Chapter 21 Burnt Thread
twenty-one
Burnt Thread
Miralyte
I used to think the most infuriating person in the universe was Ciradyl. She would always find a way to tease out every weakness, to test me, until the smallest comment sent me spiraling uncontrollably. But now, I understood how wrong I had been.
It was him.
The male standing across from me, the one that had been an utter pain in my ass since the first day I had arrived at this court.
He was the most infuriating, arrogant, pigheaded, annoying bastard I had ever met.
His mere presence was like a match to kindling, igniting my rage in a way nothing else could.
Even worse, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about him.
Even after what we'd shared last night, the memory of his touch still lingered on my skin, his taste still on my tongue.
I couldn't shake him from my thoughts no matter how hard I tried.
I was supposed to hate him, I was supposed to despise everything about him, and yet. ..
And yet, when he'd left me this morning, I'd felt a strange sense of loss. Of emptiness.
Faeries took lovers as they pleased. It was expected, even encouraged, since children were so rare among their kind.
But a mate bond was something else entirely—a binding of souls that went beyond the physical, beyond choice.
Sacred in a way casual unions were not. And I was not fae, but mortal.
Our bond was not blessed by the gods or any divine force.
We had come together in secret, driven by a mutual attraction that neither of us could explain. We had not spoken of it, but we both knew that our relationship was forbidden. If Ylvena were to discover it, she would surely have me executed, and Zydar would be disgraced and punished severely.
"Miralyte." The name struck like cold water. I blinked, breath catching, and tore my gaze from the courtyard beyond the window where Zydar still stood—silent, unreadable, a storm bottled in flesh.
Tomos stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the flicker of torchlight. His voice had changed since the last time we laughed as friends, hardened into steel, sharpened to a fine point. It was a voice that had seen death and suffering and emerged colder for it.
"Yes?"
Tomos didn’t answer right away. He adjusted the cuff around my wrist, fingers steady. "You should sit. The siphon’s almost ready."
I nodded, settling onto the stone platform without looking at him. My gaze flicked back to the window where Zydar stood, half-shadowed beneath the arch. He wasn’t watching anymore. Of course he wasn’t.
Tomos stood beside me, fingers adjusting the siphon where it fed into the vein at my forearm. The silver line pulsed faintly, drawing a thin stream of blood toward the shallow obsidian bowl etched with runes. My blood glowed faintly in the basin, brighter than it should have. Warmer.
He leaned closer. “Are you with me?”
I nodded once. “Hm. Yes.”
The pain was manageable. It always was. That wasn’t what made it hard to breathe. It was the weight behind the door. The presence. Zydar’s silhouette lingered just beyond the threshold, cloaked in shadow, unmoving but unmistakable. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Her hands are cold. She did not take to the cold so swiftly before.” Tomos glanced sternly at the healers. They walked over to check on the siphon, but didn’t change a thing.
I shook my head, not wanting them close to me for some reason. “No matter, I’m well. Just nerves.”
The lie tasted like ash. My fingers curled into the fabric of the platform, knuckles going white. The air was too thick. Too heavy. My lungs burned.
The silence stretched. Tomos leaned closer, just a touch closer than would be appropriate. “Miralyte. Are you here by choice?”
I swallowed. “No. I agreed to do it. For Silvyr.”
Tomos’s brow furrowed. “I’m not a fool. I know there’s something going on here. Something beyond what meets the eye.” He leaned forward. “If you need help, you can trust me. I can protect you.”
How could I make him understand? How could I explain that this was something that I had to do? That it was something that I wanted, even though I was scared. I had spent my entire life running from fear, and I was tired of it.
I took a deep breath. “I appreciate your concern, Tomos, but I’m fine. This is my choice.” I held his gaze, steady and sure. “I want to do this. For Silvyr, for Narietta, and for myself.”
Tomos looked at me for a long moment, and then he nodded slowly. He placed his hand on mine, squeezing it gently. “I understand.” He paused. “And I’ll support you, whatever you choose.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was wrong. That I was wrong.
That this would only end in tragedy. The thought sent a chill down my spine. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. But even as I did, I couldn’t help but think about what could go wrong.
What would happen if my blood failed them?
What would happen to the rest of my life if my blood was the only cure?
The answer to that question was something that I didn’t want to think about. I pushed it away, burying it deep inside me.
Tomos’s gaze softened. He moved slowly, lifting my other hand in his, careful not to disturb the cuff biting into my wrist. “You’ve grown reckless.”
“I’ve grown tired.” My voice cracked. “Tired of waiting. Tired of sitting by while others suffer. Tired of letting fear rule my life.”
Tomos was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I understand.”
I looked at him, surprised. “You do?”
He nodded. “I know what it’s like to be tired. To be so tired that you’re willing to do anything to make it stop.”
I stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then I asked softly, “How did you deal with it?”
He smiled sadly. “I didn’t. I just kept going.”
His words lingered like smoke, curling through the hollow parts of me. I nodded faintly, the corners of my mouth twitching in something too bitter to be called a smile.
