Chapter 28 Malachi
Malachi
Only her.
Everything else blurred at the edges—sound muffled, color dulled, like the world had receded to make room for the sight of her.
Now I understood why the purple dress hadn’t worked.
This wasn’t a dress. It was a message.
Kaelith lounged at the head of the ballroom, fingers curled around a goblet of deep red wine, his body draped across his father’s throne. One hand rested lazily on the armrest, the other lifting the glass in slow acknowledgment.
He had seen her, too. And he was smiling.
A loud, shrill laugh rang out from a nearby noblewoman, snapping the tension.
I blinked. Looked back. Aurelia was walking now—toward me—each step measured.
And there, nestled in the braids at the crown of her head, was the pendant. A silver crescent pierced by a downward dagger, sangre miel flowers blooming at the curve.
My eyes drifted to Gabriel. He stood beside her, silent and composed. But when our gazes met, I saw it. The quiet ache. The reverence. The knowing.
I nodded once. Small. But it was enough.
And then Aurelia was in front of me.
Her eyes met mine. And something in my chest—long buried, long restrained—pressed upward.
“Hi,” I said, voice hoarse with everything I couldn’t say.
She didn’t smile. Not fully.
But her hand lifted, brushing her fingers against her braid, against the mark.
My breath caught.
Not because she looked like a goddess reborn.
But because she had already bled for those she loved.
Because she carried weight that should’ve broken her and still stood.
And for the first time since the rebellion, since the banishment, since I was anything but a shadow. Hope had walked into the room.
“Hi…” she replied, soft but steady.
Lysara cleared her throat, a subtle reminder that we weren’t the only ones standing in stunned silence.
I drew in a breath, shifting my gaze to the two beside her. “Lysara. Gabriel,” I said, offering a nod. “Seeing you both together brings back many memories.”
Lysara gave a wry smile. “Let’s just hope this one ends better than the last.”
Santiago made his way over, extending a hand toward Lysara. “Would you honor me with a dance, my lady?” he asked, all charm and mischief.
Lysara arched her brow. “You clean up quite nicely, Santi.”
“Amazing what bathing will do for you,” he replied, grinning.
She laughed and took his hand. The two slipped into the crowd, weaving toward the dance floor.
Gabriel shifted beside us. His gaze flicked to me, then toward the dais where Kaelith still sat, wine glass in hand.
Kaelith hadn’t seen Gabriel in centuries, and to see him now, beside Aurelia, was no coincidence.
Gabriel was the last soldier who had fought with us.
The last reminder of what Kaelith had once sworn before he’d traded vows for power.
Part of me wondered if Kaelith had orchestrated all of this just to provoke him.
Gabriel looked down at Aurelia. “I’ll just be here if you need me,” he said gently.
Aurelia smiled up at him, warm and sure. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
She gave his arm a brief squeeze.
He gave a faint nod, then retreated to the shadows.
When she turned back to me, the tension in her shoulders eased. “Well,” she said, her voice playful, “you clean up quite nicely for a grumpy, broody ancient man.”
I blinked. “Thank you… I think?”
She laughed. “Definitely a compliment.”
I studied her for a beat, letting myself look—really look. “Dangerous, how right it looks on you,” I said softly.
The color that rose to her cheeks was subtle but unmistakable.
It was my new favorite color.
She ducked her gaze toward her dress. She was trying to brush it off. Shrink something magnificent into something modest.
Kaelith was watching. Eyes sharp.
“Come,” I said, forcing my voice even. “I’ll take you to Kaelith.” Even though there wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to.
We’d just made our way through the crowd of nobles, between clusters of silks and sharp smiles, when Seraphine suddenly swooped in front of us—hovering just high enough to startle.
“You’re going to need this,” she said, thrusting two crystal glasses into our hands.
Aurelia eyed hers warily. “Oh no. Last time I drank this, I saw things. Then fainted.”
“I promise you won’t this time!” Seraphine beamed. “I made it myself. Special blend. You’ll just feel very warm, slightly floaty, and generally less like you want to stab someone. Much needed in a place that is neither warm nor stab-free.”
I arched a brow and glanced at Aurelia. She stared at the wine. Then at me. Then at the glittering ballroom.
“Fuck it,” she muttered—and downed both glasses.
Seraphine clapped her tiny hands. “Atta girl. Sorry, Malachi. None for you.”
Fine by me. I preferred the burn of my amber liquor—steadier, predictable. It warmed me just fine.
We barely made it to the foot of the dais before Kaelith rose from the throne, arms spread wide.
“Aurelia,” he purred.
