Chapter 33 Malachi
Malachi
The birds were the only ones who remembered morning.
Their song carried faint and fragmented through the stone, soft trills and flutters drifting down the corridor. Mist clung to the arched windows and bled in through the seams—silver-gray, quiet, unbothered by the dusk that never lifted. Nyxarra never changed.
But some part of me always noticed when the birds returned each day.
I followed the winding hallway toward the chamber Kaelith used for private meals. Not the banquet hall. This one was tucked behind a wall of draped velvet.
He was waiting when I entered, standing at the head of a long, obsidian table. One hand rested on the back of a chair, the other cradled a goblet of something dark and sweet-smelling. The table was laid for two.
“Sleep well?” he asked, all brightness and ease.
“No,” I said flatly.
Kaelith smirked, motioning for me to sit. I didn’t.
“I’ve added a detour,” he said. “Before you reach Synnex.”
I didn’t answer, but the tension in my jaw made its own reply.
There was nothing on the way to Synnex but the in-between lands.
Kaelith sipped from his goblet, unbothered.
“There have been whispers. Rumors of a village still standing along the eastern ridge. Old rebel territory. Some say it was spared. Protected.”
He met my eyes. “I need you to find it.”
“And if it’s there?” I asked slowly.
“Then you cleanse it,” Kaelith said. “Erase what should never have endured. Protect Nyxarra.”
I stared at him, heart thudding once, then stilling.
Kaelith swirled the wine in his glass. “My father’s memories are becoming clearer.”
Something cold slid beneath my ribs. Of course. That was it. He’d consumed his father's blood. Inherited his power. And with it—secrets.
“You don’t compel me through the bond,” I said, voice measured. “Why?”
Kaelith’s eyes lifted to meet mine. Something flickered there. “Because I shouldn't need to,” he said. “You’re loyal to Nyxarra. Aren’t you?”
“I’m loyal to the realm,” I answered slowly.
Kaelith smiled. Not quite malice. Not quite mercy. “Do you remember,” he said after a beat, “when we were boys?”
I said nothing, and he went on. “You followed me everywhere,” Kaelith said, stirring his cup. “Like a damn shadow. And when I was too proud to fight someone—what was his name? Maren?—you took care of it.”
“I remember,” I said quietly. “You hit me afterward.”
He gave a low, amused sound. “I did. Had to make sure you knew I didn’t need anyone.”
“I was the stronger one,” he added after a beat, lifting his drink to his lips. “I always have been.” There was no challenge in it—just the kind of lie you tell yourself so often it becomes truth.
I didn’t answer. Because we both knew better.
Kaelith set the cup down, eyes on the carved rim. “If there is a village, Malachi… see to it. Root to stone. Let nothing linger.”
My jaw tensed. “And if there are survivors?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Then you’ll do what must be done to protect us.”
The word protect sat between us. He didn’t mean shielding the realm. He meant erasing anything that didn’t serve him.
I turned before I said something I’d regret. Because if there was a village—if something had survived all this time, hidden and untouched—it meant the old world still breathed. And if it still breathed…
Then I had a choice to make.
I moved swiftly, quietly, letting habit carry me toward the antechamber where the others had gathered.
I found Lysara near the garden arch, staring out over the mist-veiled courtyard. Half of her crimson hair was braided back today, the rest left loose. She looked like she hadn’t slept, and she didn’t say a word when I approached.
“We’re leaving within the hour,” I said quietly.
Lysara’s gaze flicked to me. “Your whispering means you have something to say, and you’re trying to make sure Aurelia doesn’t hear it.”
I didn’t deny it. I waited until a servant passed behind us, then leaned in closer, voice low. “Kaelith thinks there’s a village still standing. From the rebellion.”
Her eyes narrowed, lashes lowering. “One of ours?”
“Maybe. Or those who ran when it ended. He wants me to confirm it and… cleanse it. His words.”
She flinched. “And if they’re innocent?”
“If there’s nothing there,” I said quietly, “we move on. He’ll never know the difference.”
“Gods.” Her hands balled at her sides. “You think it’s true?”
“He didn’t know about it before. Which means his father kept it from him. And if he kept it secret... it matters.”
Her jaw tightened, color rising in her cheeks.
“I want you with Aurelia while we’re gone,” I said. “She’s still recovering. But if anything happens, anything—”
“I’ll protect her,” she said sharply. “But this—Malachi, if there’s even one child in that village—”
“I know.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
She studied me. “You’re not going there to burn it.”
“No.”
“You’re going there to see if something survived.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Her jaw flexed, but she said nothing more.
We stood there in silence for a breath.
I inclined my head once, a wordless acknowledgment, then turned back.