CHAPTER 13 #3
The sun had just broken the horizon when they reached her residence.
Pale gold light spilled across the rooftops, catching on windows and chimneys as the city slowly woke.
Doors opened. Merchants swept their steps.
A baker down the lane carried out trays of rising dough. The world was beginning its day.
Faelith stopped by the foot of her steps, her cloak drawn close, her mind steady but thoughtful.
Cian stood beside her, silent, the journal tucked inside his coat.
Even without seeing it, she felt hopeful the contents could shed some light on their situation.
The journal could contain Lady Vaelcourt's private accounts and hidden observations about the council and the recent upheavals, and any hint within its pages might clarify motives behind the theft and murder or reveal the reason Faelith and Cian had been drawn into the affair at all.
The goose chase they had been sent on was orchestrated by someone; whether it was friend or foe remained to be seen.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The quiet felt different now. Not forced or empty. Something else. Something fragile and warm, like the first light of morning.
“We need to decide our next move,” Faelith said.
Cian nodded. “The journal will help. Vaelcourt wrote more than just letters. If she feared someone, she could have written it down. At the very least, we might learn more about this amulet.”
Faelith studied him. His voice remained steady, but she sensed the tension behind it. “Read it. See what she left behind. I can talk with the councilors; one of them had to be close to Lady Vaelcourt. They might have overheard something.”
“I will,” he said. “Just—”
Practiced footsteps approached, cutting him off before he could finish.
A lady’s maid approached along the path, her uniform crisp and immaculate despite the early hour. She paused at the base of the steps and offered a graceful curtsey. “Emissary Faelith. I bring an invitation for you.”
Faelith accepted the folded parchment. The seal belonged to House D’Ardclaire.
She felt Cian’s attention shift.
The maid continued, “Councilor Simon requests your company for elevenese. He asked that it be delivered at once.”
Faelith nodded. “Thank you.”
The maid bowed again and hurried off toward her next duties.
His expression did not change, but the atmosphere between them felt almost charged. Something more subdued lay just under the surface. One careless spark and she was worried about what would happen.
“Will you go?” he asked.
“I have to,” Faelith said. “He is a councilor. Refusing him would raise questions, and we can’t afford drawing attention to ourselves. Councilors wield enough influence to ruin reputations—or worse, if they choose. One misstep, and I could risk the well-being of my people.”
Cian nodded once. Practical. Necessary. But she felt the slight shift in him, the way he looked toward the brightening street instead of her.
“I will return this evening, hopefully with new information,” she said.
He turned back to her.
This time he did not simply acknowledge her words.
He stood there, steady and unmoving, the rising sunlight catching along the edge of his hair, tingeing his brassing strands of hair.
There was a stillness in him that felt older than the city around them.
Grounded. Solid. As if nothing could pull him from where he stood.
As if nothing could pull him from her.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
The words were simple, but the way he said them settled deep. He did not shift his weight. He did not glance away. He stood like stone, rooted in place, as though the world could change around them and he would remain exactly where she needed him.
Faelith felt it with sudden clarity.
Cian wasn’t going anywhere.
Not from this moment.
Not from her.
The realization warmed her chest in a way she had not expected. She managed a small smile and nodded, turning towards the entrance. She stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her.
Her chambers felt different this morning, more open and brighter in the early sunlight.
She shed her cloak; there wasn’t enough time to order a bath, so she quickly cleaned herself in the basin of water.
She dressed into a gown suitable for tea.
The fabric was soft, the color muted, chosen to avoid drawing attention.
She paused at the mirror.
Her reflection stared back, haloed by the sunlight behind her. She reached up to smooth a lock of hair away from her forehead; the memory replaying for her with unexpected clarity.
Cian’s thumb brushing her skin.
The warmth of his touch.
The gentleness of it despite the callousness.
The way he had stepped close without hesitation, wiping away the soot she had not noticed.
So caught off guard, she had not known how to respond.
Her fingers lingered at her brow, tracing the place where his thumb had rested. The memory settled in her chest, quiet and warm, before she forced herself to breathe and lower her hand.
It was futile to think on it; She had an amulet missing, a murderer still hidden in the capital, and a prophecy that made no sense to her.
And she had to have tea with Simon.
She straightened her gown, lifted her chin, and stepped out of her chambers to meet the uncertain future.