“Soldark,” I whisper into its pages, my voice barely steady. “How do we cure Ryder?”
Hope clings to my lips as I speak, fragile and desperate, begging this to be the time it gives me a straight answer—a simple cure. The book stirs at the sound of my request. Its pages shudder, then flip rapidly, stopping with deliberate finality.
The words appear.
The same ones.
I release a sharp breath, frustration burning hot in my chest. Once again, the pages bloom with the riddle that’s had me tearing my hair out since the last time I asked.
River leans in and reads it aloud, his fingers trailing slowly beneath each word, as if touch alone might force the meaning to reveal itself.
“Within the dark where silence grows,
A crescent sleeps where no light shows.
To hearts unspoiled, I give the skies,
The strength of Gods behind their eyes.
But grasp me wrong, with soul unclean,
And feel your breath turn still, unseen.
What you seek will heal his pain,
but greater still, it breaks the chain.
For what you search no book contains,
an object waits for you to claim.”
“What does it mean?” Nala asks, squinting so hard at the page I worry she might strain something.
“I have no fucking idea,” I snap, frustration scraping raw at my nerves.
“Don’t hate me,” River says carefully, finally lifting his gaze, “but it mentions a crescent. Maybe now’s the time to rethink the wholenot telling Ryderthing.”
He doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
I exhale slowly. He’s probably right. For three weeks, I’ve kept my lips sealed, working in secret behind Ryder’s back, carrying the weight alone. Maybe it’s time to loosen my grip, to stop pretending I can shoulder this by myself and let the truth settle where it belongs.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, though my heart stutters painfully in my chest. I turn back to the book. “Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?” I plead, exhausted by its games.
It doesn’t respond.
The words seem to leer up at me, mocking in their silence.
“I don’t get it,” I whisper. “What object?”
I wait. Nothing. The pages refuse to turn.
“For fuck’s sake.” I fling the book onto my bed, the impact dull and final, then sink down onto Nala’s instead.
“I really thought,” I say, the words spilling before I can stop them, “that when we got the Moons out of that place, things would change. That people would accept me. That the world would go back to how it was—before everything broke, hundreds of years ago.” My voice cracks. “Was that naïve of me?”
I fold in on myself, burying my face in my hands. A moment later, Nala crosses the room and sits beside me, her arm wrapping around my back.
“Not naïve,” Nala says gently. “Changeishappening—even when we can’t see it. One step at a time, remember?”
