Chapter 40 The Truths We Bury
The Truths We Bury
Ismooth the silken folds of my gown and tug Mariel toward the quiet end of the orchard.
Two days of fruitless searching in Keiren’s private library have left us starving for air, for sweetness, for anything that isn’t ink and fear.
With the final Trial tomorrow, I begged for one day of mercy, one last day together.
Keiren only smiled, half sorrow, half tenderness, and said, “Enjoy the castle’s finest.”
Mae and the castle’s attendants have outdone themselves, preparing a banquet beneath a white-draped gazebo at the heart of the gardens.
Trays gleam with sugared berries, lavender tartlets, warm bread glazed in honey, spiced lamb skewers, and chilled elderflower wine beading with silvery condensation.
Lanterns hang from the branches like small, patient stars.
Mariel collapses beside me and snags a tartlet. “It’s a miracle,” she declares around her bite. “Or a bribe.”
“Both,” I reply, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in my chest eases.
“Seriously, Selene, well done,” Vivian chimes in, snatching one for herself.
I finally told them my true name the morning after I told Keiren. My last secret. The last barrier standing between me and my closest friends. It feels as though a great weight has lifted from my shoulders. In some strange way, these women have become my family. My sisters.
We eat and laugh. Later, we ride gentle horses along the orchard’s edge, letting petals drift into our hair like snow. By the time we return, the tent is fuller: Goblins ferry warm plates, sprites weave sugar into delicate nets, and Mae herself floats down with a basket of still-warm rose cakes.
A shadow lingers at the edge of the pavilion. Pale green silk. The familiar tilt of a sharp chin.
But before I can call out to her, Seraphina disappears back into the keep, alone. A tug of apprehension pulls at me, but I push it aside. Today is for merriment, and I won’t let her ruin this.
Mariel, Vivian, and I circle into an easy, aching conversation—the kind that only happens at the verge of a chapter ending.
Mariel speaks of the healer’s apprentice she almost married.
Vivian admits she still writes letters to a soldier she’s never met.
I tell them, haltingly, about Kat’s engagement—and how home can turn on you without warning.
“I love you both,” I say suddenly, and the words feel right. “We may not be related by blood, but I consider you all my sisters.”
Mariel nods, and Vivian grins.
“Good,” Vivian says. “Because I made you something.” She reaches into a small satchel and pulls out a narrow ribbon braided from three threads: red, black, and white.
She sets it in my palm. “We call it a vigil braid. Back home, before any great trial, we knot three truths into it and wear it on our wrist or in our hair. If you lose yourself, touch the braid, speak your true name, and the last knot will unravel the lie.”
The gesture steals my breath away. I tie the braid around my wrist and run my fingers over its edges.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Tomorrow,” Mariel says.
“Tomorrow,” Vivian agrees, squeezing my hand.
Twilight pours through the trees. The orchard smells like wet earth and promise. Beneath flowering branches, I feel the last threads of loneliness slip away. We stand together at the edge of a world that wants to unmake us, sharing bread and secrets. The vigil braid hums faintly against my pulse.
And suddenly, I know where I have to go.
I rise, gathering my skirts. “I’ll see you at dawn,” I tell them, heart quick with courage I didn’t have an hour ago.
“To Keiren?” Vivian asks, already smirking.
“I can’t. He told me that the curse prevents him from helping us the night before the Trials.”
“Selene,” she sighs, exasperated. “For someone so smart, you can be truly hopeless.” My brows knit, and she leans forward, eyes gleaming. “He said he can’t come to you. He never said you can’t go to him.”
The realization hits like a spark.
Mariel winks. “Go.”
I touch the vigil braid once—Selene, Selene, Selene—and step into the gathering dark.
Every candle in Keiren’s chamber burns low, illuminating the gold-threaded tapestries. The air smells of smoke and salt and the faintest trace of him. I slip inside, heart pounding, the weight of tomorrow pressing against my ribs.
He stands by the hearth, his shirt hanging loose and open, exposing his chest, the fire painting his skin in hues of bronze and ember. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing his taut forearms. The sight steals my breath.
“Keiren…” I whisper, voice trembling.
He turns instantly, concern flickering across his features. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Before I can answer, he’s already closing the distance, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against his chest. My hands rest over his heart, feeling the familiar rhythm beneath my palms.
“Nothing,” I murmur. “I just—” But the words vanish.
