Chapter 26 Malachi
Malachi
The guards stationed at the square’s edge straightened as I approached. They were young—too young to have known the rebellion firsthand. But they knew me.
“Malachi,” one said, fist to chest.
“At ease,” I replied.
He nodded, a grin tugging at his mouth as the others murmured greetings.
“You’ll be at the ball tonight?” another asked, eyes wide with something between excitement and awe.
“That is the plan,” I said. “Try not to set the perimeter—or the square—on fire while I’m away.”
They laughed—easy, genuine. That part, at least, had changed.
There was a time they flinched when I passed. A time when even my own soldiers whispered of blood rituals and vanished shadows. Vampyres were feared. Especially me—one of the last purebloods, trained by Eryndis herself before the Purge nearly wiped us out.
“I heard there’s a woman here,” one of the younger guards said, leaning in with exaggerated secrecy. “Traveled all the way from Synnex. Alone through the woods, at that. Didn’t even use the trade route. Right senseless, innit?”
Another elbowed him. “I heard she’s pretty. The kind of pretty that smiles right before slipping a dagger between your ribs.”
“I heard she’s already warming Kaelith’s bed,” the last added, waggling his brows with a grin far too smug.
The laughter was immediate.
Until I turned.
“Enough,” I said, the word quiet but sharp. “Where did you hear this?”
A few of them exchanged glances.
Rumors had already started weaving themselves through the city. I’d seen the way people looked at her during the feast—the curiosity, the speculation. I should’ve known it wouldn’t stop there.
“Who else has been talking?”
“There was a man in town,” one finally said. “Came in this morning with the southern traders. Claimed he was bringing fish up from Synnex. Dressed far too nice to be selling fish if you ask me.”
My jaw tightened.
“He wasn’t selling much,” the boy went on. “Mostly asking questions. Real polite like.”
A pause. “Said he was looking for a friend. A woman.”
My jaw tightened.
“He described her the same way everyone from the feast has,” the boy went on. “Small. Wild hair dark as night. Eyes like glacial ice. A scar across her face.”
“What did he look like?” I asked, my voice flat.
The young guard scratched the back of his neck. “About as tall as you, sir. Maybe a bit leaner. Tan skin.” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Long dark hair, pulled back real messy. Strong jaw. Brown eyes.”
He shifted his weight, a bit awkward. “Seemed nice enough, all calm and polite. But there was something in his eyes.”
That sounded a lot like the male from her dream.
“Thank you,” I said. “If you see him again, let me know.” I turned and left the guards behind.
In the darker corners of the city, where lanterns flickered low and voices spoke in whispers, my eyes adjusted easily.
Vampyres had always belonged to Eryndis.
The night called to us as much as the goddess who ruled it did.
I still bore the mark she’d carved into her chosen at my throat—a crescent with a dagger through its belly, surrounded by coiling vines.
Kaelith bore her mark once, same as I did. But power does strange things to loyalty. The day he tasted dominion was the day he turned his back on her. And now, he bore every goddess’s mark.
I turned down a side street where the nobles’ homes stood. Each house was a masterpiece in its own right, towering with intricate carvings, domed roofs, and hanging gardens.
The street opened toward the glasshouse district, where residence gave way to regulation.
Lord Ceryn stood at the gate, overseeing Nyxarra’s aqueducts. His family had maintained the city’s water veins for over four centuries, threading river paths through tunnels that kept the mist from growing wild. He wore robes dyed in shimmering pale blue, nodding as I approached.
"Malachi," he said. "You’re escorting us personally?"
"Best foot forward," I replied.
From behind him emerged Lady Thena, the one who oversaw trade imports with Sylvara—especially the rare, enchanted cacao fruit and the coffee beans that had become delicacies across the realm.
Her eyes lingered on me a moment too long.“Malachi,” she said, voice smooth and dipped in sarcasm. “A pleasure, as always.”
“Likewise, Lady Thena,” I replied with a small smile.
She had once worn the sigil. A Keeper. Until she severed her tether and traded conviction for coin.
Her voice, her power, her purpose… bartered for comfort while the rest of us bled for a rebellion she walked away from.
The others arrived in quick succession. Lord Veyar of the Night Conservatory, guardian of Nyxarra’s archives. Mistress Salene, head of the temple restorations.
Some wore their power with pride. Others with quiet grace.
But all of them remembered. They masked it well—polished smiles, nods heavy with courtesy—but their eyes flicked too often to the mark at my throat. Eryndis’s forbidden sigil.
They remembered what I had been before the rebellion. The sword in Eryndis’ hand. And the shield at her back.
We made our way through the winding paths, past the amphitheaters carved into cliffside ledges, past schools where music drifted into the air. I watched as children darted through alleyways, laughter echoing.
This was the city I had bled for. The one I had tried to save. And failed.
We reached the base of the cliffside stairs that would take us to the castle. The nobles began to ascend. I lingered at the foot of the steps a moment longer.
From here, the whole of Nyxarra stretched outward. A city alive with old magic and older grief. I could feel it humming underfoot. Like its true heart was still trying to beat.
When I returned to my chambers, Santiago was already there, leaning against the wall beside the door, arms crossed with a grin across his face.
“Lysara said you may have something I could wear this evening... to the ball,” he said casually.
I stared at him. “Did she now?”
