Chapter 39 Malachi
Malachi
We’d ridden west all morning, the sunless sky never shifting, only deepening, dusk curling in on itself as we approached the edge of present-day Nyxarra.
Beyond this ridge, every Nyxarran map ended in blank parchment, as if the land itself had been erased.
But I remembered what lay past the ink: the wastelands of our rebellion.
Our homes. The small villages scattered along Nyxarra’s outer soil, where we fought and bled until King Talon declared them lost.
That was part of the condition of my oath. The killing would stop, and in return, the land would be forgotten. It was an attempt at peace that never felt like peace at all.
I had tried to return more than once—tried to walk the ground where my blood still stained the earth, boots on stone, breath in my lungs.
But the borders never opened. Not even by Veil.
Dreamwalkers like me could step between places where we’d spilled ourselves, but whatever Talon sealed here… it closed every door. Even mine.
And yet, this was the way Kaelith told us to travel. There was no other route—no path through the lowlands, no passage across the mountains. Only west. I trusted it only because he would never send Aurelia—his power—anywhere that might cost him.
Aurelia had fallen asleep sometime after midday, her head resting lightly against my chest. She didn’t stir, even when the horse jostled beneath us or Santiago let out a loud, theatrical sigh from behind.
At first I thought it was trust—gods knew she had every reason not to give it—but now I wasn’t so sure.
The transformation was draining her.
Kaelith’s blood was remaking her. I felt it in her heat, in the frantic hammer of her pulse, in the way she clung to what remained of her mortal breath just long enough to feel every fracture of what she was becoming. Her body was beginning to shed its mortality piece by piece.
And she was holding herself together through all of it.
The cold was changing, bit by bit. Not gone, not yet.
But the frost had begun to recede in places, and the snow was patchy.
The closer we got to these lands, the darker everything became.
Not just the sky, but the trees themselves.
Light bent strangely here. Shadows clung longer.
And their voices stirred louder in my head.
Not whispers. Not memories. Not even guilt, though there was plenty of that to go around.
These were older. Wilder. Echoes of Keepers who had once vowed to protect the balance, buried here with their secrets when the Rebellion failed.
Their energy lingered in the branches, in the hush between footfalls.
And now, with dusk slipping toward true night, it rose like breath from the soil.
I’d believed every Keeper had died here or been bound to Nyxarra, like I was. But maybe I was wrong.
If the village we searched for existed, it meant someone had escaped. Someone had carried the flame further than I’d imagined. And it meant… maybe we weren’t the last.
We made camp just before the treeline gave way to the deeper woods.
Even the mares grew uneasy. The one beneath me tossed her head, muscles bunched under the saddle, half a thought from bolting.
Her ears pinned and flicked, white showing at the edges of her eyes.
A few lengths ahead now, Santiago’s mare sidestepped hard, tail snapping, forcing Lysara to grip tighter at the shift.
I drew my reins short and laid a steadying hand against my mare’s neck.
Slow breath, firm seat. She shuddered once, then blew hot through her nostrils, the sound sharp in the cold air.
The other answered with a snort of her own, and after a few more steps, both mares settled—still taut, but moving forward.
The forest ahead wasn’t like the others.
It lived on the border of realm and nightmare, a place that seemed to have never chosen which it belonged to.
The old stories said gods had died here, but their bodies never rotted—only split open into bone, their remnants wandering until they forgot what they had once been. Most called them monsters.
Those who vanished here did not vanish quietly. In the years after the Rebellion, their voices clawed back through the Veil in fragments—screams, bargains, the scrape of bone on stone. At first they were deafening. Later, only whispers. Whole villages. Whole families.
We called them lost. As if that could soften what really happened. As if naming them gone made it easier than admitting they’d been devoured.
And Aurelia had walked through it. Alone.
I slowed the mare to a halt just as the trees began to thin near a moss-covered rise. The Veil stirred just beyond—a soft shimmer in the air.
“Aurelia,” I said gently, pressing a hand to her arm. She stirred, head still resting against my chest. “We’re stopping here for the night.”
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked up at me, disoriented for a beat, and then straightened without a word, sliding down from the saddle with practiced ease.
I watched her as she helped Lysara unpack the tents—hands sure, steps steady, her scar catching the faint firelight as she bent to anchor a stake. It burned under her skin. A mark that hadn’t dimmed.
