THIRTY-FIVE #3
The words strike like a death blow.
“I lost friends,” she continues. “I lost fellow warriors. The Shadow Forces came to the capital because of you.”
She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to.
“So the next time you feel like reminding everyone who you think you are, or what you think you deserve, try remembering what it cost the rest of us.”
Then she turns on her heel and walks away, her white skirts flaring behind her as she disappears into the crowd.
Her words land like a slap, meant to leave a bruise. It takes everything in me not to stare after her. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I blink hard, forcing them back, willing myself to stay composed.
But it’s no use.
Suddenly, smoke-gray eyes are looking at me with concern, his hand already cupping my cheek. The warmth of his palm is grounding.
And unbearable.
“What’s wrong?” Thane asks.
Of all the Elemental gods.
This fucking bond.
It has given me away again. Pulled him straight to me when I needed a moment—just one moment—to break in peace.
And I can’t even pretend it’s because of the ceremony. Or the weight of the names. Or the flame still burning at the center of the Ring.
He knows.
I force a tight smile, my throat too constricted for anything more.
“Later,” I say quietly, the word catching on the way out.
My eyes meet his, pleading. Not for comfort. Not right now.
Just for space. Just a little time.
Thane studies me for a long moment. His thumb brushes my cheek, gentle as a breath, before he gives a tight nod and steps back. I turn away and take a steadying breath as he returns to the cluster of court members gathered near the pyre.
I step down from the dais and make my way to one of the empty rows. The obsidian bench is cool beneath me. The great ceremonial fire has settled into glowing embers, no longer roaring now that the ceremony has ended and conversation has replaced ritual.
For a while, I just sit there, letting the grief and guilt and anger settle where they will.
Then Calryx’s presence brushes softly against my mind.
With it comes the memory of the quilt my mother knitted when I was small. The one she used to pull up to my chin before kissing my forehead goodnight. The edges were frayed. The stitching uneven. But gods, I would give anything to feel that warmth again.
“Shall I incinerate her for you?” Calryx offers mildly. “I really don’t mind. Xaroth informed me of how insufferable she is.”
A startled laugh escapes me before I can stop it, half choked, half grateful.
“There she is,” Calryx says softly. “My Virelya.”
The ache doesn’t disappear. The shame and anger and exhaustion are all still there. But her words settle over them like a balm I didn’t know I needed.
“It’s all just . . . a lot, Calryx.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I know I keep saying this. But everything keeps changing so fast. Every time I think I understand my place in this new world, it shifts under my feet and I lose my footing all over again.”
Calryx doesn’t answer immediately, so I keep going. Because if I stop now, I’ll fall apart.
“And that Ardyn is a bitch!” The words come out harsher than I expect. “We’re at a fucking memorial honoring the dead, and she still finds a way to twist it back to me?”
Her voice rumbles through the bond.
“You doubt yourself. Her words cut because part of you believes them.”
I go still.
Because she’s right.
Of course she’s right.
I don’t respond, not at first. I just sit there staring into the fire, the weight of it all pressing down like ash-choked air. The ache in my chest isn’t just from what Ardyn said. It’s from the fact that some part of me still wonders if she’s right.
Still wonders if I deserve any of this. This power. This bond. This place at Thane’s side.
“You will find your way, Virelya,” Calryx says, her voice full of absolute certainty.
I close my eyes. “How can you be so sure?”
There’s no hesitation when she answers.
“Because I chose you. And I never choose wrong.”
Despite everything, I smile. A single tear escapes before I can stop it, and I wipe it away quickly.
“You okay, Thalor?”
I lift my head and blink against the firelight.
Kieran stands a few steps away, his blond waves haloed in gold from the flames behind him. He’s dressed in a tunic and trousers, simple but refined. The mischief he usually wears like a second skin is nowhere to be found. Only quiet concern.
“Yes . . . ” I start, then shake my head. “No.”
And then it all spills out.
“Everything feels like too much,” I say, the words tumbling free before I can stop them. “I keep getting pushed into roles I never asked for. The Spiritborn. Thane’s partner. A symbol. A leader. A weapon.”
The words taste bitter.
“Everyone seems to know who I’m supposed to be except me.”
I pause, swallowing hard.
“And gods, the guilt, Kieran. It’s everywhere. This whole ceremony, this entire night . . . it’s happening because of me. Because they came for me.”
I draw a shaky breath.
“And standing beside Thane? I know what that looks like. I know what people are saying. And the worst part is, I don’t even know what it means. We haven’t had time to talk about it, and everyone just assumes I belong there.”
I press my fingers to my temples, voice breaking.
“They keep calling me Spiritborn like it’s something sacred. Like I should be proud of it. But half the time, I feel like I’m drowning under the weight of it. Like I’m one wrong step away from proving them all right—that I’m not enough for any of this.”
I don’t know how long I speak. Maybe minutes. Maybe longer.
At some point, Kieran lowers himself onto the bench beside me. He says nothing. Doesn’t interrupt. He just sits with it all, letting the silence stretch whenever I run out of words.
The easy buoyancy that usually surrounds him has settled.
He’s no longer the quick, playful gust that sweeps laughter into every conversation, but a calm wind that refuses to leave my side.
And when I finally stop talking, when the silence settles between us once more and I’m left sitting in it, hollow and spent, he’s still there.
Kieran doesn’t rush to fill the quiet. He lets it breathe.
When he finally speaks, it’s as though he’s choosing every word carefully.
“You know what I see when I look at you?”
I roll my eyes, already bracing for the joke. Some playful jab. A flirtation wrapped in mischief, the way he always does. But when I glance at him again, his expression is different. More earnest than I’m used to seeing from him.
He smiles faintly, just a shadow of the grin I know so well. “I see someone who was thrown into the fire and didn’t burn. Someone who’s still standing, even when the whole world keeps asking for more.”
His gaze drops for a moment before lifting back to mine.
“You’re strong, Amara. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. And gods, I wish you could see that.”
The quiet murmur of conversations drift around us as the pyre continues to burn softly.
“And I know it’s not my place,” he adds quietly. “But if you ever need someone to remind you who you are, outside of the prophecies, outside of the court, just say the word.”
I stare at him.
“Kieran, I—”
He cuts me off with a small shake of his head.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know tonight has been a lot.”
He looks back toward the fire, the shadows catching in his lashes. “Just know I meant it. That’s all.”
Then he falls silent.
He sits beside me, shoulder to shoulder, as though he’s willing to hold the weight of my silence if that’s all I have to give. And somehow, that’s the kindest thing anyone has done for me all night.