Chapter 7
Elira
I was bundled onto the back of an old wooden carriage, the planks creaking beneath our weight.
Finn lay limp across my lap, and I stroked his sweat-dampened hair, murmuring soft comforts I wasn’t sure he could hear.
His skin, once burning, was cooler now. His breathing had eased from its earlier ragged wheeze.
Colour had returned to his cheeks—faint, but there.
Still, he was far from safe.
The canvas flaps rustled, and one of the Shades climbed in. Phoenix. He sat opposite me, his posture stiff, as if unsure whether to speak or to simply study me like some unsolvable puzzle.
He was too beautiful for a world like this. Grey eyes like a gathering storm, red hair that looked too soft to belong to a killer. I turned away from him, unwilling to fall for a mask I knew too well.
“What happened to him?” Phoenix finally asked, his voice too calm for my liking.
I didn’t look at him. “One of your sentinels shattered his knee,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to be. “The wound is infected. It’s killing him”.
“Is that why you were within the keep walls? You were looking for a way to save him.”
I swallowed and looked towards the small window beside me. “I failed.”
The carriage jolted violently over a broken patch of road. Finn moaned, his leg catching on the side of the wooden bench. He twisted, his face tightening in pain, and I cradled him closer, whispering his name over and over like that could protect him.
Phoenix shifted forward, “I’m sorry…”
I raised my hand. “Don’t,” I warned, my voice low and ragged. “Don’t pretend to care.”
“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, watching me. “I just… didn’t expect this.”
“What, a girl like me caring for another person?” I laughed bitterly. “We’re full of surprises, us street rats.”
Phoenix didn’t reply.
I glanced up briefly, catching the flicker of something uncertain in his gaze—something almost like regret. But I didn’t trust it. I couldn’t afford to.
I focused on Finn instead, brushing the hair from his face again.
The silence between us settled like dust. Heavy. Unspoken.
Outside, the city still burned. And inside this cart, I didn’t know who I hated more—Phoenix, the King, or myself.
“Look… I can help. If you’ll let me,” Phoenix said finally, his voice softer than I expected.
I didn’t even try to hide my bitterness. “Can you let us go?”
He exhaled, not in frustration but like someone who already knew the answer would hurt. “No. But I can heal him. If you want.”
My eyes snapped up to meet his. I was prepared for mockery, for smug satisfaction. But there was none. Only something that looked dangerously close to pity.
“And what would it cost me?” I asked, my voice stripped raw.
“Nothing.” He paused, then added, “Well… maybe your cooperation.”
My lips curled in a bitter smile. “Cooperation,” I echoed. “For what?”
“Your powers are rare,” he said. Carefully. Like he didn’t want to spook me.
“Are they?” I let out a hollow laugh and shook my head, more at myself than at him. “Of course they are. I should’ve known. Tell me, should I swear my soul and my mind to you now? Or wait until you torture me in the cells?”
Something flickered across Phoenix’s face—guilt, maybe, or a truth he didn’t want to admit.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said quietly.
“Yes you are,” I murmured, returning my gaze to Finn’s pale face, “and so is your cowardly king, collecting powers like coins for his collection. And if you serve him, what does that make you?”
Phoenix didn’t answer.
The silence was answer enough.
Finn moaned again, a low, pained sound that sent a spike of panic through my chest. I pulled him tighter against me, shielding him as if I could somehow will the pain away with my body.
“Your friend wouldn’t want this,” Phoenix said at last. His voice was low, but firm. “He wouldn’t want you to fight us.”
I snapped my gaze to him, my grief flaring into rage. “And what would you know about us?” I spat. “About me?”
He didn’t flinch, but I saw the flicker of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Or discomfort. Good.
“We are just trying to keep the order…”
“Order?” I scoffed. “You Shades swoop down from your fancy high towers and just take whatever you want from this godforsaken city, and you call it order,” I went on, my voice trembling with fury.
“Your king forces our loyalty, our devotion, not through respect—but through fear. Through blood. And you wonder why we don’t trust you? ”
Phoenix opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him speak.
