seething in his grasp.
"You can’t even stand,” he said. “Where do you think you’re going?"
“To finish what I came here to do,” I spat. Every heartbeat wasted was another stolen from Aeryn. If that creature,Seraphine,had been right—and I had slept for days—then time had already been taken from me.
Malachi exhaled sharply—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Then, just as swiftly as he’d caught me, he let go.
Pain shot up my spine as I hit the ground, a sharp gasp escaping me. The floor was colder than I had expected.
Malachi barely spared me a glance as he flicked his fingers toward Santiago.
The healer’s restraints vanished, the shadowy cords unraveling and retreating. Santiago’s hands fell limply to his lap.
"Pick her up and put her back in bed," Malachi ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.
Santiago hesitated for only a breath before pushing to his feet. He rolled his shoulders once, as if shedding the weight of the cuffs, then crossed to me. Warm, calloused hands slid beneath my head and legs, lifting me with care. I wanted to shove him away, to insist I could manage on my own—but I couldn’t. My body betrayed me again, slumping into the support he offered.
"He’s right," Santiago murmured as he eased me back onto the bed. "You won’t get far like this."
I didn’t care. I couldn’t stay here. The air thickened, a weight settling on my skin, and I sagged back onto the mattress, breath ragged.
Trapped. The word pressed against my skull as surely as the shadows did.
“I need to get back to him,” I whispered, the words raw and breaking. My voice was barely audible, but the tears stinging my eyes betrayed me.
“Whatever it is you came for was a mistake. Because now, you’ll have to do it through us.” Malachi’s voice was almost amused, but there was steel beneath it. A promise. A threat. “Like it or not, little dove, Nyxarra is your cage now.”
The shadows at his feet stirred, curling in response to his amusement. Then he turned on his heel and left without another word, the heavy oak door closing behind him with a dull, final thud. The sound echoed through the chamber, sealing me in as surely as the shadows did.
Silence stretched between me and the healer. Santiago sat at the foot of the bed, exhaling heavily as he sank down. He leaned his head back against the bedpost, eyes slipping closed for a moment.
I studied him in the dim light, narrowing my gaze. “Santiago, huh? Nice to know you do, indeed, have a name.”
He hesitated, then offered a small, tired smile. “Santiago. Most just call me Santi.”
The name struck like a bell—low, familiar, wrong.
Don’t look away, Santi.
The words brushed the edge of my mind, gone before I could catch them.
I followed the pull of that absence into the firelit chamber. Statues loomed, each one carved in the likeness of the goddesses I had once prayed to.
Eryndis, the Night Keeper, stood cloaked in obsidian so dark it swallowed the firelight. Beside her, Kaerani, the Crimson Flame, burned in red-veined marble—one hand holding a torch, the other a sword. Nerissa, the Sapphire Tide, rose from pale lapis, waves rippling through her gown as she cradled a conch shell. Last was Sylvara, the Verdant Heart, carved from mossy green stone, one palm cupping a sprouting sapling, the other pressed to her chest—a reminder that nature nurtures and devours in equal measure.
A memory stirred—thin, elusive. A whisper I could not hold onto.
I was too tired to chase it. The fire in my chest had burned to embers. I closed my eyes and let the dark pull me under.
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