Chapter 2
Aurelia
By morning, my eyes still burned. This was my third dawn without sleep.
A hundred dust motes drifted through the pale sunbeam that slipped between my makeshift curtains, turning in slow circles like they belonged to a gentler world.
I lay still, hands folded over my stomach, letting the quiet press against me until it hurt.
The house held its breath. Quiet was rare here. Rare anywhere in Synnex.
I tried to let it soothe me. It didn’t. It only woke the part of me that never stilled, the part that whispered, Don’t stop.
Not when he needs you. That voice had been with me since the fire, since the first night Aeryn cried himself hoarse, and I’d promised him I’d never let the world take anything else from us.
I’d been ten—too young to make a promise that large.
Steady. That was my job. When everything tilted, I reached for the pieces. My gaze drifted to the rolled map on the night table, its edges softened from being opened and shut too many times. The inked line to Nyxarra ran like a vein into the dark beyond the city’s reach.
My fingers found the scar at my jaw, traced it once, then dropped.
The memory of dice at the hearth flickered.
Aeryn bluffing badly and laughing. Hayat groaning like he’d been robbed.
For a heartbeat, the memory felt brighter than the moment I was standing in—until it slid away and left only the ache of what Aeryn was becoming.
I sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, and flexed my hands until they steadied.
My shoulders ached from holding too much, so I rolled them back, forcing a breath past the tightness in my chest. I smoothed my tunic, pressed color into my cheeks, practiced the curve of a neutral smile against the air.
Small rituals—proof that I could still move, still choose.
Then I stood. The floor was cold against my feet as I crossed to the basin. Water glimmered in the copper bowl. I splashed my face until the sting cleared my eyes—red-rimmed but stubborn enough to meet their own reflection without flinching.
If I didn’t move soon, someone else would choose for me.
I pulled on a forest-green tunic and brown leathers, twisted my curls into a high knot, and dragged a few strands loose to soften what couldn’t be softened. Every hour I waited, I felt him slipping further. I refused to let that be the story.
I stepped into the kitchen.
A knock sounded at the front door—one rap, then another. The hinge creaked as Hayat let himself in, frost on his cloak and a small wrapped bundle in his hands.
“Good morning,” he said, warm as a hearth. He held up the parcel. “These heal everything.”
Honey and cinnamon reached me first. My mouth watered. Pastries—my favorite. For a heartbeat, I was at the old table again, Aeryn licking sugar from his fingers while Hayat pretended not to want the last bite—only to take it anyway when I offered.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” His smile tilted. “I wanted to.”
I unwrapped one and slid it to the side. For Aeryn. My throat tightened. The pastry suddenly felt too sweet for what I had to say.
“Hayat…” I smoothed the paper with my thumb, buying one more breath. The pastry sat between us—warm, sweet, innocent of the thing about to leave my mouth.
My stomach knotted.
“I’m leaving.”
Every imagined version of this moment ended with him trying to stop me, and I wasn’t sure I could bear that.
I needed him steady. I needed him safe. If he saw the resolve in me too clearly, he’d mistake it for permission, and he’d try to take this burden for himself—and I couldn’t let him carry what was mine to break under.
The air shifted. His easy smile faltered. “Leaving where?”
“Nyxarra.”
The word hung there, heavy as the tide before a storm. Even saying it felt like testing fate.
“You know what they say about that realm,” Hayat said, the old warning sliding from his mouth the same way it had from Colette’s. “It keeps what it loves—devours the rest.”
I drew a breath. “I know the risk. But the Etherblooms grow there, and they’re the only thing that might help him. I can’t just sit here and watch him fade.”
Fear and frustration flickered across his face. He looked away, jaw tightening, then back at me.
“Okay.” His jaw set. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“You won’t.” The words came out sharper than I meant. I steadied them. “I need you with Aeryn. He listens to you. You’re the only person I trust besides Colette, and I can’t ask this of her.”
“You intend to go alone?” The question came rough. “At least let me hire a trader—someone who knows the route.”
“No.” My pulse quickened, but I didn’t look away. “You know the kind of men who run those roads. I won’t put myself in their hands.” I had studied the maps until the ink blurred. I’d go whether anyone believed I could or not.
