“Kaelith,” Aurelia whispered breathlessly.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Do you… sniff everyone this much?”
I ground my teeth together to keep from laughing.
He stepped back, took her hand, and led her up the rest of the stairs to the throne beside his own.
“Malachi.” He didn’t bother to look. The word itself carried the shape of an order.
I climbed the steps, Aurelia’s gaze finding me. The wine had clearly begun to set in. Her head tilted, that slow, hazy smile playing at her mouth.
“Aurelia, mynýchta,” Kaelith said as he took his seat. “I have a gift for you.”
My nýchta—my night.
It wasn’t a casual endearment. It was an invocation. A name once reserved for lovers marked by Eryndis. When the Nightmother bled herself into the void to form shadow, Eryndis was the one who shaped it, who taught her patrons that night was not only darkness, but a shared force—the ability to see through each other’s eyes, to walk one another’s dreams, to wield shadow as one.
To call someone nýchta was to claim them as your other half in that power.
A sacred vow. A tether of shadow and blood meant only for those chosen to walk the night together.
Kaelith used it like a weapon. Twisting reverence into possession. Turning something sacred into something sharp enough to cut.
Aurelia raised an eyebrow, her boldness no longer dulled by fear. “I do love gifts. But I hate surprises. Do tell.”
Kaelith only smiled, slow and self-satisfied. “Soon,” he said, eyes drifting to mine.
The music swelled. The crowd began to shift again, conversationsresuming, unaware of—or pretending not to notice—the quiet war unfolding at the top of the stairs.
“Malachi, grab us some more wine, would you?” Kaelith asked lightly.
I glanced between him and Aurelia, standing side by side, and felt a tight pull in my chest to stay.
“I won’t harm her tonight, Malachi,” he added, turning to face me. “Please. Go.”
I dipped my head—more gesture than agreement—and turned from them, descending the stairs into the crowd.
Seraphine hovered mid-air by the entrance, a tray of glasses balanced on her head, eyes scanning for the next set of hands to fill.
“Malachi!” she squeaked, darting toward me so fast I nearly braced for impact.
“Sera.” I offered a rare smile. “Nice to see you causing trouble somewhere other than the library.”
It was rare. Keepers hardly ever left their wings—their bindings kept them anchored unless summoned. But Kaelith had demanded every one of them attend tonight.
She huffed. “I much prefer the library. Books carry all the people I want and need. The rest of this room forgets I exist unless I’m holding a tray.”
She gave a dramatic sigh, wings twitching in annoyance as she adjusted the flutes.
I raised an eyebrow. “Mmm. But these are the moments where the stories are written. Don’t forget that.”
Seraphine rolled her eyes. “Spare me the philosopher routine. But fine—consider this your reward for speaking in riddles.”
She handed me two fresh glasses, both fizzing faintly with that iridescent shimmer only Keepers could concoct. “Unpoisoned. Allegedly.”
“Comforting.” I took them with a smirk.