Chapter 6 Valas
VALAS
The kitchen conversation plays on repeat in my head, has been for two days now.
Every word. Every pause. The way Keira laughed at my terrible joke, the sound bright and unexpected in the quiet space.
How she'd looked at me when she admitted I scared her—not with hatred or disgust, but with something complicated that felt almost like possibility.
Someone I'd very much like to know.
I'd meant it. Still mean it, though I'm not sure what comes next. How to bridge the distance between what I want and what she can afford to give. How to prove that I see her as more than property when the entire world around us insists otherwise.
But things have shifted. Subtly, yes, but unmistakably.
Yesterday, when I arrived to check on Daryn, Keira brought Amisra to the study where we'd gathered.
The little girl launched herself at me immediately, chattering about a bird's nest she'd found in the garden, and I listened while simultaneously monitoring Daryn's breathing, his color, the slight tremor in his hands that hadn't been there last week.
When Amisra finally exhausted herself with storytelling, bouncing off to find a toy she wanted to show me, Keira lingered. Didn't retreat immediately like she usually would. Just stood there, fingers twisted together, and asked how I was doing.
Not how Daryn was doing. How I was doing.
The question had caught me so off-guard I'd answered honestly.
Told her I was tired. Frustrated. Running out of ideas and time and hope.
She'd nodded, understanding in those hazel eyes, and said she thought I was handling it remarkably well.
That most people would have broken under the weight of watching someone they loved slip away.
I'd wanted to kiss her. Right there, with afternoon light streaming through windows and Daryn dozing in his chair and the whole impossible situation pressing down on all of us. Wanted to pull her close and taste that understanding, that softness she was finally allowing me to see.
I didn't, of course. Didn't even touch her. Just thanked her quietly and changed the subject before I could do something foolish.
But the wanting hasn't stopped. If anything, it's gotten worse.
This morning, she smiled at me when I arrived.
Not a polite smile or a wary one, but something genuine that reached her eyes and made my chest ache.
We'd exchanged a few words—small talk, really, about the weather and Amisra's breakfast preferences—but it felt monumental.
Like progress. Like maybe, eventually, she might let me in.
Now, though, sitting in Daryn's study while evening shadows lengthen across the floor, progress feels like a luxury I can't afford. Not when my best friend is dying and I can't fix it.
"You're brooding." Daryn's voice interrupts my thoughts, weak but laced with familiar amusement. "That face you make when you're mentally berating yourself for failing."
I look up from the book I've been pretending to read. Research notes from a healer in Ter, promising techniques involving moon magic and blood rituals. I'd tried three of them already. None worked.
"I'm not brooding."
"You absolutely are." He shifts in his chair, the movement costing him more energy than it should. His silver hair catches the lamplight, duller than it used to be. Everything about him is duller now—the brightness slowly draining away like water through cupped hands. "Tell me it's not about me."
"Of course it's about you." I close the book, frustration sharpening my tone. "I got the latest remedy from Ter two weeks ago. You're not improving, Daryn. If anything, you're—"
"Declining. I know." He says it so calmly. Like we're discussing the weather instead of his imminent death. "But you're doing everything you can. More than anyone should expect."
"It's not enough."
"It's everything." His silver-blue eyes pin me in place. "And you know what else I've noticed? You've been smiling more lately. Actually smiling, not that grim determination you usually wear around here."
I blink at the subject change. "What does that have to do with—"
"Keira." Daryn's smile turns knowing, infuriating. "She's been different with you. Softer. Lingering when she brings Amisra around. Actually talking to you instead of fleeing like you're contagious."
Heat creeps up my neck. "I don't know what you're implying."
"Yes, you do." He laughs, the sound rough but genuine.
"She brought Amisra to see me yesterday and you were there, remember?
Going over those notes about the blood ritual.
She stayed for nearly half an hour, asking you questions about your research.
