A surge of power burst from her like a wave. The surface of the stream hissed, boiling in a flash of steam. The nearby trees bent under a gust of unnatural wind. Pebbles trembled across the bank. A branch split with a sharpcrack.
“No—no, no, no,” Astraia gasped, heart pounding. “Not again.”
She scrambled for her tether, blindly reaching through her panic to anchor herself—but the chest in her mind was distant, like it was sinking beneath her, and she was losing her grip. The world spun with the same dizzying chaos she had felt the night she flared years ago.
“Elion,” she whispered aloud, pleading to the memory.
Stillness.
Her breath hitched—the laugh, the smile, the warmth of her brother’s memory blooming through her chest. She grabbed it like a lifeline, yanking the tether inward, willing the power back into its cage.
The light flickered. Dimmed. Dissolved.
Silence returned to the glen.
Astraia fell to her knees in the shallows, her breathing ragged, her glowing skin now dulled to its usual pale hue. Tears blurred her vision. Her body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the suffocating weight of almost losing control again.
I could’ve hurt someone. I could’ve hurt him.
She dragged in a shaking breath, her hands clenching the water-soaked moss. Even now, after everything, she was still a danger. Still a risk.
Still…wrong.
Astraia stayed kneeling in the stream, the cool water lapping against her legs, trying to soothe the fever of fear under her skin.
She wiped at her cheeks, furious that tears had fallen. She hadn’t cried in years. She didn’t cry anymore. Not for herself.
A rustle in the dark made her freeze.
Her eyes snapped to the shoreline—and there he was. Draven was leaning against the very tree where her clothes were hanging.
His arms were crossed, half in shadow, but his expression was unreadable. Not smug. Not mocking. Something quieter. Something too still.
“Enjoying the show, bounty hunter?” she snapped, her voice sharp from the sting of shame. She crossed her arms over her chest, though the stream masked her body beneath.
“Immensely,” he said, but the usual teasing edge was dulled—faint, like a reflex rather than intent.
He pushed off the tree and turned without another word, disappearing into the glow of the firelight.
Chapter 16
“The Wraiths have overrun the Peaks. Their shadows and unholy fire ensnare us. Their whispers call to us from the darkest caves and deepest gorges. The Drengr and their Drakari are spread thin. I will send what I can. I await your falcon.”
Celestial War Correspondence of Lord Fafnir of the SkyForge Peaks, Steward of Rage to King Illias, Ruler of the Celestial Court, King of Astradeon
MORNING IN THE LUSH COUNTRYSIDE of Virellia was sacred. A kind of peace Astraia had never managed in her own life wrapped around her as she packed up her sparse belongings and readied Orion for the road to Volpes.
The night had been restless—too many unanswered questions, all clawing at her mind. She had no idea what she was going to do once she reached the city, or if it even led to sanctuary for her. A small part of her still clung to the foolish hope that Volpes would be a place to disappear. Somewhere she could melt into garden walls and be forgotten.
But the realist in her knew the truth, sharp and nauseating: no matter how far she ran, her past would always find her.
Then there was the question ofhim.
She dared a glance toward the bounty hunter as he saddled his horse, every movement precise, practiced—annoyingly graceful. Tension hung thick in the space between them, but neither had made a move to shatter the silence.
It seemed impossible that it had only been a few days since she held her dagger to his throat in Tenebris, when he crashed into her life and forever altered her path. She felt as if she had known him for eternity. For the first time since Elion had blinked out of existence, she did not hate herself or her bonds.
Astraia was still unsure what was more frightening, the fact that she was breaking down walls for him, letting him see the unfiltered parts of her soul.
