My spine stiffened at the possessive finality of it. Still, I said nothing.
Inside, though, my thoughts shouted at me.Bring him here.The idea scraped against every instinct I had. Nyxarra felt like a cage, and Kaelith was its warden. To place Aeryn in his reach felt like handing him the knife. But another part of me whispered—if he was here, at least I could watch over him. Protect him. Maybe that was the only way to keep him safe.
The ache of homesickness pressed sharp beneath my ribs—our home, candlelight spilling across his books, the comfort of knowing I could keep the world at bay for him. I wanted that back. I wantedhimsafe. Whatever the cost.
We continued deeper into the garden, past a row of low stone fountains trickling with wine-dark water and tangled trellises heavy with luminous blooms.
Kaelith glanced at me again. “You’re not like the others they’ve brought here.”
He plucked a petal from an Etherbloom, letting it fall. “You’ve seen things. Carried them. I can feel it.” Then, with casual menace: “What of you? Tell me—who do you belong to? What do you know of the power that sings in your blood?”
For a breath, I said nothing, calculating my response. I hadn’t been permitted to go through the patron ceremony. I didn’t know what lived inside me, not exactly. Only that it stirred in the quiet places—in dreams, in silence, in moments when I was pulled from myself into visions or memories—often unable to tell the difference between the two.
It was said my father’s bloodline was blessed by Eryndis and by the Nightmother herself. Marked as a failsafe—a quiet counterweight, seeded into the mortal world should the other goddesses’ hunger ever tip the balance she intended. Not rulers. Not weapons. Witnesses who could endure what gods could not, and act only when the world began to fracture.
I didn’t know how much of it was truth and how much was story. Only that it clung to me.
So I turned my gaze on him, voice low. Steady. “Why don’t you tell me? My lineage seems to be of great interest to you.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t warmth I saw in his eyes—it was hunger, the kind that comes just before the pounce.
His gaze swept over me, lingering and slow. “The Moirae line was never ordinary. The old texts say yours was forged of shadow and light together—a bloodline of balance.”
He circled me, voice reverent and wrong in equal measure. “And now all of it leads here. To you.”
His head tilted, eyes gleaming as they drank me in. “You feel it, don’t you? That pull under your skin. That power begging to be used—to be owned.Your blood isn’t stirring for the first time. It’s remembering what it was made for.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. He liked the sound of his own voice enough for both of us.
“The old prophecy doesn’t name a crown—it names a key. And your bloodline, Aurelia…” his smile curved, “was always the door.”
His hand lifted, almost touched my face, then stilled just shy of my skin.
“Whoever commands the Moirae line commands balance itself. The power of gods, and the silence to unmake them. Imagine it. No rival. No goddess untouchable. That is why I cannot let you go.”
His hand found my chin, tipping my face up to look at him. “That current inside you. That weapon waiting to be drawn. Together, we could wield it. Not just to rule, but to takeeverything.”
His head tilted, studying me the way one might study a new blade—testing where it gleamed, and where it might bite. “You don’t speak of it, but it’s there,” he said softly. “And that kind of power doesn’t lie dormant forever. That kind of power is a weapon. Used well, it can unmake kingdoms—kill gods and goddesses alike.”
I didn’t like the implication. I liked the way he looked at me even less. So I pivoted, turned the conversation on its heel before he could corner me any further.
“I want to amend this deal you’re proposing,” I said, folding my hands in front of me.
His smile curved, sharp as a hook. “Is that so? And what made you think?—”
I raised my hand, cutting him off. “You’ll have what you want—a Moirae bride at your side. I’ll play my part. But not for free.” My voice steadied. “I want my brother left in Synnex. Untouched. I’ll bring him the Etherblooms myself before I return for the ball. I want the patron ceremony—with all goddesses, as is my right by blood. And freedom to move through Nyxarra as I please.”
Kaelith’s gaze sharpened, measuring. “Bold of you.”
“Careful of you,” I corrected smoothly. “You want a pawn, Kaelith? Then I’ll be one, but only if I have room to play the board.”
He watched me, unreadable, his hand still on my chin. “Etherblooms don’t cross the Veil intact,” he said at last, voice almost gentle. “Outside Nyxarra, they’re ash in the lungs. If you want a cure, it’ll need to be made here, administered here.” His smile deepened. “He comes here.”
The words hit like cold water. Of course he’d built the trap into the remedy.
“These things take time,” he said. “Preparation. Precision.”
I understood then what he was offering—and what he was taking. Time. Distance. Leverage. Control. If I had to walk into the cage to save Aeryn, I would. But I would not forget where the door was.