Listening when you explained the theory behind sympathetic magic. "
I'd noticed. Of course I'd noticed. The way she'd leaned forward slightly when I talked, hazel eyes focused on my face.
How she'd asked intelligent questions that proved she was actually paying attention.
The soft smile she'd given me when Amisra climbed into my lap and demanded I tell her a story about the Thirteen.
"She was being polite," I say, though I don't believe it.
"She was being interested." Daryn shifts again, wincing. I move to help him but he waves me off. "In you. Specifically. And you're an idiot if you don't pursue that."
"I'm pursuing it slowly. At her pace." I set the book aside, leaning forward with elbows on my knees. "She's finally talking to me, Daryn. Actually giving me a chance instead of avoiding me. I'm not going to rush her and ruin it."
"Good." His approval is immediate. "That's exactly right. But don't wait forever either. Life is—" He stops, something dark crossing his face. "Shorter than we think. Don't waste time being afraid."
The words hit harder than they should. Because he's right. Time is running out, and not just for him. For all of us. For whatever fragile thing is building between Keira and me before reality crashes back in and reminds her why trusting a dark elf is dangerous.
"I'm not afraid," I lie.
"Liar." But he's smiling. "Go home, Val. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow and we'll try whatever new torture you've dreamed up."
I should argue. Should stay and monitor him through the night like I've been doing more and more lately. But he looks tired—that bone-deep exhaustion that comes from fighting a losing battle—and I recognize the dismissal for what it is. His way of protecting me from watching him suffer.
"Tomorrow," I agree quietly.
I gather my things, checking his breathing one last time before I leave.
The walk through the house is familiar now, my feet finding the path without conscious thought.
Past the sitting room where afternoon light had made Keira's hair glow amber and gold.
Past the kitchen where we'd shared tea and terrible jokes. Past Amisra's room where—
Laughter drifts from outside. High and bright and unmistakably Amisra's. I detour toward the garden entrance, drawn by the sound, and find them illuminated by moonlight.
Keira and Amisra, playing some elaborate game that involves running in circles and dramatic gestures. The little girl's silver hair streams behind her like starlight, her face alight with joy. And Keira—
Keira is beautiful.
The moon catches on her chestnut hair, turning the brown to gold through frost. She's laughing, actually laughing, as Amisra demands she play the monster trying to catch her. Her cheeks are flushed pink, either from exertion or the cold—probably both, given how she's rubbing her arms periodically.
It's a little cool out here. The kind of autumn evening that carries a bite beneath its beauty. And I know Amisra. Know how she'll drag out playtime for as long as Keira allows, heedless of temperature or exhaustion or anything beyond her own enjoyment.
I watch them for another moment, committing the scene to memory. This moment of happiness in the middle of everything dark and dying. Then I step out into the garden.
"Uncle Val!" Amisra spots me immediately, abandoning her game to barrel toward me. I catch her mid-launch, swinging her up into my arms.
"Little bird. Shouldn't you be getting ready for bed?"
"Not yet." She wraps small arms around my neck. "Keira is playing monster with me. You should play too."
"I'm not dressed for monster hunting." I glance toward Keira, who's watching us with something soft in her expression. "Though it looks like you've been doing an excellent job tiring her out."
"She's unstoppable," Keira admits, rubbing her arms again. The motion draws my attention to how she's dressed—a simple tunic and trousers, practical but not warm enough for the chill settling in. "I keep thinking she'll run out of energy, but apparently not."
Amisra squirms and I set her down. She immediately launches into an elaborate explanation of the game's rules, something involving dragons and castles and treasure. I listen with half my attention, the other half focused on how Keira shivers slightly when wind whispers through the garden.
An idea forms. Probably a terrible one. Definitely crossing lines I've been trying not to cross. But watching her try to hide her discomfort while Amisra pleads for more playtime makes the decision for me.
"One moment," I tell Amisra, interrupting her mid-sentence. I reach into the pocket dimension I keep tethered to my belt—a small enchantment, useful for carrying supplies without bulk—and pull out a pair of gloves.
