Chapter 8 Valas
VALAS
The afternoon light slants through Daryn's study windows as I gather scrolls and research notes scattered across his desk. My own handwriting stares back at me—theories tested and dismissed, remedies attempted and failed. Each page a monument to inadequacy.
I should be at my practice. Have patients waiting, appointments scheduled. But I can't seem to leave this house for more than a few hours before the pull drags me back. Before the need to check on Daryn, to see if he's still breathing, still here, becomes overwhelming.
The weight of it sits heavy in my chest. This inevitable loss approaching like winter—you know it's coming, can see the signs, but that doesn't make you ready for the cold.
And beneath that weight, tangled impossibly through it, is Keira.
Her laugh from this morning still echoes in my head. The way she'd finally smiled at me without that guarded wariness, how her knee had stayed pressed against mine even when she could have moved away. Progress, I'd thought. Maybe even hope.
But it feels selfish, doesn't it? Falling for her while my closest friend dies. Flirting in sunshine while darkness creeps closer. Every moment of joy feels stolen, bittersweet, like eating honey while the world burns.
I shove the scrolls into my satchel with more force than necessary. Need to stop thinking. Need to move, do something productive instead of drowning in thoughts that lead nowhere good.
My practice awaits. Then the apothecaries in the city center—I've been meaning to restock supplies, consult with a few colleagues about experimental treatments. Anything to feel less useless.
I'm halfway down the corridor, almost to the kitchen, when Daryn's voice stops me.
"Valas."
He's leaning against the doorframe, looking more tired than he did this morning but still upright. Still here. The relief that floods through me is sharp enough to hurt.
"I thought you were resting." I adjust my satchel, trying not to let worry bleed into my voice.
"I was." He waves a hand dismissively. "Got bored. Amisra's napping and I needed to catch you before you left."
"Is something wrong?" I'm already cataloging symptoms, running through possibilities.
"No. Well, yes, but not medically." He pushes off the doorframe, moving closer with careful steps that tell me today's energy is already waning. "I need you to do something for me."
"Anything." The word comes automatically. Truthfully.
"Take Keira with you." He says it casually, like suggesting I bring extra coin for the market.
I blink. "What?"
"Into the city. Take her with you." His expression is perfectly innocent, which immediately makes me suspicious. "I need some specific items and you'll need help carrying everything."
"Daryn—"
"Those herbs for pain from Mistress Veylara's shop. More ink and parchment from the market square. Oh, and stop by the bakery—Amisra would love those honey cakes." He's ticking items off on his fingers now, the list conveniently expanding. "You'll definitely need an extra pair of hands."
"Right." I study his face, seeing through this transparent manipulation. "And it has nothing to do with you trying to—what, exactly?"
"Get you supplies?" His smile is too knowing. "Spend time with my daughter? I have no idea what you're implying."
"What about Amisra?" I counter, because there's a genuine question beneath his scheming. "If Keira comes with me—"
"I'm feeling fine today." His voice softens, something sad flickering behind his eyes. "Better than I have in weeks. And I'd like to spend some time with just her. Quality time while I—" He stops, but we both know how that sentence ends. While I still can.
My throat tightens. "Daryn."
"Please." He reaches out, gripping my shoulder with a hand that trembles slightly. "Let me do this. Let me have this afternoon with my daughter. And let yourself have one with Keira."
The grief rises fast and sharp. This wonderful, infuriating man who's dying and still trying to arrange everyone else's happiness. Who sees me struggling with feelings I shouldn't have time for and pushes me toward them anyway.
"You're shameless," I manage.
"I'm practical." His grip tightens. "You're here every day, wearing yourself thin trying to save me.
Taking care of everyone except yourself.
And when you do let yourself feel something good, you look guilty about it.
" His eyes hold mine. "Stop. Just for an afternoon, stop carrying everything and let yourself want something. Someone."
"It feels wrong." The admission escapes before I can stop it. "Being happy while you're—"
"Dying?" He says it simply, matter-of-fact.
"I'm dying either way, Valas. You suffering more doesn't change that.
Your happiness doesn't steal from mine." His expression gentles.
"Actually, knowing you're moving forward, finding something worth fighting for—that would be a gift. Let me give you that."
