“Beautiful.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of the word.
“I was just... remembering,” I said quietly, turning back to the balcony rail. The words came easier when I wasn’t looking at him. “A song. A dance. A life that feels so far away now.”
Varyth moved to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, but not touching.
“Navaire,” I said finally, the name easier to speak now than it had been even a day ago. “My husband. We danced to that song at our wedding. Just the two of us, a friend with a Vihuela, and the stars.” I smiled, small and bittersweet. “He always said I sang like I was trying to drag the heavens down to earth.”
“Accurate,” Varyth murmured.
I huffed a laugh, surprised. “You didn’t even know me then.”
“I know you now.” He glanced at me, his expression softening in a way I wasn’t prepared for. “And I’ve heard you sing. Trust me. He was right.”
The ache in my chest tightened, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was just... there. A bruise I’d learned to carry.
“I loved him,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I loved him so much it felt like my ribs were too small to hold it all. And when he died, I thought—” My voice cracked. “I thought that was it. That I’d used up all the love I had to give. That there wasn’t anything left.”
Varyth was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the courtyard below.
“Love isn’t limited,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t run out. It just... changes shape.”
I turned to look at him, and found him already watching me, his expression open in a way I’d never seen before.
“I lost someone too,” he continued, his jaw tightening. “A long time ago. And for years, I thought caring for anyone else would be a betrayal. That if I let myself feel anything, I’d be erasing what we had.” He exhaled slowly. “But that’s not how it works. You don’t replace the people you’ve loved. You just... make room.”
“Brynelle said something similar,” I admitted, barely above a whisper.
“She’s smarter than she looks.”
I laughed, and Varyth’s mouth twitched into what might’ve been a smile.
“I don’t know how to do it,” I confessed. “Make room. I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m betraying him every time I—” I stopped, the words catching in my throat.
“Every time you what?” Varyth’s question was careful.
“Every time I feel something for someone else,” I said, the admission raw and trembling. “Every time I think about moving forward. About being happy again.”
Varyth turned fully toward me. “He wouldn’t want you to stop living, Isara. If he loved you the way you loved him, he’d want you tolive. Even if it hurt. Even if it meant loving someone new.”
Tears pricked at my eyes again, and I looked away. “How do you know?”
“Because that’s what love is,” he said simply. “It’s wanting the other person to be whole. Even if you’re not there to see it.”
I let the words settle over me, heavy and aching and true. And for the first time, I didn’t push them away.
We stood there in silence, the night air cool against my skin, the stars bright overhead.
A flicker of light caught my attention.
I blinked, startled, as a tiny glow drifted past my face. Then another. And another.
Fireflies.
I gasped, wonder blooming in my chest as they began to circle me. Dozens of them, their golden light weaving through the air like living stars. One landed on my hand, its glow pulsing gently, and I laughed, the sound bright and unbidden.
“Fireflies.” I held my hand up, delighted, as more settled on my shoulders, my hair, my arms. “I’ve never—we didn’t have these in Braerlith. But my mother told me about them. She said they guide lost souls home.”