“Aurelia, that’s—” He stopped. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” I whispered. Saying it aloud made it less a plea and more a plan. “If I do nothing, I lose him anyway. He’s slipping, Hayat. Last night—” my voice snagged. “—he almost lost himself. I won’t watch that happen again.”
They called Aeryn tainted—necrotic, as if a mind could spoil like fruit. Maybe they weren’t wrong. Hayat dragged a hand through his hair. “Then let me go with you. If you won’t listen to reason, let me keep you alive.”
His voice thinned at the end—raw, unfamiliar. “Better me than you, Elli. Better I come back in pieces than you don’t come back at all. Aeryn needs you more than he’ll ever need me.”
I bit the inside of my cheek until the ache cleared my head. “Please. Stay with him. Promise me.”
I saw the war in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to bar the door with his body, and the part that knew he couldn’t take this choice from me without breaking something sacred between us.
Hayat didn’t relent easily. When he did, it was because he realized forcing me would be its own kind of loss.
He had already imagined every version of losing me and couldn’t stomach the one where I walked away thinking he hadn’t tried.
I needed him here. When the darkness pressed close, Aeryn listened to Hayat in ways he didn’t listen to anyone—sometimes not even me.
If I dragged Hayat into Nyxarra, I’d be stealing the one steady thing left in Aeryn’s life.
This part had to be mine. He could keep Aeryn breathing. I could find what might save him.
The fight in his shoulders eased. “At least let me come into town for supplies. I’ll see you off. Make sure you have what you need.”
“That’s fair.” Relief hit. I didn’t have room for another argument. “I’ll try to get Aeryn to come. Fresh air might help.”
As if summoned, Aeryn padded in, curls tangled, eyes rimmed red. He was thinner than the last time I’d measured him by his sleeve.
I slid the pastry between us and tried to make my voice light. “We’re going to town. Come with us.”
He glanced at the pastry, then at me. The smile he offered had been practiced so long, the truth had been worn out of it. “Go on without me. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Come,” I pressed gently. “New walls. Better air.”
He shook his head once. “I’ll stay.”
Hayat and I traded a wordless look. I touched the pastry’s paper. The sugar-sweet scent turned my stomach.
The apothecary smelled of sage and smoke. Colette fussed behind the counter while Demitri clicked his beak like he was keeping time.
“Back again?” she said. “You keep this up and I’ll have to start calling you my little shadow. Never far behind me.”
I watched her hands move—skin pocked by sun and work, sure even when the rest of the world wasn’t. I’d spent more nights than I could count here. Fetching tea, fetching roots, fetching anything that gave me a reason to warm myself at her steadiness. She never sent me away.
“Not a terrible place to be,” I said, a small smile slipping out.
“Don’t die,” Demitri croaked.
“Stop it, Demitri.” Colette flicked a finger at his wing. “Ignore him. He thinks he’s funny.”
“I am,” he croaked again, smug.
Hayat leaned on the counter, a faint smile playing at his mouth. “Birds. Clever creatures…”
Colette’s gaze went sharp and warm in the same breath. “What is it you two need this time?”
“Dried meat,” I said. “Warming salve. Thread. Candles.” My tongue pressed to a molar. “And…”
Her hands stilled. “Planning a trip?”
She already knew. She always knew. There was no use softening it.
“Etherblooms.” The word dropped heavy between us.
“In this cold?” Her voice went sharp. “Darkfrost will eat you alive.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, because fear was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “Stories meant to frighten children. I’m not afraid of shadows.”
Colette’s hands stilled. “Stories start somewhere, child.”
They were always worried—Colette, Hayat—always looking at me like I might crack if the world pressed too hard. It stung in a place I didn’t like to touch. Wasn’t I the one still standing? The one who kept us together when everything else came apart?
“Mm.” Colette bundled supplies and pushed them into my hands, closing my fingers with hers. Her voice gentled, bite intact. “Take care of our girl, Hayat.” She reached up and patted his cheek—the same small, absent tenderness she’d given me a dozen times—and smiled.
He dipped his head, eyes lingering on me. “Only if she’ll let me,” he said, and tugged me into a two-armed hug—his way of trying to make the air lighter. It worked for a breath.
