Chapter 52 Aurelia
Aurelia
“We can’t travel through the night,” Malachi said. His tone was final. “The horses are tired. We need to rest.”
Hayat’s voice slipped in before I could reply. “There’s a camp not far. Through the treeline, just across the field.”
We followed him. The field gave way to shadow, the hush of trees closing around us until a small clearing opened.
Hayat’s horse was tied just off the path. A tidy little camp sat near it. Pans of dried food stacked neatly by the fire pit, a blanket folded on the ground, a row of books lined along a log. It didn’t look temporary.
“How long have you been staying here?” I asked, my eyes catching on the order.
“Not long,” he said without looking at me. He didn’t elaborate. And that silence left questions clawing at the back of my throat.
Still, I wanted to believe him. Maybe it was just that we hadn’t had a moment alone. Maybe the space between us wasn’t distrust—just distance. And distance could be crossed.
Hayat’s gaze flicked toward me, and for a heartbeat he seemed to see something different. His brow pinched. “You’ve changed,” he said softly. “There’s… something about you.”
I forced a smile, shaking my head. “I’m fine.”
Santiago muttered something under his breath. The others just looked at each other.
“Hayat is my friend,” I said at last, my voice firmer than I expected. “He’s been worried. Imagine being in his position—left behind, not knowing. Please. Can we just get through one evening together? Tomorrow we move on.”
Gabriel, who had stayed quiet through most of it, finally reached into his pack and pulled out two skins of wine. “Then let’s drink,” he said flatly, as though daring anyone to argue.
We did.
Hayat poured generously, his voice warming as he began to speak.
He told them stories of Synnex, of my clumsy first sparring sessions, of how I’d once bloodied my own nose trying to copy the way he fought. He told them how I wouldn’t stop until I could hold a blade steady, how stubborn I’d been even when it hurt.
Hayat crouched by the fire, stirring a battered pan balanced over the coals. The smell of herbs and char drifted through the clearing. He portioned food into bowls with the same ease he wielded a blade, sliding one across the log toward Malachi without looking.
Malachi took a bite, chewed, and paused. “Needs salt,” he said.
For the barest breath, Hayat’s face cracked—incredulity flashing sharp in his eyes before he masked it again. Without a word, he slid me an extra piece from the pan.
I bit back my own grin. Hayat’s food never needed saving. Malachi only took another bite, calm as ever, as though the silence itself had seasoned the meal to his liking.
The fire cracked, cups emptied, and laughter—hesitant at first, then real—threaded through the camp. For a while, the weight pressing on us felt a little lighter.
We woke before the sun, gathering packs and saddles. No one said much. We simply mounted and rode.
The day stretched long, the rhythm of hooves and the creak of leather filling the silence.
We reached the house just as dawn tipped the sky from violet to pearl. As soon as it came into view, I slid off the horse and ran.
The front door stuck like always, but the hinges gave with a groan, and I burst inside.
Everything looked just as I’d left it—warm, lived-in, still a little chaotic. A ceramic mug on the side table. My worn satchel tossed by the hearth. The air smelled like cedar and salt. Like home.
“Aeryn!” I called, my voice echoing off the stone walls.
No answer.
I ran through the rooms—his, mine, the sitting nook, the sunroom. Empty.
“Oh,” Hayat said behind me, too casual. “He might be visiting Colette. He’s been there often lately.”
I stared at him. “Oh… okay.”
Colette had always brought me comfort. If Aeryn was finding solace with her too, I should’ve felt relieved.
But relief didn’t come.
Instead, something cold and tight coiled under my ribs—worry, restlessness, a flicker of something I couldn’t name. If Hayat were lying, it would be the first time he ever had.
I needed to see him myself. To count his breaths, to hear his voice, to know he was still here and still him.
Otherwise all of this—every step through shadow, every bargain, every bruise—would feel frighteningly close to being for nothing.
Before I could press further, Malachi stepped into the doorway. His gaze swept the room. “Where’s your room?” he asked me.
Hayat’s head snapped toward him. “Why?”
Malachi’s voice didn’t shift, but I felt the cold behind it. “I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”
“It most definitely is. She’s been gone for weeks, and now you just show up and—what? Think I’m not going to question everything?”
I stepped between them, my voice low. “Hayat. It’s okay. We’ve been traveling. Everyone needs to rest.”
Hayat looked at me. Then at Malachi. His mouth curved into something almost like a smile. But not the kind I trusted.
“I know where it is,” he said, voice too light. “I can show you.”
Malachi just chuckled, slow and quiet. “Lead the way.”
Tension coiled in the space between them. Before it could snap, the door opened again behind me. Santiago stepped in, his boots scuffing across the worn floorboards. His face was drawn, sharper in the morning light.
“Feels strange,” he muttered, looking around. “Being this close to my family’s estate again. Unsettling.”
Lysara followed him, her expression softer. “You have a lovely home,” she said, offering me a small smile.
“It’s not much,” I said. “But you can rest for a bit.”
She nodded. “It’s perfect.”
“Where’s Gabriel?” I asked, scanning the doorway.
Santiago tilted his head toward the cliffs. “Still outside.”
I slipped past them and stepped back into the dawn. The ocean stretched out below, gilded by the rising sun. And there, near the edge of the cliffs, stood Gabriel.
He didn’t turn when I approached.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice barely a breath.
“I haven’t seen the sunrise in three hundred years,” he replied, quiet.
I hesitated. Then stepped closer and extended my hand. “Sit with me?”
He looked down at my hand, then back at my face. Whatever storm lingered in his eyes, it settled as he placed his palm in mine.
We sat together on the edge of the world and let the light find us.