“I’ll share with Aurelia,” Lysara said, already tossing a blanket inside.
Santiago paused mid-stride. “Shouldn’t she be with me? I’m very good at keeping people warm.”
“No,” I said, sharper than intended. “Maybe not a good idea.”
Lysara froze. So did Aurelia. Gabriel turned slowly, brows raised. “Why?”
“She’s not finished transitioning,” I muttered.
Silence.
Santiago frowned. “Transitioning into what? My spy days are long behind me—I couldn’t hear a godsdamned thing you two were muttering.”
I looked at Aurelia, who was staring at the ground now. The set of her shoulders was too still.
“Kaelith started the turning,” I said. I didn’t need to say more.
Gabriel went still, his gaze darkening as he stared into the fire.
They knew what that meant. She would be tied to Kaelith now. What none of us could name was how that bond would twist with the power already stirring beneath her skin.
Aurelia didn’t look up.
Lysara moved first, stepping close and placing a firm hand between Aurelia’s shoulder blades.
“It changes nothing,” she said softly. “You’re still you.”
Gabriel didn’t speak at first. He only watched the flames.
Then, quietly—too quietly: “You should be careful, Aurelia. Kaelith may hear your thoughts.”
A cold line tightened down my spine at that. He was right. Suddenly, every word I’d spoken to her—every truth I’d given her—felt exposed, vulnerable, a blade I’d handed straight to Kaelith. My thoughts shuttered, held far from her. Far from him.
Her breath caught. “That’s how he knew. Back at the castle…” She trailed off, voice thinning. “I was thinking something, and he responded.”
I turned, tension sharpening my spine. “When did you see him?”
A pause. Just long enough to make my jaw clench.
“As I was readying… shortly after you gifted me these,” she said, gesturing to the leathers.
That alone told me more than her words ever could. And I already knew. Because I’d been there.
I’d walked into that room—uninvited, unexpected—and caught her in the middle of something private. Intimate. Her hand slipped beneath the fabric at her waist. Her breath quick, lips parted. A flush blooming up her neck.
It had branded itself in my memory. Mine to carry and never touch.
And knowing Kaelith…
He’d likely been there long before I had. Lurking in the Veil between shadows. Watching.
I knew one thing without doubt. He had seen her. And that knowledge made something cold stir in my chest.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, forcing the memory away, burying it before it unraveled me.
“Aurelia,” I said, voice low but firm, “you’ll stay with me tonight.”
She blinked, startled. “Why?”
“The critical phase of your transition is still unstable. The effects were tempered only because of the draévinth—”
“The what?”
“The drink Kaelith gave you—the shimmering violet one,” I clarified, glancing toward Lysara and Gabriel so they wouldn’t be left guessing.
“I recognized it the moment I saw how dazed you were. Draévinth is used in old blood rites to dull sensation and elevate euphoria. It makes the body too languid to resist and the mind too clouded to fear. You float. You forget.”
Aurelia’s mouth thinned. “Convenient.”
“He didn’t give it to you to be kind,” I said. “He gave it to make the transition easier to control.”
“I figured that much.”
I reached into my satchel and pulled out a small vial. “I brought what I could. Not nearly the amount you had before, but it should keep the worst of the hunger at bay if we ration it.”
She stared at the vial. I could already see the shadows feathering beneath her eyes, the faint tremble in her fingers. Her body was still hers, but just barely.
“It’s not a cure,” I added. “Once the transition completes, the cravings will settle. But until then…” I met her eyes. “You stay close. You stay safe.”
And gods help me, I stay sane.
Lysara didn’t hesitate. She reached over and took Aurelia’s hand.
“We’re not afraid of you,” she said softly. “And we’re not letting Kaelith define what this becomes.”
Santiago gave a low whistle. “Most folk feign a fever to dodge a bad suitor. You chose an immortal blood vow.”
Aurelia huffed—almost a laugh.
Santi grinned, unfazed. “What? You’re still you. Shadowy, dangerous, emotionally constipated.”
“If you’re not afraid of me,” Aurelia drawled, “then why must I share a tent with this ray of sunshine?” Her chin tilted toward me.
All eyes shifted in my direction, expectant. I didn’t rise to the bait.
“Fine,” I said. “Stay with Lysara tonight. But if anything changes—if you start to lose control—you’ll move. Immediately.”