Gods, he looked distant. Haunted. Like something had carved pieces out of him and forgotten to fill the spaces back in.
The smart thing would be to turn around. Give him space. Let him come to me when he was ready to talk, to explain, to tell me whatever truth he’d been hiding.
But I’d never been particularly smart about self-preservation.
And I was so fucking tired of smart.
I pushed myself up from the bench, my body moving before my brain could talk me out of it. The grass was soft under my feet as I crossed the garden, each step feeling heavier than it should. The children’s laughter faded into background noise as I approached, until all I could hear was the thundering of my own pulse and the question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.
Varyth didn’t look up until I was close enough to touch.
“Isara.” My name came out rough, like he hadn’t used his voice in days.
For a moment, we just stood there. Him looking haunted. Me trying to figure out how to be gentle when everything in me wanted to rage.
“You look like shit,” I said finally, because gentle had never really been my strong suit.
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but adjacent to it. “Four days of healers poking at me will do that.”
“They let you out?”
“I left.” A pause. “They weren’t thrilled about it.”
Of course he had. Because Varyth couldn’t just rest, couldn’t just let himself heal. He had to be up and functional and ready for the next catastrophe.
The silence stretched between us, weighted with all the things I should say. All the questions I should ask.Why did Merrick look at you like you were a secret worth killing for? What aren’t you telling me? Why do I keep bleeding for truths you won’t give me?
But looking at him now—at the shadows carved under his eyes, the way he held himself like everything hurt—I couldn’t bring myself to strike first.
“Do you want to sit with me?”
Varyth studied me for a long moment, like he was trying to decode what I really meant. Then his expression fractured open just slightly, and he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’d like that.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes, the only sounds filling the space around us the joyful laughter of the children and the rustling leaves in the gentle breeze.
Eryx bounded over to me, grinning as he held out a small, smooth stone he’d found, and I took it with a laugh, shifting enough that my knee brushed against Varyth’s.
Instinctively, I glanced over to apologise but stopped short. His eyes were closed, his expression relaxed, as though the brief contact offered him a moment of solace.
I hesitated, my heart thudding, as I inched closer, until my thigh settled firmly against his. My gaze lingered on his face, searching for any sign of discomfort. Instead, his expression remained tranquil, a gentle release of tension smoothing his features.
As I turned my attention back to the children, I noticed Mireth watching Varyth intently, a glimmer of determination sparking in her young face. With a small, proud grin, she lifted her hands, palms out, whispering under her breath.
A delicate shimmer formed between her fingers, water coalescing into the shape of a butterfly. The tiny creature flitted and danced in the air, catching the sunlight in gentle prisms as it floated toward Varyth.
His eyes opened as Mireth called his name, and he blinked in surprise as the butterfly hovered before him, wings beating in slow, mesmerising motions.
He glanced at Mireth, who beamed with pride, and gave her an approving nod. “Quite the talent.”
The lightness in his expression was so unfamiliar that I couldn’t help but smile myself. Varyth extended his hand, palm up, and the water butterfly alighted on his fingers, its translucent wings beating.
“How did you learn this?” he asked Mireth.
Mireth bounced on her toes. “Bryn showed me! She said water magic is tricky ‘cause it wants to flow away, but if you ask nicely, it’ll stay.”
Varyth’s lips quirked up. “Ask nicely?”
