So I do.
The bond hums between us. Steady now. Like a second heartbeat, pulsing just beneath my ribs.
Thane rests one hand on my knee. The other stays at my back, anchoring me as I lean into him. Everything in me feels rearranged now—I take comfort in his touch just as he takes comfort in mine.
Then—clink.I glance left. Across the table, Valen sets his glass down—also empty. He exhales, long and low, the sound more thoughtful than surprised.
“Well,” he says, voice dry but measured, “that was quite unexpected.”
He brings his hands together beneath his chin, fingers steepled, elbows resting lightly on the arms of the chair. But his eyes—those silver-blue eyes—aren’t looking at Thane or me.
His gaze doesn’t land on either of us. It fixes just beyond—on the wall behind us, or maybe something past it. Like he’s seeingthroughthe room. Through time.
Valen says nothing at first. And I don’t press. I can feel it in the air—he’s already turning over every story he’s ever read, every lost record, every whispered rumor. Looking for what to do next.
Thane’s thumb moves absently across the fabric of my pants, just by my knee. A small motion. Steady. Soothing. But still—I catch myself holding my breath.
I watch Valen’s face. The way his silver-blue eyes narrow—not with confusion, but focus. He’s following some invisible thread. One only he can see.
Maybe he’s seen something in the old texts. Some way to undo the curse. To stop it before it takes more than it alreadyhas.
I cling to that.
After what feels like an eternity, Valen speaks. His voice cuts through the quiet like the first ripple on still water.
“We have to return to the capital.”
The words land with quiet finality. Like something clicked into place while he was lost in thought, and now the path forward is clear.
I sit a little straighter in Thane’s lap. My heart beats faster, harder, against the fragile calm.
The sun is starting to set. Long shadows stretch across the floor, painting the worn stone and battered table in fading gold. My stomach rumbles quietly, breaking the stillness. I flush a little, but no one comments.
It hits me then—it’s past dinner time at the mess hall. We’ve been sitting here for a long time, the weight of everything we shared stretching time thin and taut. The world outside has kept turning.
And yet, everything inside this room feels irrevocably changed.
“The archives,” Valen continues, his voice steadier now, the weight of decision behind it. “There must be answers there. I have some early theories of what the curse truly is . . . what the Shadow Clan wasreallyguarding—”
He exhales hard. Runs a hand over his face, weariness dragging at the edges of him.
“That’s where we’ll find it. And we need to leave. Immediately.”
Thane shakes his head, jaw tight.
“It’s too dangerous, Valen. There’s a reason generations of my family kept this hidden. We don’t know who we can trust. Even researching it could tip someone off. If anyone finds out . . . it could mean the death of my family.”
A pause.
“Of me.”
His voice roughens at the edges.
“No one trusts the Shadow Clan. Not even today. It won’t matter that I’m tied to the Prophecies; that I’m bonded to the Spiritborn. The prejudice runs deeper than that. And what if Iamdangerous? What if this curse takes me some other way?”
Valen nods. Once. Slow. Measured. “Which is why we don’t tell anyone why we’re really going.”
He leans forward, his silver-blue eyes flickering between us, sharp with intent. “We tell them we’re going because the capital needs to see Amara. The Spiritborn. We tell them it’s time she was known to the realm.”
