Don’t
Don’t
SERAPHAE
Riven stayed the entire night.
I had offered my bed.
Platonically. We were adults. There was no reason we couldn’t share a bed for sleep. I had done so with Xander on a couple of occasions when the assignment required his help and we’d traveled together.
Riven would have been no different.
When I asked him, he had been moving toward my window and his boot had skidded on the floorboards. If I hadn’t been paying attention, I would have missed it, but I was paying attention. Then he stared at me. Didn’t say a word, only stared.
I blinked and then offered the couch instead.
A beat passed before he tore his gaze from me and went to it.
He lay down on it, arms crossed, long legs hanging off the ends. His eyes shut after he shifted into the cushions.
It had already been eighth bell when we returned, and sleep had already left me. I lay there, listening to every creak in the wood, every sound outside the cottage, expecting someone to ambush us. Eventually, I gave up on sleep entirely. Sometime during the night, I had looked out my room door.
Riven was standing by the window, looking into the night like Mallas was going to materialize in my front yard. He was still awake, still quietly protecting me in the dark.
I didn’t make a noise. I was good at that. But Riven found me anyway, the way he always did.
Our gazes held for a moment like a silent exchange.
Then he looked back out the window.
I closed the door, went back to bed.
I still listened for every creak, every ambient sound the cottage made in the night. But none of it sounded like danger anymore. My hand fell away from the knife beneath my pillow and I fell asleep.
The next morning, I busied myself with the flower beds in front of the cottage.
I had planted silverbells. I was told they should have been planted in spring, but I planted them anyway.
The dirt was warm in my hands as I dug shallow holes with a mug when I couldn't find a shovel.
“How many men did Mallas bring during the trial?” I asked Riven, who was somewhere in my vicinity.
I dropped seeds into the neat trenches I had made. Then tilted my head to look at them, unsure if trenches were even supposed to be used for planting flower seeds.
“About thirty,” Riven said from somewhere above. “Normal for traveling royals.”
I turned and looked up at him.
He was sitting on the edge of my roof. One boot planted on the tile, the other dangling off. He was sharpening something in his hands.
I narrowed my eyes. That almost looked like—
He spun the dagger in his hand, sheathed it, and peered down at me.
“Is that my dagger?”
“It was dull.”
As if stealing my dagger from literally my body without me noticing was the most normal thing to do, he tossed it back.
I caught it and gaped at him.
His lip twitched before he looked in the direction of the city.
I looked at my dagger. “I never thanked you for the shutters and the cloak hook.”
“That wasn't me.”
My eyes lifted to him.
He glanced at me but didn't say anything. Didn't really need to.
I imagined the Prince of Twilight coming into the wildlands, quietly repairing a window latch and installing a hook. Then I stopped thinking about it altogether.
“He likely has more men. Positioned out of sight.” Riven said helpfully.
Thirty men plus whatever he had hidden. Mallas was in Caelan's territory, where Caelan had an army. Maelor would be there. It would work. It had to.
“He'll be fine,” Riven said it the way he always said things I was already thinking.
I finished planting the seeds and watered them thoroughly while Riven watched from the roof.
Then we went back inside.
By evening, I had started pacing.
It was fifth bell, and Mallas would have met with Caelan already. Dinner would be served soon. By sixth bell, Mallas would be arrested, or Maelor would move in and Caelan would have to arrest his own brother.
Riven watched me pace from the kitchen counter, nursing his coffee.
Then my stomach made a sound that was obscenely loud in the quiet cottage.
I looked at Riven, who quirked a brow at me. It was evening, and I hadn't thought about dinner. We had breakfast this morning, but that was it.
“Do you want to try my stew?” I said, moving toward the cupboards.
A sound at the front door stopped me. A shuffling and a scrape.
My hand went to my dagger. Riven's hand went to his sword hilt, and he was at the door before I had taken two steps. He pulled it open.
Nobody there.
The path was empty in both directions. The trees at the edge of the wildlands were still. Evening air coming in through the open door, carrying the smell of something warm.
We both looked down.
A basket sat on the front step. Beside it, a bottle of wine.
I exhaled.
“Aliza,” I said. “She dropped off dinner.” I reached down and picked up the basket. The warmth of it came through the weave.
Riven looked at the empty path for a moment longer, then stepped back inside.
I set the basket on the kitchen counter and lifted the cloth. Meat pie, still hot. The smell of it filled the small kitchen immediately.
“Well,” I said. “Better than my stew.”
I moved to the cupboard and grabbed plates and glasses. Riven positioned himself at the counter while I cut the pie.
The plate I handed him was taken immediately. He blew once across the surface before the first bite. I watched that happen without meaning to. Something about watching him do something as ordinary as cooling his food was fascinating to see on him.
He looked up mid-bite and stopped chewing.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I poured the wine.
We ate in silence.
It was very good pie. Riven had cleared his entire plate and set it aside.
“Do you think they're eating dinner now?” I said.
“Most likely.” He wiped his mouth and yawned.
I stared.
Riven yawned. The world was ending.
Then, as if it was contagious, I yawned too. I reached for my wine.
Riven's hand closed around my wrist.
“Don't.”
I looked at him.
Then I felt it.
I had been blaming the long night and the lack of sleep for the past hour. But this was different. Sudden. Like a hand closing around the inside of my throat. Not exhaustion.
Riven had gone pale. His grip on my wrist was losing strength. He caught the edge of the counter with his other hand.
I was watching his face, and then suddenly, I wasn't.
The ground had tilted, and I was on it.
“Sera.” His voice came from somewhere distant.
The door burst off its hinges. Wood cracking. Boots. Too many to count.
The sound of fighting was muffled behind me by the ringing that started in my ears. I couldn't turn, and I hated that I couldn't turn. I pushed against the floor, my body feeling heavier than it reasonably should be. My body lifted an inch before dropping back down.
I couldn't see what was happening.
Panic tore through the fog. They'll kill Riven. Then me. Then Caelan dies through the bond. We were going to—
A blade plunged through my hand and pinned it to the floorboards.
Pain exploded white, and a scream tore out of me.
“That should do it,” one of the guards said.
I cried out again when the blade was pulled free. My hand shook as I was hauled off the floor.
The room spun. My eyes opened, closed, opened. Dark crept in from the edges of my vision.
Riven was on his knees. Face bloodied. A blade at his throat.
He looked up and found me. His face was entirely blank.
“Kill the guard.”
I fought to keep my eyes open.
“No.” It was barely a sound.
I pulled, or tried to. I couldn’t feel my face or the pain of my right hand anymore. My legs gave out.
No.
Riven.
Dark swallowed me whole.