“And those you don’t drag off in chains?” I hissed. “You leave us to starve. To rot. To die in the gutters like animals. You look down from your walls and let us fade away. And you don’t give a crap about it.”
My throat burned. My eyes stung. Finn stirred again in my arms, and I choked on the lump rising in my throat.
“So don’t you dare speak to me of what Finn would want,” I said, quieter now, but every word laced in steel. “Because you don’t know him. You don’t know anything about what it means to lose everything.”
Phoenix was silent.
And that silence? It told me everything.
He just looked at me—really looked—and for the first time, I saw it. The careful stillness. The way his jaw tensed, not in anger, but restraint. Like he wanted to argue, but didn’t trust himself to say the right thing.
“I don’t know him,” he said finally, his voice low. “And I won’t pretend I understand what you’ve been through. I don’t.”
He leaned forward just slightly, enough that I could see the faint shimmer of firelight in his grey eyes.
“But I do know what it looks like when someone is dying in the arms of the only person left who loves them. I’ve seen it more times than I’d like to count.”
I stiffened. I hadn’t expected that.
“I’m not asking you to trust me,” he added. “Hell, I wouldn’t trust me if I were you. But I am still offering to help him. No chains, no tricks. Just… a chance.”
Finn let out a soft, strangled breath, his fingers twitching weakly against my wrist.
Phoenix’s voice gentled. “If you want to keep hating me after this, fine. I won’t blame you. But don’t let him die just to prove you’re right.”
My chest felt like it was caving in. Every part of me wanted to keep fighting, to lash out. But Finn’s pulse was thready. His breath shallow. And that was the only thing that mattered.
I looked down at him—at the boy who had stayed with me when the world fell apart.
Then, back at Phoenix.
“…What do you have to do?” I whispered.
“I have to touch him,” Phoenix said softly, his tone careful. “If that’s okay?”
“Will it hurt him?” I whispered.
Phoenix hesitated. “Yes, but that’s a small price to pay to live, don’t you think?”
I looked down at Finn. His lashes fluttered, his eyes glassy with pain, but he was awake—barely. I cupped his cheek gently, drawing his gaze to mine.
“Is that okay?” I whispered.
“It hurts, Elle…” he whimpered.
“I know.” I said. “Do you want him to fix you?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, with what little strength he had left, Finn nodded. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. “Ok,” he breathed, and that word broke something in me.
Phoenix moved with surprising grace for someone so tall. He went to his knees before us and reached for Finn, pausing just above his leg like he was asking for permission all over again. When he finally pulled the torn fabric up, I heard his breath catch.
The damage was worse than I’d realized—deep, infected gashes laced with black veins, like poison or rot had begun to take hold. Phoenix swore under his breath. It didn’t sound like anger. It sounded like grief.
“This might take a minute,” he murmured.
He placed his hand over the worst of the wound, fingers glowing faintly with a golden light. As soon as he made contact, Finn screamed—a raw, guttural sound of agony that cut straight through me.
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix said quickly, his jaw tight. “I know it hurts. But I can’t numb it, not and do this right.”
I held Finn tighter, brushing my hand over his hair, whispering nonsense in his ear to keep him anchored. His body trembled, sweat beading on his brow.
Phoenix's magic pulsed, steady and rhythmic. I watched, stunned, as the black veins slowly began to recede beneath his hand. The angry red of the wounds softened, the swelling lessened. The raw edges of torn flesh started to knit back together, slowly but surely.
My breath hitched. I hadn’t seen magic like this before. Not up close. Not this kind.
Phoenix's forehead beaded with sweat, and his hands shook slightly as he worked, like the magic came at a cost.
Still, he didn't stop.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt a whisper of hope.
By the time Phoenix finally drew his hand away, Finn had slumped against me, unconscious but breathing easier. His leg, though still bruised and raw, looked nothing like the mangled ruin it had been. The veins had cleared. The swelling was down. The fever was fading.