He descended the stairs slowly, the hem of his dark robes trailing behind him. Meeting her halfway, he pulled her into an embrace, pressing his nose to the crook of her neck and inhaling deeply. One hand rested possessively on the small of her back.
A soft sound escaped her lips. I couldn’t tell if it was a laugh, a startled breath, or something else.
Kaelith looked up from her throat, eyes locking with mine.
He smiled, all teeth, and opened his mouth wide, flashing the full length of his canines.
He dragged them across her neck. Not biting.
Just marking. A gesture meant for me as much as her.
He ended it with a kiss at the place her pulse fluttered.
“Kaelith,” Aurelia whispered breathlessly.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Do you… sniff everyone this much?”
I ground my teeth together to keep from laughing.
He stepped back, took her hand, and led her up the rest of the stairs to the throne beside his own.
“Malachi.” He didn’t bother to look. The word itself carried the shape of an order.
I climbed the steps, Aurelia’s gaze finding me. The wine had clearly begun to set in. Her head tilted, that slow, hazy smile playing at her mouth.
“Aurelia, my nychta,” Kaelith said as he took his seat. “I have a gift for you.”
My nychta—my night.
It wasn’t a casual endearment. It was an invocation.
A name once reserved for lovers marked by Eryndis.
When the Nightmother bled herself into the void to form shadow, Eryndis was the one who shaped it, who taught her patrons that night was not only darkness, but a shared force—the ability to see through each other’s eyes, to walk one another’s dreams, to wield shadow as one.
To call someone nychta was to claim them as your other half in that power.
A sacred vow. A tether of shadow and blood meant only for those chosen to walk the night together.
Kaelith used it like a weapon. Twisting reverence into possession. Turning something sacred into something sharp enough to cut.
Aurelia raised an eyebrow, her boldness no longer dulled by fear. “I do love gifts. But I hate surprises. Do tell.”
Kaelith only smiled, slow and self-satisfied. “Soon,” he said, eyes drifting to mine.
The music swelled. The crowd began to shift again, conversations resuming, unaware of—or pretending not to notice—the quiet war unfolding at the top of the stairs.
“Malachi, grab us some more wine, would you?” Kaelith asked lightly.
I glanced between him and Aurelia, standing side by side, and felt a tight pull in my chest to stay.
“I won’t harm her tonight, Malachi,” he added, turning to face me. “Please. Go.”
I dipped my head—more gesture than agreement—and turned from them, descending the stairs into the crowd.
Seraphine hovered mid-air by the entrance, a tray of glasses balanced on her head, eyes scanning for the next set of hands to fill.
“Malachi!” she squeaked, darting toward me so fast I nearly braced for impact.
“Sera.” I offered a rare smile. “Nice to see you causing trouble somewhere other than the library.”
It was rare. Keepers hardly ever left their wings—their bindings kept them anchored unless summoned. But Kaelith had demanded every one of them attend tonight.
She huffed. “I much prefer the library. Books carry all the people I want and need. The rest of this room forgets I exist unless I’m holding a tray.”
She gave a dramatic sigh, wings twitching in annoyance as she adjusted the flutes.
I raised an eyebrow. “Mmm. But these are the moments where the stories are written. Don’t forget that.”
Seraphine rolled her eyes. “Spare me the philosopher routine. But fine—consider this your reward for speaking in riddles.”
She handed me two fresh glasses, both fizzing faintly with that iridescent shimmer only Keepers could concoct. “Unpoisoned. Allegedly.”
“Comforting.” I took them with a smirk.
Her gaze flicked toward the dais. She shifted the tray on her shoulder, wings fluttering in a short, restless motion.
“They look like hope,” she added quietly, eyes flicking toward the shadows where Gabriel lingered. “And we know how that ended last time.”
I didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the glasses, watching the bubbles claw their way upward, only to shatter into nothing at the top.
Because I remembered.
I remembered the last time hope had walked into this place.
When King Talon had stood before us—cloak heavy with snow, crown glinting in the torchlight—and promised sanctuary. Promised that if we laid down our blades, if we dedicated ourselves to protecting his family, and Nyxarra, there would be peace.
A future still worth having.
I remembered the sound of silk banners catching fire as his soldiers stormed our camps while we slept. The scent of blood soaking into fresh snow. The way the youngest among us had looked up from the rubble—still searching for the promised safe haven—as the world caved in around them.
We hadn’t just buried bodies that day. We’d buried our faith. Our future. Ourselves. Bound to Nyxarra and unable to do anything to stop the hope we had from being crushed.