He led her up stairs she hadn't seen before. These spiraled tighter, climbed higher, until her legs burned and her breath came short. When she stumbled on a particularly steep step, he offered his arm without comment.
She took it. First voluntary touch since he'd pulled her from the water. His arm was solid, warm through the fabric. Real in a way that made her chest tight.
"Eliam prefers the dark and the depths," he said as they climbed. "I've always preferred heights."
"Why?"
"Closer to the sky. Harder to trap." He glanced at her. "Sometimes the only freedom is up."
The stairs ended at a door that opened onto wonder.
The room was circular, exposed to the night sky through windowless archways. Magic hummed in the air, keeping warmth in and weather out. Telescopes pointed skyward, star charts covered the walls. But Briar couldn't look at any of it because—
Stars.
Thousands. Millions. A river of light across the darkness so bright it hurt. When had she last seen stars? When had she last seen the sky without branches or walls or fear in the way?
Overwhelming grief crashed through her as she stared at the vast expanse. Her voice cracked. "I thought I'd never..."
And then she was crying. Not the careful, quiet tears she'd learned to master in Eliam's court. Ugly sobs that shook her shoulders and made her ribs ache. Days of terror and confusion and loss pouring out under the vast, uncaring, beautiful sky.
"I'm sorry, I…"
"Don't apologize for feeling." Arion's voice was quiet. He didn't move closer, didn't try to comfort her. Just existed nearby, solid and patient as stone.
She sank to the floor, face in her hands, and let it all out. The thorns. The darkness. The water. The fear that lived in her bones now, constant as a heartbeat.
When the sobs finally quieted to hiccups, he spoke again, his voice soft and careful.
"That's the Hunter's Heart. See the red star?"
She looked up and wiped her face, then found where he pointed.
"They say he was mortal once. Loved someone above his station. The gods set him in the sky as a warning or reward, depending on who tells it." He traced the constellation with one finger. "But he kept his heart, still red, still beating, still his."
"Do you believe that?"
"I believe in choosing what stories we tell ourselves." He pointed to another cluster. "That's the Swan's Flight. And there, the Sword of Sorrows."
She drew her knees up, watching him paint stories across the sky. Her breathing steadied as the tears dried. Still he talked, his voice gentle and expecting nothing.
"How did you end up here?" she asked when he paused. "Leading a court?"
"Ah." He leaned against one of the archways. "Not by choice, initially. I woke here with no memory of before. Just forest and confused fae asking for guidance I didn't know how to give."
"Woke?"
"Ferria and Halian found me in a grove, unconscious and surrounded by the same golden flowers that we’ve been trying to find answers to, the kind that only bloom at royal command." A rueful smile crossed his face. "I had no memory, no name, nothing but the flowers insisting I was someone important. I've been improvising ever since."
"You just appeared? From nowhere?"
"Sprouted from soil, you might say. Fitting for a fae lord, I suppose." He shrugged. "The court formed around me. Those fleeing the deeper forest started arriving within days, drawn by... something. They said I felt safe. Like sanctuary."
She thought of Eliam's cruel games and cold beauty. His absolute control. "Must have been terrifying. Waking to all that responsibility."
"Terrifying. Bewildering. But also..." He searched for words. "It felt right. Like I was meant to be here, even if I couldn't remember why. Sometimes I wonder if I was someone else before. If someone or something took those memories as punishment. Or protection."
The warmth in her chest pulsed gently, almost sympathetically.