I have to look away before the burning in my eyes becomes something more. "You're manipulating me."
"Absolutely." He releases my shoulder, stepping back with a smile that's pure mischief despite the exhaustion underneath. "Is it working?"
"Yes, damn you."
"Excellent. Keira's in the garden. Tell her I said she has the afternoon free and you need assistance." He's already turning away, heading toward the stairs and Amisra's room. "And Valas? Actually talk to her. Not just polite conversation—real talk. You're both terrible at this."
He disappears up the stairs before I can respond, leaving me standing in the corridor with my heart doing complicated things in my chest. Gratitude and grief tangled together, hope and guilt fighting for dominance.
I make my way to the garden, following the path we'd taken this morning. Find Keira sitting on a stone bench near the aracin blossoms, book open in her lap. She's absorbed in whatever she's reading, lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration.
Beautiful. The thought hits me with the force of truth. She's beautiful in this light, chestnut hair gleaming copper where the sun catches it, the gentle curve of her neck as she bends over the pages.
I must make some sound because she looks up, hazel eyes widening slightly when she sees me.
"Valas." She closes the book, setting it aside. "I thought you'd left already."
"I was going to." I move closer, drawn to her like gravity. "But Daryn intercepted me. He has requests that apparently require two people."
"Requests?" Suspicion creeps into her expression.
"Herbs. Candles. Various items from the city." I pause. "He suggested you accompany me. Said he wants the afternoon with just Amisra."
Understanding dawns across her face. "He's matchmaking."
"Shamelessly." I can't quite hide my smile. "You don't have to come if you'd rather not. I can manage alone and you could enjoy a free afternoon here."
She studies me for a long moment, something considering in her gaze. Then she stands, brushing wrinkles from her skirt. "No. I'll come."
"You will?" Hope flares, probably too visible.
"Unless you'd rather I didn't?" There's challenge in her voice now. Testing.
"I'd very much like you to." The honesty escapes before wisdom can stop it. "I just didn't want to presume."
"You're not." She picks up her book, tucking it under her arm. "Let me put this away and get my cloak. It's getting colder."
"Keira." I wait until she looks at me again. "Thank you."
"For what? I haven't done anything yet."
"For saying yes." For giving me this. For not running from what's building between us even though you probably should.
Her cheeks color slightly, that pretty flush I'm starting to recognize. "Meet you at the front in five minutes?"
"I'll be there."
She walks past me, close enough that I catch jasmine and something sweeter, uniquely her. Close enough that my fingers itch to reach out, to touch, to close the distance that still exists between us.
Five minutes feels like an eternity.
I decide on taking a carriage this morning. The ride into the city passes in comfortable conversation about nothing important—weather, Amisra's latest pronouncements, the book Keira was reading. Safe topics that let us dance around the awareness humming between us.
She sits across from me rather than beside me, maintaining proper distance. But her eyes keep meeting mine, holding for moments longer than necessary. And when the carriage hits a bump and she sways, I catch her elbow to steady her.
"Thank you." She doesn't pull away immediately.
"Can't have you injured before you've fulfilled your helper duties." I release her, fighting the urge to maintain contact. "Daryn would never forgive me."
"Is that the only reason?" The question comes out playful, almost flirtatious.
"Well, I'd also feel guilty." I lean back, letting myself match her tone. "And then who would carry all these mysterious items he needs?"
"You would. You're stronger than you pretend."
"Pretend?" I raise a brow. "Are you suggesting I'm not the delicate scholar I appear to be?"
"I've seen you lift Amisra with one hand while reading with the other." Her smile is teasing now, open. "Not exactly delicate."
"Careful, starlight. You're noticing things about me."
"I notice lots of things." The words are soft but deliberate.
"Like how you always check on Daryn's breathing when you think no one's watching.
Or how sometimes you bring Amisra toys you've enchanted yourself specifically for her even though you could buy fancier ones.
Or—" She stops, seeming to catch herself.
"Or?" I prompt, leaning forward.
"Nothing." But her cheeks are pink again.
"Now you have to tell me."
"I don't have to do anything." She lifts her chin, defiant and lovely.
"Please?" I try for pitiful. "I'll share something I've noticed about you in exchange."
That gets her attention. "What have you noticed?"
"Tell me first."