26. Selis
Selis
Veyra clutches her thigh, red seeping between her fingers, but she still tries to smile like she’s winning.
“We can pretend this didn’t happen. You walk away, take the coin—”
“Starlight,” I say, not turning. “Hand me my goblet.”
I keep my grip firm on her wrist—reassurance or restraint, I’m not sure—but I feel her move. The rustle of silk. The slight tremble.
A quick glance. Her eyes meet mine, wide and wary, like she’s not sure if I’m about to save us or ruin everything. She’s not alone in that.
I let her go to take the goblet, then hold it out to Veyra. “Drink it."
Veyra doesn’t move. Her fingers twitch against her thigh. Her eyes track the goblet like it’s a blade.
“I’m waiting,” I murmur. “You said it wasn’t poison. Prove it.”
Veyra exhales, lips tight. And I press the advantage, sliding the blade closer until it kisses the hollow beneath her jaw.
Her pride breaks before her nerve does. She snatches the goblet with blood-slick hands, lips curling in a snarl.
“You’ll regret this,” she says, voice thinned out by pain. By fury .
“That’s what everyone says,” I reply, “right before they stop talking.”
She drinks.
Slow. Measured. Like she can still win by looking composed. But when she tries to set the cup down, her hand betrays her.
The metal clinks hard against the table. Not graceful. Not deliberate. Her fingers twitch—then curl like they’ve forgotten how to hold anything at all.
Naera makes a small, strangled sound behind me. I hear the way she swallows it down, like she’s ashamed of making a noise.
Veyra’s spine stiffens. Her breath catches.
And then she starts to sag—grace unraveling, pride draining with it. Her lips move, forming a shape that might’ve been a curse, a plea, a threat. But all that escapes is a low, wet murmur, warbled and broken.
Then… silence.
I step forward and tap her shoulder with the flat of my blade. Her body doesn't react.
But her eyes—her eyes track me. Slowly. Heavy as stone. But still moving. Even now. Mouth slack. Blood pooling in her lap. Muscles locked. But those eyes shine like polished glass, following every motion I make.
A chill cuts down my spine, colder than the blade in my hand.
“She’s still watching us,” Naera whispers, her voice barely audible.
“Then let’s give her a show,” I mutter.
I ransack the table like a wolf. No time for elegance. No need.
I reclaim my blade first—mine in bone and oath—and pocket three more knives from Veyra’s belt.
Slim ones, meant for sleight of hand, not war.
A pouch of coin disappears into my cloak next—payment earned, not owed.
Then a key, dark iron and cold to the touch.
And a vial—glass stoppered, filled with something that pulses red as a heartbeat.
Might save us later. Might end us quicker.
On second thought, I put back the vial.
Naera stands nearby, silent but not still. Her gaze keeps flicking toward Veyra—quick, involuntary glances at the blood still seeping from her thigh, dark and steady.
“Shouldn’t we… do something?” she asks, voice low.
“You’re right,” I say as I stand over Veyra one last time.
Her body’s a husk now, slumped and twitchless. But her eyes—
Her eyes scream.
If I leave her like this, they’ll come for me.
If I kill her… they’ll come faster.
But the guild was always going to come if I refused to give them Naera.
I press the blade to her throat. Just the edge. Just enough for her to feel it. Her breath saws through her nose in shallow, useless bursts.
“Should’ve picked a better cage,” I say.
Naera’s voice cuts through the tension, soft but urgent. “Wait—that’s… that’s not what I meant. I mean... she can’t hurt us now.”
I pause. Just for a breath. Then I look at her. Really look. Naera’s face is tight with something I don’t have a word for.
Not fear. Maybe pity.
Pity for Veyra .
I almost laugh. Except… I know what Veyra would’ve done. What she planned to do. A goblet of wine, a snapped order, a slow fade into compliance. She would’ve chained Naera up —glowing, confused, used up in some hidden room where the walls never echo.
And yet… Naera’s looking at her like she’s still a person. Like there might be another way. She doesn’t know what they would’ve done to her, but surely she suspects? And she still wants to show mercy.
And fuck me, there’s a part of me—small and half-buried—that wants to show it too. Not for Veyra’s sake.
For her .
For the girl who ran through this cursed place to find me. For the girl who still believes there's something left in me that doesn’t bite first.
It lands in my chest like a stone in water.,, but it doesn’t change my hand.
“Now’s not the time for morals,” I say, voice steady as steel. “Look away, starlight.”
She does.
Slowly.
I wait until her eyes are gone, until that glow is turned away from me like moonlight ducking behind cloud—
And then I slit Veyra’s throat clean.
The blade moves like it’s part of me. Like it always knew how this would end. As soon as the blood spills—hot and vivid and final—I turn.
Naera’s already by the door, wide-eyed and silent. When I reach out, not for her wrist this time, not to drag or shield or command—just reach —she meets my gaze. Her light blue eyes are rimmed with silver, shimmering like the last light before a storm. And then… she places her hand in mine.
Warm. Certain.
I curl my fingers around hers .
And we run.
Out through the mouth of The Lantern, through twisting halls that groan and shift like they’re trying to catch us in their throat. The sigils flare as we pass, but the place doesn’t fight us. Not now. Not after what I’ve done.
Maybe it knows I’m not coming back.
We don’t speak as we flee. Just breathe. Just burn. And somewhere between the blood and the breath and the hand clutched tight in mine—
I realize I’ve chosen her.
Not the coin.
Not the safety.
Not the carefully laid exit that would’ve kept my hands clean and my name intact.
Her.
And I hate how right it feels. Like it’s always been waiting.