Phoenix leaned back with a soft groan, his shoulders sagging as though the magic had drained something vital from him. His face was pale, his eyes dull with fatigue. I watched him, unsure what to feel. Grateful? Suspicious? Both tangled together inside me.
“Is he okay?” I asked, my voice rasping from emotion and exhaustion alike.
“He’ll need rest,” Phoenix managed, blinking slowly. “But he’ll live.”
I nodded, pressing a kiss to Finn’s sweat-damp temple. My chest ached with relief.
The carriage rocked gently as it came to a halt. Outside, the muffled sounds of voices and boots crunching on gravel drifted in. The world was still moving, but I didn’t want to leave this moment. Not yet.
The door creaked open.
Two sentinels stood there, grim and silent. One of them nodded to Phoenix, who gave a slow, tired gesture of assent.
“Sir, we need to take him now,” the soldier said.
I stiffened. “Where?”
“To the infirmary. He’ll be safe.”
Safe. That word meant nothing here.
I tightened my grip on Finn. “I’m coming with him.”
“No,” Phoenix said softly, cutting in before the soldiers could speak. “You can’t. You have to stay with us.”
Fury surged in me again. “You said he could stay with me.”
“I’m sorry, this is just the way we have to do this.” He exhaled—slow, heavy. “I can’t change everything. Not right now.”
The soldiers stepped forward.
I didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not after everything. Not after nearly losing him.
Then Finn stirred in my arms—barely conscious—and whispered, “Elle… go with them. Please. Just… stay alive.”
His voice was paper-thin. But it was his. His choice.
“Finn! I’ll come for you. I swear it.”
“I know.” His hand found mine, weak but reaching. “I love you, little mouse…”
I clung to his fingers until the soldiers wrenched us apart.
“No! Finn!”
“Elle!”
I couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t fight them. All I could do was watch.
I closed my eyes, swallowed the scream caught in my throat, and nodded.
They lifted him from me. And in that moment, I felt the absence—raw, immediate, like something vital had been carved from my chest.
I sat frozen as the door shut behind them and the carriage rocked again into motion, leaving me behind. Phoenix slumped across from me, head tilted back, breathing slowly through his nose.
I stared at the space Finn had filled, my hands still stained with his blood, my body empty.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“I know,” Phoenix said softly.
**
When the carriage pulled up to the keep, I closed my eyes.
Finn was safe. Or at least… safer.
But me?
What happens to me now?
A warm hand brushed against my knee. I flinched instinctively, eyes snapping open to find Phoenix watching me with something like concern etched into his tired face.
“You’ll be okay,” he said softly.
A bitter laugh caught in my throat.
“Sure,” I murmured. “I’ll be just dandy.”
Phoenix didn’t reply. He only sat back, folding his hands in his lap, his jaw tense and unreadable. The quiet between us settled like fog—thick, uncertain, laced with the weight of too much unsaid.
Then the carriage door creaked open.
A shadow filled the doorway.
Thorne.
“Come on. Time to go.” His voice was sharp, no patience in it.
He reached for me without ceremony, gripping my arm hard enough to bruise and yanking me to my feet.
He pulled me across the square towards the castle with his bruising grip.
My thin legs shook as they struggled to keep up with his long strides.
I stumbled, legs barely catching beneath me. I hadn’t eaten properly in days, and the adrenalin was long gone. My body was a hollow thing running on fumes. My head spun. My fingers tingled.
Without Finn beside me, I felt the collapse begin.
“What’s wrong with her?” Thorne barked, still gripping my arm.
“Elira—” Phoenix surged forward, catching me just before I hit the ground. “She’s not breathing right—something’s wrong!”
His hands were on me, checking, steadying. “We need a healer. Now!”
The world tilted.
My knees gave way, and I crashed to the cobblestones. Pain burst through me as my palms scraped the ground. Then bile surged, and I vomited what little remained in my gut—acid and misery and exhaustion all spilling out together.
Voices shouted around me. Hands reached. But I barely felt them.
The world faded as I slipped into the darkness.