They're simple things, dark leather lined with fur, but the enchantment woven through them is complex.
Warming spells layered with temperature regulation and a minor shield against wind.
I'd made them years ago for fieldwork, for those times healing required traveling to cold regions or working outside in harsh weather.
"Here." I hold them out to Keira. "You'll need these."
She looks at the gloves, then at me, something wary sliding back into her expression. "I'm fine."
"You're cold." I keep my voice gentle, non-threatening. "And Amisra will keep you out here for another hour if you let her. Take them."
"I said I'm fine." But her jaw is tight, pride written in every line of her body.
I recognize that pride. The same kind I've seen in humans who refuse help because accepting it means acknowledging their position. Means admitting they need something from someone with power over them. It breaks my heart and frustrates me in equal measure.
"They're enchanted for warmth." I take a step closer, not crowding but reducing the distance. "Temperature regulation, wind resistance. I made them for field research but haven't needed them lately." Another step. "It's cold out here, Keira. Let me help."
"I don't need—"
"I know." I'm close enough now to see how her breath mists in the air, how her fingers have gone slightly red at the tips. "But I'd like to anyway. Please?"
Her hazel eyes search my face. Looking for ulterior motives, probably. For demands or expectations or proof that this kindness comes with strings attached. I hold her gaze, trying to show her the truth—that this is just care. Nothing more complicated than not wanting her to be uncomfortable.
"Uncle Val, is Keira your friend now?" Amisra's question interrupts the moment, innocent and curious.
"I hope so," I answer honestly, still looking at Keira.
Something shifts in her expression. Not surrender, exactly, but a softening. A letting go of some small piece of the armor she keeps wrapped so tightly around herself.
"Fine," she says quietly. "But only because Amisra will definitely keep me out here forever."
Victory tastes sweeter than it should. I move closer still, close enough that I can smell the subtle scent of her—soap and herbs and something uniquely hers. Close enough to see how her pulse flutters at her throat when I reach for her hand.
"May I?"
The question is deliberate. Asking permission instead of simply taking. Proving that I mean what I said in the kitchen—that she's not property to me. That her consent matters.
She nods, just barely, and I take her right hand in mine.
Her skin is cold. Too cold. I resist the urge to simply wrap my hands around hers and warm them through sheer stubborn magic.
Instead, I slip the glove over her fingers, careful not to rush, making sure it fits properly.
The leather molds to her hand, the enchantment activating with a subtle pulse of warmth.
Her breath catches. Just slightly, but I hear it. See how her pupils dilate a fraction, how color blooms in her cheeks that has nothing to do with cold.
She's not as unaffected as she wants to act.
The knowledge sends heat through my own blood. I take her left hand, repeating the process. This time, I allow myself the luxury of letting my fingers linger against her palm for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Of feeling how her pulse jumps under my thumb before I withdraw.
"Better?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"Yes." She flexes her fingers, testing the fit. The gloves adjust automatically, tightening slightly for perfect comfort. "They're... very warm. Thank you."
"You're welcome." I step back, creating space before I do something foolish like not stepping back at all. "Now you can play monster for as long as Amisra demands without freezing."
"Lucky me." But she's almost smiling. Almost.
Amisra, blessedly oblivious to the charged atmosphere, grabs Keira's newly gloved hand and tugs. "Come on! The dragon is getting away!"
Keira allows herself to be pulled back into the game. I should leave. Should go home like Daryn suggested and get rest and stop standing in gardens watching women who I shouldn't want play with children who aren't mine.
But I stay. Just for a few more minutes.
Just long enough to watch moonlight catch on Keira's hair again, to hear her laugh when Amisra makes a particularly ridiculous roaring sound, to see her look back at me over her shoulder with something in her eyes that might, possibly, be the beginning of trust.
Just long enough to let myself hope.