Then the pain hit—sharp and sudden, a flare of heat that lanced up my arm where the cuff met skin.
I hissed, jerking slightly. “Gods, that burns.”
Tomos frowned, leaning closer, almost cheek to cheek, as he inspected the siphon closely. “That’s new. Has that happened before?”
I shook my head, the pain already fading to a dull throb. “It’s probably just a side effect of the treatments.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded anyway. I glanced at the siphon, where my blood still flowed into the obsidian bowl in a faint crimson stream. The glow was brighter now. Hotter.
“Your skin is warm,” Tomos said softly. “Almost hot.”
I swallowed. “Just give me a moment.”
He didn’t move away. And I didn’t ask him to.
For a while, we just sat there, the faint dripping of blood into the basin the only sound between us. My veins felt hollow, like something essential had been pulled from me and wasn’t coming back.
Maybe that was the point.
I turned to him, quietly. “Tomos…”
His head tilted, the way it always used to when I was about to say something serious.
"If something happens to me,” I said softly, “I want you to do something for me.”
“Don’t say that.” Tomos shook his head, the gesture sharp. “Nothing will happen to you.”
“If something does.” I looked at him, holding his gaze. “Promise me.”
He paused, then nodded slowly. “Fine.”
I took a deep breath. “Protect Pelbie. To keep her safe no matter what. I don’t want her to get caught in the crossfire of whatever is coming.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded again. “I promise.”
I smiled, but it was strained. The weight of everything was pressing down on me, and I could feel the cracks starting to form.
I looked over at Zydar, standing by the door, his face half in shadow.
He wasn’t looking at Tomos. He was looking at me.
Through me. Like he was trying to find the version of me that didn’t belong to anyone else.
His expression gave nothing away, but his presence coiled around my lungs like iron wire.
I looked away before it broke me.
I turned back to Tomos, forcing the smile back into place. “I’m glad I can count on you.”
His brow furrowed slightly, as if he could feel how much of that smile was a lie. Then, gently, his hand lifted, cupping my cheek.
His thumb traced just beneath my eye, a touch far too soft for this place. I didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. For one breathless second, I just let it happen. Let him hold the shattered pieces of me like they weren’t already slipping through his fingers.
I turned my face—reflex, instinct—and my gaze snagged on the shadow by the door.
Zydar.
He stood there, half in shadow, still as stone. His eyes were fixed on Tomos’s hand, the touch gentle, too gentle. A muscle ticked in Zydar’s jaw.
Reckless, dazed, I turned back to Tomos, the movement deliberate, and covered his hand with mine.
Zydar’s eyes went black. He looked away, jaw still clenched tight.
Tomos’s thumb brushed my cheekbone, soft, comforting. He didn’t know. He couldn’t see what was happening.
Zydar was jealous.
It was the only explanation. He was jealous of Tomos’s touch. Lulled by the touch of his hand, I turned my face into Tomos’s hand like a cat seeking comfort.
I felt Zydar like a black sun in the back of my head, blotting out everything else. His emotions were a tangle of electricity. A swarm of bees stinging the roof of my mouth. The hair on the nape of my neck stood up. My heart rate skipped and spiked.
There were too many sensations happening at the same time and none of them felt familiar. Any more and my body would collapse. I had to get a grip on the feelings flooding my system. I closed my eyes.
"Enough bloodletting for the day," Tomos said as he gestured towards the healer and his apprentice to come near.
The fae male took up the needle and removed it from my wrist. He placed it onto a tray and began to gather the supplies.
"Zy..." I whispered, attempting to quash down the plea as the desperation swept over my chest. But it only made the pounding of my heart unbearable.
I looked over at him, hoping beyond hope that he had heard it. But he was gone. Somehow, while I'd been getting poked and prodded with needles, I had missed him exiting the room.
My throat tightened as a lump formed in the back of my throat. I didn't know what I had been expecting, but his absence had not been it.
"Are you all right, Miralyte?"
I blinked, turning back to Tomos, who was watching me with a furrowed brow. "What? Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."
He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. "Alright. Let's get you back to your chambers. You need rest."
"No. I need to get to the library. "
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Then I'll escort you."
"Do I get a say in the matter?"
"No."
I smirked at him. "You are quite a pain."
He rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It's part of my charm."
I laughed. "Oh, yes, it certainly is."
It didn't occur to me until a few moments later that we had been flirting. It felt strange. Wrong, somehow. Not because Tomos and I had once been together. It felt strange because while I laughed, the thought of him, my Warlord, had never left my mind.
My mind couldn't stop going over the moments from the previous night, as if I was trying to convince myself that it had truly happened.
That he had been the one who had touched my face and wiped away my tears, the one who had kissed me gently and whispered all the words I never thought I'd hear come out of his mouth, the one who turned me into an inferno of heat and want.
It was so outside of everything I thought I knew about him and the fae, that I couldn't help but doubt. To second guess. Even though it was the very same man who now held my life in his hands. The same man who could take everything from me with a single word or glance, if he so chose.
But he didn't choose to. And that alone was enough to leave me shaken.