A heavy silence stretches between us. His sapphire eyes search mine as if he can see every war raging inside me. The firelight dances over his face, glinting off his skin, and I can’t think—or don’t want to.
I meet his lips before my courage wanes.
The world narrows to heat and breath and heartbeat. He answers me with desperate tenderness, pulling me closer until the thrum of my pulse synchronizes with his. His lips taste like fire and winter rain, and when he breaks away too soon, I would have fallen if his hands weren’t holding me steady.
He stares down at me. Unspoken promises hover between us. His jaw flexes, and I reach up, brushing my thumb along his cheek. His eyes flutter closed as he leans into my touch, exhaling shakily.
I trace him as though I’m memorizing him by touch alone—the curve of his jaw, the heat of his throat, the rough edge of his stubble. He’s beautiful, inside and out. And if dawn means death, then I want tonight to mean life. I want to remember him.
My fingers trail down his collarbone, slipping beneath the open V of his tunic. He inhales sharply as I press a featherlight kiss over his heart. Then another. And another.
“Selene—”
He says my name like a warning and a prayer all at once. His gaze burns with something wild, something that makes my knees go weak.
I rise to my full height and push the shirt from his shoulders. It slides down his arms, revealing sun-warmed skin and muscle carved from strength and survival. My fingers trace the ridges of his shoulders, down the length of his arms. He watches me like a man caught between reverence and ruin.
His knuckles graze my jaw, lifting my gaze to his.
“I know I lack experience in this, and probably won’t compare to women like Seraphina or Elena, but I—”
“Selene.” He cuts me off, firm but not unkind. His hand closes around my wrist, halting my spiral. “What are you talking about?”
I swallow. “They said—”
He exhales slowly, like someone setting down a weight he never should have carried. “I have not slept with Seraphina. Or Elena. Or anyone else.” He pauses. “Not for nearly a hundred years.”
My breath catches.
Then he exhales again, heavier this time, as if bracing himself. “But there were years—centuries—when anger and loneliness consumed me.”
My heart tightens.
“I took what the dragon brought,” he continues, his voice low, stripped bare of pretense. “I told myself it didn’t matter. I pretended I didn’t care, because it was easier than facing the truth—that every time they failed, every time they didn’t survive, it broke something in me.”
His jaw tightens.
“I used the curse as an excuse. I let myself become someone I hated because it hurt less than hoping.” He looks away. “I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could have spared them.”
Then his gaze returns to mine—raw, unguarded.
“The same way I’ve tried to spare you.”
“What changed?” I whisper.
“You asked me once if I’d ever been in love.” His voice softens. “Her name was Talia. She was the first bride to survive. She gave me hope. And I loved her.” His throat works. “But she died. And part of me died with her.”
Silence stretches between us.
“Because of her,” he continues, “I chose to be different. To help the brides. It took centuries—but I tried.”
His gaze drifts, and I see lifetimes of grief reflected in those sapphire eyes.
“Well then,” I say gently, forcing a teasing edge into my voice, “are you sure you even remember how, old man?”
His attention snaps back to me—fierce, intent, full of desire. Exactly the reaction I wanted.
“Trust me, Fire.” His voice dips low, gravel-edged, almost a growl. “I remember how.”
My core liquefies.
“Then show me,” I murmur. “Tonight. Let’s forget that we’ve ever suffered. Forget that this is probably doomed. I don’t want to think tonight. I just want to feel.”
“Selene…” The way he says my name breaks something open in my chest.
I cradle his face and pull him into a kiss—hungry, yearning, full of everything we cannot say. My fingers fumble at his belt, then at the laces of my dress. For a heartbeat, he only watches me, lips parted, chest rising and falling.
Then he catches my hands gently and presses his forehead to mine.
“Not like this,” he whispers.
Heat floods my cheeks. “Why not?”
“Because you deserve more than this,” he breathes.
I step closer until my chest meets his. He groans softly—a sound that twists through me.
“I want this,” I whisper. “And I know you do too.”
I kiss him again, fiercer this time. His lips yield desperately to my hunger, every kiss feeling like a promise we may never have the chance to keep. My chest aches with more than desire—love and fear and everything tangled between.
But when my fingers reach for his waistband again, he catches my wrists and gently presses them back to my sides.
“Selene, please,” he breathes, his voice pleading now, as though he’s barely holding himself together, barely holding himself back. I know that if I push just a little more, I’ll have him.
“Don’t you want me?” I ask, trembling.