“I need you to contact the gypsy witches.”
He stares at me. “The gypsy witches don’t leave their mountains, Kieran. You know this.”
“One left a few days ago.” I step over to his window and stare out at the darkness. My hands ball into fists. “So, it is possible. Send word. Tell them I need to speak with them. Tell them it’s about Daciana. They’ll know that name. They’ll have made damn sure to know exactly who she is.”
Artisem is silent long enough that I turn to look at him. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, his expression tense in a way I rarely see.
“Kieran.” His voice is careful. “What happened?”
“She had a nightmare. There was magic in it: gypsy witch magic.” The words come faster now, pressure building behind them. “And she remembered, Artisem. She remembered Elara dying. She has never remembered before, not in any of her lifetimes. Something has changed, and I need to know what. I need to know if she is cursed. If we’re both cursed.” I slam myfist back against the window frame. “If they knew, if they’ve been sitting in my mountains all this time with answers—”
“Kieran—”
“They will tell me. Everything.” My voice drops to a dangerous level. “Or they’ll learn what happens when you betray your lord’s trust.”
Artisem is quiet for a moment, and then he nods slowly. “I’ll send riders at first light.”
“No. Now. Send them now.”
“The mountains are three days away even with fresh horses. A few hours won’t—”
“Now, Artisem.” My voice cracks like a whip, and I see him flinch. I take a breath, attempting to calm myself. “Please. I—I slept with her.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed quickly by something that might be sympathy. Or pity. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Alright,” he says softly. “I’ll wake the riders now. I’ll tell them it’s urgent.”
“Tell them to mention Daciana’s name specifically. Tell them to say the curse is breaking and Kieran needs answers.” I turn back to the window, my jaw tight. “And have them tell the witches that their lord is calling in old debts. They will come.”
He must recognize the certainty and the threat in my voice, because he doesn’t argue. I hear him start pulling on clothes as I stare at the night sky.
I can still feel her in my arms. Still taste her on my lips.
“Last chance,” the witch said.
This time, I’ll make sure I don’t waste it. And if the gypsy witches have been hiding answers from me all along, they’ll reap the consequences of standing between a man and the woman he has been dying to save.
I return to Daciana’s room because despite everything, my feet carry me back to her chambers like a lodestone pulling north.
The door is still unlocked. I push it open quietly, expecting to find her still sleeping, perhaps starting to stir. However, she is sitting upright in bed, the sheet clutched to her chest, her face as pale as the moon.
Her eyes meet mine, and what I see in them makes my stomach drop.
“Why are you back?” Daciana tries to keep her voice steady, but I hear the tremor underneath.
I close the door behind me. “We should talk.”
Daciana wraps the sheet tighter around herself, and the act cuts through me. She’s trying to shield herself. From me.
I cross to her closet before I can think better of it, and I pull out a simple dress. The fabric is soft between my fingers as I bring it to her. “Here.”
Daciana stares at the dress, then at me. There’s a flicker in her expression: one of surprise, maybe, or uncertainty. It’s such a small thing, bringing her clothes, but it feels enormous. Intimate in a way that has nothing to do with what happened between us in this bed.
I want to care for her. I want to be the one who thinks of these small comforts.
“I need privacy,” Daciana says quietly.
“Of course.” I head back to the door, and it takes everything in me to actually step through it.