“She also said that if you said no, I was to tell you—‘He’s attending as my date. Don’t make me look like a fool.’” His grin widened as he raised both hands in mock innocence. “Her words. Not mine.”
That earned a quiet huff of amusement from me. “You know you’re only free because Kaelith needs Aurelia to remain alive and uninjured…”
Santi’s smile faltered for a moment, and I didn’t press. I would not be the one to take the hope from his face—
hope will call anything freedom if it lets you breathe a little longer.
“Her date, you say?”
Santiago smiled, triumphant in the way only someone with nothing left to lose could be.
“I asked her just fifteen minutes ago.”
“You asked her with nothing to wear but… that?” I gestured to the threadbare tunic and plain trousers hanging off his frame.
The neckline was fraying, and the color had long since faded—washed into some shade between ash and burnt bread.
“Ah yes, well.” He gestured down at himself.
“I knew what I wanted. Figured I’d sort the rest out later.
” He laughed. “Besides, it’s quite romantic, don’t you think? ”
I stepped aside and opened the door. “Sure. Come in.”
He walked in like he owned the place, eyes roaming over the weapons mounted on the walls and the rows of books stacked with military precision.
“I’ve never been in your room before,” he said, surveying the space with his hands on his hips.
“And why would you have been?” I replied, already regretting this.
Santiago wandered toward the armoire while I pulled off my overcoat and unfastened the top buttons of my shirt.
I tossed him a spare set of formalwear—dark charcoal tunic with silver embroidery and a deep navy cloak that mirrored the mist at dusk.
It didn’t hang off him the way I expected.
He’d filled back out since leaving the cells—broad enough now that the lines of the tunic could pass for tailored.
“Last time I wore something this fine, I was at my father’s estate,” he said, holding the fabric up. “Celebration of the extinction of the Moirae line.”
That stopped me mid-motion. “What?”
He was quiet for a beat, then gave a small, humorless shrug. “They’d tested Aurelia and Aeryn. Said there was nothing special about them. No power. No blessings. Just... human.”
I turned slowly. “Tested? How?”
“I was young,” he said, his voice lower.
“But I heard rumors. They strapped her down just before the patron ceremony. Pushed her as far as they could without killing her. You know how blessings tend to show around the threshold years, especially when emotions run high. They expected something. Anything. But she didn’t break. Didn’t flare. Just... took it.”
I clenched my jaw.
“They took one look at Aeryn, called him fragile of mind, necrotic, and assumed the same for him. In Synnex, necrosis marked you as cursed. Touched by some unseen rot. People feared it like a plague.”
“When her parents were executed, they celebrated. Said they’d wiped out the bloodline. That letting the siblings live was mercy.”
“Mercy,” I repeated bitterly.
He looked down at the clothes in his hands, some of the ease gone from his face.
“I wasn’t allowed out in public after the execution. I was training to be a healer—one of the best. I think that’s why she doesn’t recognize me.”
A pause.
I studied him for a moment, really studied him. He was still holding the formal jacket I’d handed him, the humor faded now from his face, replaced with something steadier.
I leaned back against the stone mantle, arms crossed. “How did you even end up here, Santiago? I wasn’t the one who pulled you in.”
He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I was traveling. Looking for herbs that only grow near the cliffs above Nyxarra. There’s one in particular—leaves like rusted gold, root bitter as fire, but if brewed right, it can steady a mind unraveling from within.
Not Etherblooms, but similar. Theoretically stronger and more effective. ”
He paused. “I couldn’t help them back then. Couldn’t do anything for Aurelia or Aeryn. But if there was even a chance I could help people like them now... I had to try.”
There was no arrogance in his voice. Just quiet conviction.
I inclined my head slightly. “You could’ve gone anywhere.”
He shrugged. “But nowhere else had the plant. And maybe... maybe something in me knew I needed to be here.”
I let that settle. “There’s a man from Synnex,” I said carefully. “Tall, tan skin. Bright green eyes. Long dark hair—messy, falls in his face. Sound familiar?”
Santiago straightened, brow lifting. “Oh. That sounds like Hayat.” The name hung there, finally spoken.
“Rumored to be Aurelia’s lover,” he added, not unkindly. “But I’ve never believed that. I think he was just... a good friend. To her. And to Aeryn. Though, he probably wanted more from Aurelia.”
His tone changed slightly, tinged with caution. “Why do you ask?”
“No real reason,” I said, shrugging as I turned away, busying myself with a loose strap on my armor.
“Just saw him in one of her dreams. Thought it was curious.”
Santiago tilted his head, thoughtful. “Ahh… dreamwalking. Rare, even among the old bloodlines.” A flicker of wonder crossed his face.
He sat at the edge of the chair, still holding the jacket. “Do you think she’s seeing him for a reason?”
“I think nothing she sees is without purpose,” I said—choosing not to elaborate on the fact that I’d nearly walked into a sex dream between the two of them. Possibly because I’d been invading her mind. Possibly because I liked to think I still have some morals.
Santiago nodded slowly, eyes lowering. “Well… if Hayat’s found his way here, dream or otherwise, I don’t believe he’d be here to hurt her.”
“You have your clothes,” I said, gesturing toward the door. “Off you go.”
“Right. Thank you.” He stood, still smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world. “See you there.”
I watched him go. Why he was so lighthearted in a place like this, I couldn’t begin to understand. But whatever light lived in him, whatever strange, stubborn joy he carried, the city could use more of it.