Chapter 23 Malachi #2
Etched deep into her skin was a crescent moon, pierced by a downward dagger, with sangre miel flowers blooming from its curve and twining up the blade. The lines were old—carved in the grim symmetry of a rite never meant for mercy.
A twisted mockery of the mark each goddess bestowed upon those they blessed. What should have been sacred had been carved into her with violence, the gift defaced into a scar.
It took up her entire back, commanding every inch of space.
My fingers hesitated, only for a second, before I resumed, working the delicate silk ties with quiet precision, the feel of her beneath me unsettling something in my chest.
I continued. “Many years ago, there was a war—though some call it a rebellion.”
She angled her head, voice soft. “A war?”
I nodded once, tightening the first loop of ribbon.
“The goddesses had ruled in balance once. Eryndis, the Veiled Keeper, was not the strongest, but she saw further than the others. She warned them their hunger for dominion would tear the realms apart. Where her sisters carved out territories and demanded worship, Eryndis whispered of unity.”
For a heartbeat, I wasn’t in this room. I smelled the ash of that first burning temple. Heard Lysara’s voice shouting orders over the crack of splitting stone.
“She believed the realms could be made whole again. That shadow and light, wild and crucible, could be bound back into balance, so they did not consume one another.”
I tightened another loop.
“She said it would not be done by war or crowns but through one who would rise. Someone who could fracture the walls we bled to build and restore what was broken. To restore balance and peace.”
Aurelia twisted to look over her shoulder. “And the others didn’t like that.”
“No.” My hands paused at the ribbon’s midpoint. “They called her naive. Disloyal. They accused her of hungering for power. And then…” my throat tightened “…they banished her.”
I let the words fall heavy between us, the fire popping once in answer.
“She never told us what form the change would take—only that the balance between realms could not hold forever. That one day, the borders would crack, the scales would tip, and someone would rise to set them right. Not a goddess, but a mortal touched by divinity. When that day came, we would know.”
“So we waited. We guarded her memory, her teachings. We called ourselves the Keepers… not just of this realm, but of her legacy.”
I turned slightly, catching her reflection in the glass. She leaned forward without realizing it, eyes fixed, her body still. Listening like every word might be a thread she could seize and pull.
“Before we called ourselves Keepers, we considered ourselves her patrons. Devoted to fairness and justice. But over time, the others—Kaerani, Sylvara, Nerissa—grew hungry for more.
“Jealous?” She murmured.
I gave a bleak smile. “Jealous—and afraid. They conspired with rulers of this realm, weaving new power through blood and influence. And as long as Eryndis stood watch, they couldn’t fully take hold.”
The mark on her back caught the firelight, and the shadows near the hearth shifted toward it
My voice dropped. “So they cast her out.” The words scraped raw. “The Keepers rose in her absence, holding to her teachings. We weren’t warriors then. We were peacekeepers. Guardians of balance.”
The memory flickered—children laughing as banners burned, a woman’s scream cut short. I drew a steadying breath.
“We believed no child should starve, no voice go unheard, no life weighed less than another’s. We were a community. Hope, justice, shelter. The kind of order that doesn’t need crowns to enforce it.”
Her hands had fallen in front of her, fingers moving as if unraveling an unseen knot.
“But the goddesses knew. Even without Eryndis, we could rise again. Could challenge them. So they turned on us. Hunted us. Cut us down until only a handful remained.”
My jaw feathered; I forced it still. “Then Kaelith’s father, Talon, arrived. He called it unification. But what he did was finish their work. Aligned himself with the goddesses, seized the city, and bound us to Nyxarra. He leashed to the very throne that tried to erase us.”
I cinched the final tie, breath steady now but the old ache throbbing behind it. “We didn’t hand the kingship over. They took it.”
A silence swelled—steam, firelight, and the sound of our breathing.
“I made the choice for our people…” I repeated, a bitter taste on my tongue. A memory flashed: blood on marble steps, a torch fading out. “I thought I was securing a future. Instead, I tied our fate to a gilded leash.” The admission scraped my throat raw.
I released the last strand of silk and stepped back, the space between us heavy with smoke, ghosts, and the faint scent of anise still clinging to my skin.
She turned to face me, the dim light catching the scar that traced her mouth and throat.
I looked past Aurelia, toward the glass. The words left a silence in their wake, one that sat heavy between us, thick with things neither of us had the language for.
