Chapter 28 #2
I approached on quiet footfalls, as though any noise might tip her deeper into whatever abyss she was suspended in.
But nothing changed when I reached her bedside.
Nothing changed when I sank into Soren’s usual chair, or when Batty crawled down my sleeve and tilted her head toward the Visionary with an earnest chirp.
Nothing changed at all.
Batty tried to nose her way beneath Nevara’s palms, then made soft, mournful trills when the female didn’t respond.
I swallowed against the sudden well of helplessness rising in my chest. My mouth opened and closed, words failing to escape my parted lips.
Why was the idea of talking to her so difficult now? Was it because I wasn’t sure if she could hear me? Or was it that I didn’t know what to say, or that I wasn’t sure she would want to hear me say anything at all?
Silence stretched between us, growing heavier with each unspoken word. And it was ridiculous. Hadn’t I spent a lifetime talking to myself? Was this really all that different?
Yes.
It was because Nevara was here, and it would be so much worse if she couldn’t hear me. If she was so far gone that there was no part of her that even registered those of us who visited her bedside or worried that she might never wake up. So it was worse. So much worse.
“You’ve missed a lot, you know,” I began, unsure of where to start exactly. “Eyrx is pretty furious about my… general existence, but maybe you Saw that coming.”
I let out a hollow-sounding laugh, wondering if there was maybe some truth there.
“And my father... well, maybe you Saw that coming as well.”
The thought churned uncomfortably in my gut. I heard the echo of her voice, thick with tears, ethereal as ever.
This was the only way I could See.
Had she Seen his death, and weighed it against a larger threat? Could I blame her if she had?
I went on to tell her about the big things, the message from my uncle and the monsters worsening, then the smaller, more mundane things like Batty’s ongoing battle with my affection for Lumen.
“I wish you were awake for so many reasons, some of them selfish. Maybe all of them. There are so many things we don’t know, like whether Eryx will stay loyal,” I added after a beat, guilt clawing at my gut.
“I don’t know him well at all, but I do know that things will be hells of a lot more difficult if Winter’s Lord General turns traitor on top of everything else.
And I need you to tell me if there is anything we can do to convince him not to. ”
I added the last part more quietly.
“I need to know if there are more villagers out there who need our help. If there is something I can do to stave off another war… between the Seelie and the Unseelie. Between Draven and his entire shards-damned court.” The words poured out of me then.
“And if we survive… what comes after? Do I go into hiding? Stay here and become the exception to the rule of unvarnished hatred where the Unseelie are concerned? Explode from the force of my mana? Is there anything at all in our future worth fighting for, some good we can do, someone we can actually save? Or will we give all that we have to preserve a world that justifies its hatred of anything different or lesser in power?”
I thought of the Hollow children again. My story had been different. My mana had been hiding all along, but some children truly were born without it. I couldn’t believe in Nevara’s goddess and also the one who cursed innocent children and believed they were deserving of death.
I just… needed her to wake up and tell me what it was all even for so I could dredge up the strength to keep fighting on days like today.
Not just because she was the Visionary, but because I missed the unique, steady way she saw the world, in spite of all the horrors she must have Seen in her life.
“We need you,” I whispered, then shook my head to correct myself. “I need you.”
Nevara’s chest rose and fell. Barely. Not enough. Or was it just the same pace as before?
“I know that my needs are so much smaller compared to the others in your life. To Soren. Draven. Even that shards-damned griffon that nearly got you killed,” I continued. “And I know that you weren’t even sure that we’d be friends…”
A humorless laugh escaped me, and I tilted my head up toward the domed ceiling.
“But I want to be,” I continued after a beat. “And I want you to wake up and tell me that you want the same thing because I haven’t had many friends in my life, and I could really use one now.”
I cleared my throat, the words stumbling out of me more quickly now. Maybe it was easier to talk to her when I was staring at sunlit bricks, or the dust motes dancing through the air, or maybe it was just that now that I’d begun, I couldn’t make myself stop.
“I want you to wake up and drink too much whiskey with me and say inappropriate things and laugh with me about Lord Fellingham’s latest wig. I want you to tell me what Draven was like when he was young and stupid, because I know he was. He has that face.”
I glanced down at her again. Nothing. Not even the twitch of an eyelash. Just stillness. Just the awful in-between of someone here, but not.
I swallowed and sat back in my chair.
Morta Mea? Draven’s voice brushed through the bond, edged with controlled concern.
I’m fine. I’m with Nevara. I answered, letting him see her through my eyes.
There was a long beat of silence before he responded.
Make sure that rodent doesn’t bite her when she’s defenseless. Have we confirmed with the Beastwarden that Batty isn’t, in fact, feral?
Despite everything, a small spark of amusement warmed our bond.
I feigned offense. How very dare you!
His answering chuckle slid through the connection just before the sound of the war room doors echoed faintly behind him. Then the bond went quiet again—muted, but not gone. Never gone.
When I was sure he wouldn’t check in again for a moment, I looked back at Nevara.
Draven’s grief pressed faintly against my ribs, unmistakable even from a distance.
He could hide it from the court, from his soldiers, from his enemies—but not from me.
Not anymore. Losing her would break him in ways the world would never recover from.
And I wasn’t sure I could bear watching him fall apart like that.
“You’re the last family he has,” I whispered. My throat tightened around the truth. “He’s been holding himself together because he has to—but if you don’t wake up… I’m afraid he might finally shatter.”
Batty shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, her tiny body vibrating with a soft, sorrowful hum.
“I know you’re tired,” I continued softly.
“And I know your visions take pieces of you every time, but we need you. Draven needs you. He’s lost everyone else.
He’s carrying the entire realm on his shoulders, and he’ll do it until it kills him.
And you chose me. You said it was me that could help him, but here I am, doing nothing good for anyone, and I just…
I can’t, Nevara. I don’t know how to do this without you. ”
My voice broke. Just a little. And I scooped Batty up to take what little comfort I could steal for myself.
“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be what this Court needs, or what he needs,” I admitted into the endless hush.
“I need your advice. Your voice. Your… presence. Not even just a prophecy. Just you. And I wish I could be selfless enough to tell you it was okay to stop fighting. That you could just sleep now and know that we could carry on without you, but that’s not who I am, who any of us are. So wake up, dammit."
The lanterns pulsed faintly, as though the room itself was listening.
But Nevara didn’t move.
Batty nestled her head against my neck, offering what little solace she could as the oppressive weight of the silence and the towering walls closed in again.