“A fight broke out one night on the border with Drakorum.” Thecae motioned to the east where the Mistwood Mountains lay far in the distance. “An argument between the border guards, a group of Shifters, and some of our Shadow Wielders got heated. Several died. Malijah tried to step in and help his friends, and a Shifter clawed him across the stomach. Nearly killed him.”
With a grave nod, Calyra cut in. “They had to hold his guts inside his body when they carried him back to the training grounds. He didn’t wake up for four days. Ceres never left his side.”
“They were married six months later,” Thecae added.
Calyra’s wrinkled hand found mine again, and she squeezed. “When you came along, everything changed for them. None of us blamed them when they needed to leave. This empire wasn’t safe for a very, very long time. I just wish…I wish we could’ve known what would happen. We would have never let them get on that ship.”
We sat in silence for a moment, them honoring their dead friends while I mourned a life I never knew.
Mournwas too strong of a word. I wasn’t sorrowful, the way one might be when losing a loved one. Because I didn’t technically have anything tolose. In reality…I hadfoundthem.
Piece by piece, I was gaining parts of the puzzle that were my past. Stories that rounded out my chipped edges, that gave me the feeling that somewhere, somehow…Ifit. My mother’s eyes and hair, her desire to seek out answers and observe the world around her. My father’s smile and propensity for humor. Their passion and fire and nobility. I liked to think I had some of that too, when I wasn’t swept up in my own selfishness.
In a strange way, the sounds of people laughing, feet pounding to the music, and drinks swishing against bottles was the perfect setting. Where the heady daze of the night made colors blend and shadows melt into your skin, where the world seemed less sharp. Less…cold. It was the way I wanted to remember these people I never knew. Thrumming with life, not hidden behind a veil.
After a moment, Thecae raised a hand into the air. Two strands of shadows shot from it, separating and forming into silhouettes of two people—one with short hair and broad shoulders, and one with a long braid down her back and a quill in her hand.
“To Malijah and Ceres Sephorne,” he murmured. Calyra repeated his words, and the shadows slowly dissipated.
I stared at my hands, suddenly wishing, willing,beggingfor my shadows to emerge. To give me that one final piece, that one final proof that I’d finally found somewhere I was meant to be. I wantedmorethan just my mother’s eyes and my father’s wit. I wanted their magic. I wanted to know this part of them still lived in me.
As usual, nothing happened.
My throat burned from holding back desperation as I clenched my fingers into a fist.
Even my magic rejected me. Pushed me away. Wanted nothing to do with me.
I shoved my fingers through my hair, blinking rapidly to fight the dismay that swept through me.
To my surprise, Thecae crouched at my knees and yanked myhands away in his callused palms. “Don’t fight it, Devora,” he urged. “This is what we talked about. You have to face whatever it is you’re feeling. You can’t keep trying to control them—your emotionsoryour shadows.”
My hands shook as the first tear tracked down my cheek. I was so close. So close to shoving the sorrow away, taking several swigs of wine until it blurred completely, and tossing him a smile. Pretending like this never happened. Because ithurt. It hurt to face the truth.
Everything eventually rejected me. Used me, discarded me, or left me. Saw what I was good for, got their fill, and no longer needed me. Even though my family hadn’tchosento leave me behind, I was still alone.
Always alone.
These shadows didn’t want me. And I didn’t deserve them. That was what it all came back to, wasn’t it?I didn’t deserve them. Any of it. The things I’d done, the way I lived my life—I brought it on myself. Why would my shadows want someone like me?
Why would anyone?
A snarl broke through the sounds of revelry as a massive figure appeared on the ground before me. Thecae staggered to the side.
“What did you do to her?” Nox growled, taking Thecae’s place at my knees. His eyes, more silver than navy, roved over my body.
“I’m not hurt,” I said with a gasp. I hastily wiped the tears from my cheeks and turned away from him. “I’m fine.”
Rough fingers came out to grasp my chin. Nox moved my head back to face him, his nose mere inches from mine, before his lips parted in surprise.
“Devora, your eyes,” he said. “They’re black.”
Alarm blared inside of me, and I searched for Thecae, who’d been knocked to his side when Nox burst in.
“It’s her shadows,” he said, brushing dirt off his pants. “They’re trying to get through. The emotions, the magic of the Vigil,”—Thecae motioned to the revelers around him—“it must have triggered something.”
Their voices became muffled and distant as my heart pounded louder in my ears. Something pushed against my chest, desperate to get out.
I slammed my eyes shut, all my muscles clenching as if that could keep it inside. Could keep the pain from escaping. One of my hands shot to the log beneath me, and my fingers curled tight around the bark, nails digging into wood.
