Chapter 5 Valas
VALAS
Iarrive at Daryn's house just as the sun begins its descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet that feel almost mocking in their beauty.
The vial in my pocket presses against my ribs with each step—glass and desperation wrapped in leather.
Another remedy. Another attempt. Another promise I'm not certain I can keep.
The guards nod me through without question.
I've worn a path to this threshold over the past months, my presence as routine as dawn.
The servant who opens the door—an older dark elf woman named Thessia—offers a knowing look that I ignore.
Everyone in this household watches me now.
Measuring. Calculating. Waiting to see if I'll finally admit what they all seem to see.
I climb the stairs toward Daryn's study, my boots quiet against polished wood.
Somewhere deeper in the house, I hear Amisra's laughter—bright and clear, already recovered from last week's fever.
The sound eases something tight in my chest. And beneath it, softer, I catch Keira's voice.
Patient. Warm. Reading something, maybe, or playing one of the elaborate games Amisra invents.
My fingers flex involuntarily. I haven't seen her since that night.
Seven days of arriving when she's elsewhere, leaving before our paths cross.
Not deliberate avoidance on her part—I don't think—but our schedules simply haven't aligned.
Or perhaps I've been unconsciously timing my visits to miss her, because facing those hazel eyes while remembering how I called her starlight feels like walking barefoot across broken glass.
I knock once on the study door before entering.
Daryn sits upright in the chair by his desk, a book open before him, looking almost like himself.
Almost. His silver hair catches the dying light, his posture straight, his expression alert.
But he's thinner than he was even a week ago.
The bones of his face stand in sharper relief, his silver-blue eyes sunken deeper.
His skin has taken on a translucent quality, like parchment stretched too tight.
He's dying by inches, and I can't stop watching it happen.
"Val." His smile is genuine, touched with that familiar sardonic edge. "Run out of other patients to experiment on?"
"Just ones that don't give me shit. What can I say?
It's my love language, so I came to see you.
" I close the door behind me, moving into the room with practiced ease.
This study has become a second home—dark wood and leather-bound books, the scent of ink and old paper, afternoon light slanting through tall windows. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a man being slowly devoured from the inside." He waves a hand dismissively. "So, the usual. You're here with another miracle cure that won't work?"
The casual cruelty of it—directed at himself, not me—makes my jaw tighten.
I pull the vial from my pocket, holding it up to the light.
The liquid inside gleams deep crimson, almost black in the shadows.
"From Ter. An alchemist there claims it's helped with magical consumption.
Different approach than what we've tried before. "
Daryn's eyebrows lift. "Ter? That's quite the journey for a maybe."
"I had it sent." The correspondence took three weeks, the shipment another two. I've been waiting for this remedy with the kind of hope that feels increasingly foolish. "Worth trying."
"Everything is worth trying when the alternative is death." He leans back, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to retreat. "Though I suspect you didn't rush here in the early evening just to deliver mysterious potions."
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. "I thought—"
"You thought you might catch a glimpse of the nanny." His grin turns wicked, despite the hollowness in his cheeks. "Don't bother denying it. You've been pining after Keira for months now like some tragic poet in a second-rate ballad."
"I'm not—" I stop. Start again. "This isn't about her."
"Val. Brother." He leans forward, elbows on the desk. "You're here to flirt with the nanny more than heal me. At least be honest about it."
The accusation lands with uncomfortable accuracy. I could deny it. Should deny it. Instead, I find myself sinking into the chair across from his desk, the vial still clutched in my hand. The fight goes out of me all at once, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.
"I'm not flirting," I say quietly. "I wouldn't know where to begin."
Daryn's expression gentles slightly. Waiting. He's always been better at silences than I am, knows how to let them stretch until the truth spills out just to fill the void.
I roll the vial between my fingers, watching crimson liquid catch the light.
"I've tried. I know you said to be her friend, but she doesn't want that.
So, I tried to be there for her in actions, since she won't talk to me.
Left that book she mentioned wanting in the library.
Made sure the kitchen staff know she prefers her tea with meadowmint.
" Small things. Meaningless things. "But I can't get her to open up.
Can't become her friend. She barely speaks to me beyond basic pleasantries. "
"Maybe she's afraid."
"Of me?" The thought twists something painful in my gut. "I've never—I would never—"
"Not afraid you'll hurt her." Daryn's voice carries that particular patience he reserves for when I'm being deliberately obtuse. "Afraid you'll make her hope. Afraid she'll start believing whatever this is between you could be real."
I shake my head. "There's nothing between us."
"There's everything between you. The entire house sees it except you two.
" He reaches for the glass of water on his desk, drinks slowly.
Even that simple motion seems to cost him.
"So what's stopping you? Buy her contract.
Make her yours properly. Half the nobility is taking human lovers now. It's practically fashionable."
The suggestion makes my teeth clench. "I don't want her that way."
"What way?"
"Purchased." The word tastes bitter. "Owned.
I want—" I stop, because putting it into words makes it real and impossible at once.
"I want her willing. I want her to choose.
Not because I bought her freedom or because I outrank her or because she's grateful to me for something.
I want her to want me because she actually wants me. "
I want her to get to know me. I want her to let me in. I want to understand her, to comfort her, to finally have her look at me with a soft smile and those gorgeous eyes lit up.
And I can't have it.
The silence that follows feels weighted. Daryn studies me with an expression I can't quite read—something between amusement and sorrow.
"You're already half in love with her," he says finally. Not a question.
"That's not—" But I can't finish the denial. Can't force the lie past my lips when we both know the truth. "It doesn't matter. She'll never choose me."
