CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Keeper Sora stood near the long central table, her thin brows lifted like two silver blades.
“I will meet you in the Garden of Thrynn no later than the moon’s peak, Kaelia,” she said. “Do not be late.”
I swallowed, the movement tight and abrasive in my throat.
I glanced toward the tapestries lining the far wall, depicting the noble history of the Elarthai in careful thread and muted color.
Pairs stood bathed in golden light, hands clasped, silver threads of magic weaving between them in clean, radiant lines.
It looked peaceful. It looked stagnant.
But it was a stimulation of what one could have.
What I could have.
“I will be there,” I managed to say, though my voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
I turned, needing the illusion of movement before the silence suffocated the last vestiges of my resolve.
I felt a slow tightening in my chest, a mourning for a life I was about to discard. Even now, I could still feel the phantom heat of Talon’s eyes on mine. I could feel the dark resonance in my soul that the law claimed was impossible.
He was my counterpart. My inevitable.
And I was about to cut him out of my life like a gangrenous limb to save the rest of the body.
If I stayed unbound, the High Court would discard of me. If I went to him, they would hunt us both. I could not be the reason he was executed.
The streets of Haelen were a blur of golden lantern light.
I crossed the bridge where the marble beauty of the royal side of Isvale began to rot, giving way to the outskirts where the shadows grew teeth.
I entered the broken iron gates of the markets, my eyes searching for the girl with the golden hair.
I found Hera near a recessed stall. She stood unnaturally straight, her pale hair catching the weak lantern light like a dying star.
I bit my inner cheek to keep the tears from surfacing.
This was the only way. Hera was safe. With Hera, I would not have to perform the lie of love. I would not have to pretend that a stranger’s touch could ever ignite the fire Talon had already claimed.
It would remain strictly platonic—a contract of survival. I could not say the same if I had chosen any other option.
“Hera.”
She turned, a smudge of ash shadowing her cheek. “Kaelia. I did not think I would see you again.”
I paused, the words I had rehearsed withering in my throat.
“I would like to propose a safe binding,” I stated, my voice trembling. “With you.”
Hera did not flinch. She just tilted her head, her gaze searching mine. “You are sure?”
“I am sure,” I lied.
My soul thrashed in a violent protest, wanting to scream for Talon until the foundations of the world cracked. I shoved the feeling down, locking it away behind a door I was not ready to open.
Hera’s expression shifted, settling into something that looked uncomfortably like pity. “Then we should not delay. The hour is almost here, and I would rather face the stone than the void.”
The walk to the Garden of Thrynn was a blur of cold air.
I wondered if Talon would feel it. If, across the distance, he would sense the purposeful rejection of the destiny we shared.
I forced the thought away. Whether he understood my reasons no longer mattered. I was saving his life by ruining my own.
The gardens were tucked behind a silver gate. The air was thick with the scent of damp moss and the sweet, cloying perfume of Thrynn blossoms. It only worsened the nausea brewing in my belly.
Sora was already there. She stood beneath an arch of ivy, her dark robes blending into the night as she clutched a roll of parchment and a silver-tipped quill.
Her eyes lifted as we approached. “The hour is upon us. Do you both come willingly to the Lunthra binding?”
Hera’s voice came first. “Yes.”
Then mine, softer after a moment of hesitation. “Yes.”
Sora inclined her head, her face expressionless. “Then place your hands upon the stone.”
A slab of pale marble rested at the garden’s center, etched with the sigils of old magic that seemed to glow with a faint, inner heat.
I reached out, laying my palm flat upon the cool surface. Hera did the same.
The stone felt alive beneath my skin, humming faintly.
Sora began to chant. The words of the Lunthra spilled like ice water across the still air.
A faint glow bloomed beneath our hands, silver light stitching itself between my wrist and Hera’s. The hum deepened, spreading up my arm in a quiet ripple. Inside my chest, everything tightened and then went still.
“Seal the connection,” Sora commanded.
Hera stepped closer. Her eyes met mine, steady and clear.
When her mouth touched my cheek, it was brief and cool, smelling faintly of salt and night air. The silver thread brightened once between us, then smoothed into a steady line as we parted.
Dropping our hands, the glowing thread dissipated, no longer visible.
I was officially bound.
Bound in law yet untouched in spirit.
Sora’s quill scratched across parchment, the soft drag of ink on vellum unnaturally loud in the still garden. She rolled the record with precise fingers and slipped it into her sleeve.
“You have done what was necessary, Kaelia,” she said, her voice gentler now. “The council will see the record. You are free of the dark.”
Free.
I was safe, but I was incomplete.
I attempted a thankful smile, but my face only twisted in a grimace of discomfort. Sora disappeared into the trees, leaving us in the moonlight.
Hera lifted her hand, flexing her fingers slowly as if testing sensation. The bond left no visible mark, yet her gaze lingered on her wrist as though she could feel its presence there.
“May peace find you, Kaelia,” she said quietly.
“And you,” I replied.
I stood beneath the flowering arch long after she had gone. I pressed my fingers against my wrist where the silver thread rested unseen. It was steady. Lawful.
And yet, when I closed my eyes, I did not see peace. I saw dark water. I saw silver light answering from the depths. And I saw the face of the man I had just betrayed to stay alive.
I had survived, but I had left the best part of myself behind in the shadows of the lake.