Aurelia didn’t speak, but I felt the shift in her. Her expression held no pity. Just understanding.
“I was told my family was executed for treason while on a trip to Synnex—to broker peace between our realms,” I said.
My reflection blurred in the window, replaced by their faces.
“It was what we did, part of the Keepers’ charge.
When the uprising broke, my parents believed words might mend what blades could not. ”
The memory rose, unbidden—the sound of parchment tearing, my father’s voice breaking mid-sentence. I let the air burn in my chest. “I haven’t seen them since. Not in dreams. Not in the shadows.”
My voice faltered; the fire popped again, as if to fill the gap.
“My parents were just leaders. They wanted better—for both sides. My little brother and sister begged to go with them.”
A faint smile ghosted across my mouth. “They’d never seen the sun strike the ocean.” I swallowed hard. “I hope they got to.”
I stepped past her, moving toward the cart beside the fire, where a crystal decanter sat filled with deep amber liquid. Behind me, I heard her footsteps, light and hesitant. Then a pause.
“I’m sorry, Malachi,” she said quietly. The apology hit like a hand pressed to an old wound—gentle, but it still hurt.
“It was centuries ago,” I said, brushing it off. The lie tasted thin. “And yet it still feels like yesterday.”
Aurelia stepped closer, gently placing her hand at the crook of my elbow. Her touch steadied the tremor I hadn’t noticed until then. I let her turn me.
“I know that pain, Malachi,” she said softly. “When someone’s gone, but not in the way that lets you grieve them. When there’s no body to bury, no final word to hold onto. Just… silence where they should be.”
She trailed off, her hand sliding down to mine, fingers closing around it with the smallest squeeze before letting go. Her warmth lingered.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping back. “For your help with the dress. And for sharing that with me.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes shone like someone who understood too much. She turned toward the hidden door that connected our rooms.
“You could’ve just knocked there to begin with,” I said, arching a brow. The attempt at humor came out rough, but it worked. The corner of her mouth lifted.
She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile tugging at her mouth. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.
I poured myself a glass. “Would you care for a drink?”
“I’d prefer not to hallucinate while figuring out what to wear to this thing,” she muttered.
I lifted the glass. “This one’s safe, little dove. I promise.”
To prove it, I knocked it back in a single drink. The burn was familiar. Comforting. It reminded me of the Keepers’ toasts—fire on the tongue for those who couldn’t be buried.
Her gaze lingered. Then, without a word, she walked toward me, plucked the decanter from my hand, and took a much, much larger drink than I had.
I watched her throat work as she swallowed, the scar at her neck shifting with each movement.
When she finally pulled the decanter away, she exhaled slowly, blinking once. “That’s… terrible,” she rasped. “But effective.”
I blinked. “Do you usually drink like that before diplomatic events?”
She set the decanter down with a soft clink. “Only when I’m expected to smile at men who think dressing me like a gift means I’ll let them unwrap me.”
The honesty caught me off guard. For the first time that night, I laughed—a quiet, surprised sound that didn’t quite feel like mine.
A knock came at the door. Once. Twice.
“Are you going to get that?” Aurelia asked, tilting her head.
“No. I am not,” I said, still staring into the endless blue of her eyes.
Another knock. Then a voice, muffled and uneasy. “Hello? Hi… I’m sorry, but I think I lost Aurelia?” Santiago called from the hallway.
Aurelia’s mouth twitched into a genuine smile before she burst into laughter—light, breathless, a sound that warmed the air between us and made the room feel impossibly small.
“Santi, I’m fine,” she said, pulling it open.
Santiago stood in the hall, wide-eyed, his face completely drained of color. Behind him, Lysara appeared.
Aurelia’s smile faded. She stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Lysara.
Lysara stiffened, startled, arms still at her sides. She exhaled, softened, and finally returned the embrace.
“Oh yes, group hug,” Santiago said, dramatically wrapping his arms around them both. Then, without warning, he scooped them both up and began marching toward Aurelia’s room.
Laughter trailed behind them, echoing down the corridor. For the first time in a long while, the sound didn’t hurt to hear.
I stepped forward to shut the door.
Before it closed, Aurelia reappeared—breathless, smiling, her hair slightly mussed.
She dipped into a deep, exaggerated bow. “Save a dance for me.” And then she was gone.