"You're so certain?"
"She barely looks at me." Except she does.
I catch her watching sometimes, those hazel eyes tracking my movements before she glances away.
Like she's memorizing something. Like she wants to understand.
"And even if she did, I'm a dark elf. She's human.
She has every reason not to trust anything I offer. "
Daryn leans back again, that knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth despite the exhaustion etched into his features.
"I've seen her watch you, Val. When you're playing with Amisra.
When you're working. When she forgets to keep her guard up.
" He pauses. "She looks at you the way someone looks at something they want but don't think they can have. "
My pulse stutters. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His laugh is soft, rough around the edges.
"You notice everything about her—how she takes her tea, what books she likes, the way she braids her hair differently when she's stressed.
You think I haven't noticed you cataloguing every detail like you're studying for an exam?
You've learned her entire life just from watching. "
The accuracy of it steals my breath. He's right.
I don't need Keira to tell me anything when I've been memorizing her for months.
The way she tucks loose hair behind her ear when she's concentrating.
How her laugh comes out surprised, like she doesn't expect joy.
The specific tilt of her head when she's listening to Amisra's stories.
The guardedness that never quite leaves her eyes, even during gentle moments.
I know her and I don't know her at all. And I want—desperately, dangerously—to bridge that distance.
"This shouldn't be our focus," I say instead, deflecting. "You're the priority. Amisra. Not my impossible attraction to a woman who barely tolerates my presence."
"Val." Daryn's voice goes serious, the teasing falling away. "There is no changing that I'm dying."
"Don't—"
"Listen to me." He leans forward, and I see the exhaustion behind his eyes. The acceptance. "I need to know that while you're caring for Amisra, someone is taking care of you. That you won't drown yourself in grief and duty and forget to live."
My throat closes. "You're not dying."
"I am." Simple. Certain. "We both know it. These remedies—" He gestures at the vial I'm still clutching. "They buy time. Maybe. But they won't save me. Nothing will."
"The alchemist in Ter said—"
"The alchemist in Ter wants your money and to feel important." Not cruel. Just honest. "How many healers have you consulted now? How many remedies have failed? How many nights have you spent in my library searching for impossible cures?"
Too many. All of them. Every single night since he first told me, and countless hours before that.
I swallow hard against the burning in my chest. "I'm going to save you."
"No." His hand reaches across the desk, gripping my wrist with surprising strength.
"You're going to let me die with dignity.
You're going to care for my daughter. And you're going to let yourself be happy, even when I'm gone.
" His fingers tighten. "Promise me, Val.
Promise you won't waste your life trying to fix the unfixable. "
I can't promise that. Can't even pretend I could honor such a promise when everything in me screams to keep fighting. To find the answer that must exist somewhere, in some dusty tome or distant land or forgotten spell. To refuse this surrender.
"I'll start you on the new remedy," I say instead, pulling my wrist free and standing. My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Tonight. We'll see results within a week if it's going to work."
Daryn watches me with eyes that see too much. "And if it doesn't?"
"Then we try something else." I uncork the vial, the sharp scent of herbs and magic filling the air. "I'm not giving up on you."
"I know." His smile is sad. Resigned. "That's what worries me."
I measure the dosage carefully—three drops in water, taken before sleep.
The crimson liquid disperses like blood in water, swirling before disappearing.
I hand him the glass and watch as he drinks, cataloguing every small detail.
His breathing. The tremor in his hand. The way he has to brace himself to swallow.
The way he looks like a man who's already made peace with death while I'm still clawing desperately at life.
When the glass is empty, he sets it down and fixes me with that penetrating stare. "Go talk to her."
"Who?"
"Don't play dense. It's beneath you." He waves toward the door. "Keira. She's in the library with Amisra. Go. Let yourself want something besides my survival."
The suggestion makes anxiety spike through my chest. "She doesn't want to talk to me."
"Maybe not. Maybe you should keep trying anyway." He leans back, eyes already growing heavy. The remedy works fast, at least—sleep to help the body heal, even if healing feels increasingly theoretical. "Maybe I'm actually right about this and you just need to get her to let you in."
I stand there, caught between wanting to argue and wanting to run toward something that might hurt worse than watching my best friend die by inches. The vial feels heavy in my pocket. The study feels too warm. Everything feels impossible.
"Get some rest," I say finally. "I'll check on you in the morning."
"Coward," Daryn murmurs, but his smile takes the sting from it. His eyes are already closing, body sinking deeper into the chair. "Go find your starlight, Val. Stop letting fear make your decisions."
I leave before he can say anything else. Before he can voice the truths I'm not ready to face. The hallway stretches before me, afternoon light fading into early evening shadows. Down the stairs and to the left is the library. Where Amisra is. Where Keira is.
Where I should go.
Where I can't make myself go, because Daryn is right—I am a coward. Brave enough to search for impossible cures but too terrified to risk hearing confirmation that the woman I'm falling for will never want me back.
My feet carry me toward the library anyway, drawn by something stronger than fear. By hope, maybe. Or desperation. Or the simple need to see her again, even if she doesn't want to be seen.
The library door stands slightly ajar. Through the gap, I hear Amisra's voice, high and excited, asking questions faster than anyone could answer.
And beneath it, patient and warm and achingly gentle, Keira responds.
Reading something. Explaining. Making a four-year-old feel like the center of the universe.
I stand in the hallway, hand raised to knock, and lose all courage. She's in there. Right there. And I can't move.
Because Daryn is right about everything, and that terrifies me more than any magical sickness ever could.
Instead, I walk away.