The End Unseen

THIRTY

The chambers were quiet, the city beyond their windows restless beneath Solmiris’s starlight. The soft perfume of night-blooming jasmine drifted in from the gardens below, mingling faintly with the lingering warmth of burning oil lamps.

Jesenia sat curled on the velvet bench beside the carved window, her shawl slipping loosely from one shoulder. The moonlight caught the silver threads in its fabric, scattering faint glimmers across her skin. One hand rested lightly against her abdomen, absentminded and protective.

They had spoken little since he spilled blood in the streets for her. The guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders as if she were the one who drew the blade herself. It made her more sick than usual, and Val-Theris could see the way his actions affected her.