“Get a room!” Demitri cawed.
Colette swore, and I laughed despite myself.
We stepped into the square. Lanterns were strung between columns. Crimson and gold banners twisted in the wind. “Hayat.”
Draven Navarro’s voice cut across the stones. I knew that voice like the ache before rain.
I hated him. His very tone had always made my teeth ache. He stood near the steps—broad and sweating, his fine cloak pulled tight to contain him. Rings flashed on every finger like they wanted to distract from the meat of the hand beneath.
“We have a guest,” he said, gesturing to the cloaked man beside him. They came toward us. The figure kept his hood low, shoulders easy, steps unhurried.
They stopped just short. A hand emerged. Large, veined sigils inked along the wrist pulsed faintly when the light caught them. It reached for me.
Draven’s smile went oily. “No need for curtseys. She isn’t a lady here.” He made a little flourish toward the hand like he’d rehearsed it.
“Pretty thing,” the hooded man said, voice deep and curious. His head tilted. “Who marked you?”
He meant the scar. The one everyone pretended not to see.
Against every instinct—and because humiliating Draven was almost worth the risk—I placed my hand in the stranger’s.
The world jolted.
Images seared through me. A bride veiled in blood. A voice whispering, I told you I’d find you. Two divine figures standing together—one crowned in flame, the other cloaked in night.
I tore my hand back. The stranger didn’t move. Hayat’s stare snapped to mine, questions bright and sharp.
“Interesting,” the figure murmured, low enough that it felt like the word was for him alone.
The air tightened around the sound. Something in me wanted to follow it, a thread tugging behind my ribs, but Hayat closed his fingers around my wrist before I could take a step. “Come on,” he muttered, steering me toward the alley.
The market surged back—fishmongers shouting, gulls wheeling, laughter too loud. I realized the air had been trapped somewhere inside me.
“Who was that?” I asked as we turned away, my voice low.
“Probably some noble from the outlying houses.” He didn’t quite meet my eyes. “They’re gathering early this year for the patron ceremony.”
I glanced back once, but the hooded figure was already gone.
The square rang too loud in my ears as we left. I told myself it was only nerves. But something deeper stirred, whispering what I already feared. Nyxarra did not wait quietly.
By the time we returned, dusk had begun to creep across the horizon. The cliffs burned gold, the sea a restless shadow below.
Aeryn stood too close to the edge, wind in his curls.
“Aeryn,” I called. My voice went high.
His body tilted forward. Just a breath, but enough. My pack slipped; an apple bounced down the incline and wobbled to a stop at his feet. I lunged after it.
I caught his arm as his knees buckled. His eyes snapped open, distant, out of reach.
“No,” I gasped. “Aeryn. Look at me. Stay with me.”
For a moment, only the wind moved.
He blinked, dazed. His weight sagged into mine. “I’m still here,” he whispered, voice cracked. “I’m here.”
But the way he said it chilled me. Like he was trying to convince himself more than me. Like he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep holding on. Something in me twisted, sharp, decisive. Whatever time we had left was shrinking.
Hayat’s hand pressed my shoulder. “Let’s get him inside,” he said quietly.
We did. We settled him by the fire, and I pressed a pastry into his hand like it could keep him tethered. He didn’t eat it. He just held it and stared at nothing for a while, the glow of the hearth soft against the hollow in his cheeks.
The quiet that followed was worse than any scream. I could almost hear what he wasn’t saying. I’m tired. I’m slipping. I don’t know how to stop it. If the darkness inside him was learning to move unseen, then it was growing. And growing things eventually bloom or burst.
I wanted to tell him I had a plan, that I knew what to do, that I wouldn’t let him go where I couldn’t follow. But lies would break easier than he would.
So I touched his hand instead, let the silence settle, and made a promise he couldn’t yet hear.
That I was leaving. That I’d come back with something to make him whole again.
The truth felt crueler than silence. If he knew, he’d try to stop me, or worse, follow.
And I couldn’t risk losing him to the same darkness that already hunted his mind.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said at last. I watched his lashes flutter with exhaustion, watched his fingers go slack around the pastry, and I understood with a clarity that hurt. I wasn’t preparing to rescue him. I was preparing to fight whatever was already inside him.