Behind us, Alaric coughed pointedly. “Well, I, for one, feel blessed by this emotionally stunning moment. Gideon, fetch the lute.”
“Do not fetch the lute,” I snapped, half rising.
Wyn giggled. The sound scraped the bottom of my chest and left something tender in its wake.
I sat back down.
I didn’t look at her again, but her presence filled the quiet.
That night, the others slept.
Gideon snored in short bursts. Jasira rolled over, murmuring something about rabbits. Alaric had somehow fallen asleep with his lute balanced awkwardly across his lap, one arm slung protectively over Bran. The warhound’s massive head was resting against his ribs, both snoring in different registers like a mismatched duet. I almost smiled. Almost.
But I didn’t sleep.
I couldn’t.
The ridge windchafedagainst the mirrored stone, a dry whisper thatclungto the memory. Wyn, consumed by a fiery throne, wearing a crown thatblazedwith unbearable heat. Her eyescondemning.
The words echoed. “You didn’t help me. You were too late.”
I clenched my jaw and pressed my hand to my chest, reminding myself. It was a vision. Just the glass playing tricks. But that didn’t stop my bones from freezing when I saw her covered in blood. It didn’t stop me from believing her.
I’d failed before. What made me think I wouldn’t again?
I stood and drifted toward the edge of the firelight, not too far but enough for the wind to find me.
The stars were veiled; the moon thin. The ridge shimmered faintly in the dark, each crystal catching what little light remained and fracturing it like fragile memories. It was like standing in the breath between worlds, neither awake nor dreaming.
Behind me, the fire popped.
I turned.
Wyn shifted in her bedroll, her hands twitching, possibly grasping for something unseen.
Then I saw it.
A thread of golden light curled from her palm.
It was soft at first, like dawn’s first glimmer on still water. Then it grew, delicate ribbons of flame that didn’t burn, but shimmered.
My mouth dropped open, transfixed.
It licked gently up her wrist, a shy flicker, before fading again. Her breathing evened out, and her face settled into a peaceful expression.
I exhaled.
She didn’t know how much she glowed. Literally and otherwise.
Closing the space, my posture shifted into a silent vigil beside her. The fire inside her was not like mine. It wasn’t rage or destruction. It was a belief.
She wasn't dangerous in the way a weapon was, but in the way she ignited a spark of something far grander than anyone ever imagined was possible. The feeling that I could rise beyond the known limits was both intoxicating and terrifying.
She turned slightly, the blanket slipping from her shoulder. Her cheek rested on her arm; her lips parted a little.
She looked…
“Don’t say it,” I muttered to myself.
