Chapter 17
MIHALIS
The decision to move feels like dragging myself up from the bottom of a deep well. Every muscle in my body protests as I force myself upright, the room spinning sickeningly around me. My wings feel like dead weight against my back, the feathers dull and lifeless when they should gleam with health.
But Thera's words echo in my head. Stop being a coward and go get her back.
So I do.
The bond shifts the moment I step outside, a thin thread of sensation that's been muted for days flaring in my chest. It's not the warm pull I remember from before—this feels desperate, fraying at the edges like a rope about to snap.
But it's there. A beacon in the darkness that's consumed my life since she walked away.
North. The bond tugs me north, through the winding streets of New Solas where the winter air bites at my exposed skin. I should be warm—my natural fire should keep the cold at bay—but my magic is barely a flicker now. Just enough to keep me upright, to follow the thread that connects me to her.
Everything but that bond has been burned away.
Each step sends waves of nausea through my system.
The world tilts and sways like I'm walking on the deck of a ship in rough seas.
More than once I have to stop, bracing myself against a wall while I wait for my vision to clear.
People give me a wide berth, sensing the predator in me even when I'm half-dead on my feet.
But I keep walking. Keep following that faint pull that grows stronger with every block. Not strong enough to ease the crushing weight in my chest, but enough to tell me I'm heading in the right direction.
The residential district stretches before me, a maze of narrow streets and crowded buildings where humans live stacked on top of each other like books on a shelf. It's nothing like my sprawling house with its careful gardens and spacious rooms. Nothing like the luxury Irida has always known.
The thought of my daughter sends a fresh spike of pain through my chest. She asked for Heidi again this morning, her small face crumpling when I had to tell her I didn't know when she'd be back. If she'd be back.
She loves Irida. The memory of Heidi braiding my daughter's hair, of the way her entire expression would soften whenever Irida climbed into her lap, keeps me moving when my legs want to give out.
Whatever else might be complicated between us, that was real.
The affection in her eyes when she looked at my little flame wasn't an act.
And if she loves Irida, if there's even a chance she might feel something for me beyond magical compulsion...
Then I have to try. Have to fight for this thing between us before it kills us both.
The bond grows stronger as I turn down a side street lined with weathered brick buildings. Three stories tall, narrow windows, laundry hanging from lines stretched between the structures. The kind of place where people go to disappear, to fade into anonymity.
Perfect for someone who's spent her life hiding.
My heart hammers against my ribs as the pull intensifies. Close. So fucking close I can almost taste her on the air. The nausea recedes slightly, just enough for me to take a full breath for the first time in days. My magic stirs, a weak flicker of warmth that spreads through my chest.
There. Third building from the corner, second floor. The bond points like a compass needle, unwavering in its certainty. She's there. Behind those grimy windows, in whatever small space she calls home.
The front door is unlocked—security isn't much of a priority in this part of the city. I climb the narrow stairs on unsteady legs, each step an effort that leaves me breathing hard. The hallway smells like cooking oil and unwashed bodies, nothing like the clean lavender scent that fills my house.
Apartment 2C. The number is painted on the door in faded black letters, some of the paint chipped away. I can feel her behind it, the bond singing with proximity. So close I could reach through the thin wood and touch her if the world worked differently.
I knock. Three sharp raps that echo down the empty hallway.
Nothing.
"Heidi." My voice comes out rough, raw from days of barely speaking. "I know you're in there."
Still nothing. No sound of movement, no sharp retort telling me to go away. Just silence that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I knock harder, the sound reverberating off the walls. "Heidi, open the door."
The silence stretches, heavy and wrong. She should be yelling at me by now. Should be telling me exactly where I can shove my demands and my arrogance. The fact that she's not responding sends ice through my veins.
Something's wrong.
I try the handle—locked, of course. But the door is old, the wood warped with age and moisture. It takes exactly one hard shove of my shoulder to snap the lock and send the door crashing open.
The apartment is tiny. One room serving as kitchen, living space, and bedroom all at once. A narrow window lets in weak afternoon light that illuminates bare walls and mismatched furniture that looks like it's been salvaged from the streets.
But I barely notice any of that because Heidi is there, curled on her side on a narrow bed pushed against the far wall.
And she looks like death.
Her skin has gone beyond pale to something approaching gray, stretched too tight over the sharp angles of her face.
Her dark hair is tangled and dull, spread across a pillow that might have been white once upon a time.
She's changed into something soft and warm—a simple tunic and pants that now hang loose on her frame.
She's not moving.
"No." The word tears from my throat as I cross the small space in three strides. "No, no, fuck—Heidi."
I drop to my knees beside the bed, my hands shaking as I reach for her. Her skin is cold under my palm, far too cold for someone who should be burning with life. But I can feel her heartbeat, thread-thin but there, and the faint warmth of breath against my fingers when I hold them near her mouth.
Alive. Barely, but alive.
The bond between us flickers weakly, like a candle in a strong wind. I can feel how much it's taken from her—more than it took from me, somehow. Maybe because I'm xaphan, maybe because I'm stronger, maybe because I’m made to handle the strain of magic and she can’t.
Doesn't matter. What matters is that she's dying, and it's my fault for letting her run. For giving her the space I thought she needed when what she actually needed was to be here, with me, letting the bond settle properly between us.
"I'm sorry." The words come out broken as I slide my arms beneath her, lifting her against my chest. She weighs almost nothing, all sharp bones and fragile skin. "I'm so fucking sorry, little thief. I should have come sooner."
She doesn't respond, doesn't even stir at the movement. Her head lolls against my shoulder, and I can feel how much effort each breath costs her. The bond pulses weakly between us, just strong enough to confirm that this connection is the only thing keeping her alive.
Keeping us both alive.
I've never felt terror like this. Not when facing down enemies twice my size, not when Irida had a fever that wouldn't break when she was barely two years old, not when I thought I might lose everything I'd built.
This is different. This is the kind of fear that reaches into your chest and squeezes until you can't breathe. The kind that makes you understand exactly how much you have to lose.
Because I love her. Not just want her, not just need her because of some magical compulsion. I love this fierce, stubborn woman who challenges me at every turn, who makes my daughter laugh, who trusts me with her body even when she's afraid to trust me with her heart.
I love her, and I almost lost her because I was too much of a coward to fight for what we both wanted.
Never again.
I adjust my grip on her, making sure she's secure against my chest before I stand. My legs shake with the effort, the bond still draining what little strength I have left. But determination burns in my chest now, hot and bright and unshakeable.
She might hate me for this. Might never forgive me for taking away her choice again, for making decisions about her life without her consent. But I'll take her hatred over her death. Will take her fury and her fear and whatever else she wants to throw at me, as long as she's alive to do it.
The hallway seems longer on the way out, each step a monumental effort. But I keep moving, keep her pressed close against me where I can feel the weak flutter of her pulse. Where I can whisper promises against her hair that she probably can't hear but I need to say anyway.
"I've got you," I murmur as I navigate the narrow stairs. "I'm going to fix this. Going to make this right."
The cold air outside hits us like a slap, and I feel her shiver weakly against me. My magic stirs in response, what little I can still access wrapping around us both like a blanket. Not much, but enough to keep the chill from her skin.
Enough to buy us a little more time.
Because that's all we need. Just a little more time, and I'll make sure we never have to face this kind of separation again.