We made our way through the city, keeping to the shadows. I saw frost creeping along windowsills, dead flowers wilting from planters, a thin glaze of ice forming on fountain water even in midday sun.
Heliconia’s presence was everywhere.
By late afternoon, we reached the cheerful row of townhouses tucked behind the edge of downtown. My eyes landed on one of a dozen like it, but I recognized it immediately. My heart ached at the sight.
We snuck along the side to the back door. Thorne pushed it open with his boot. The hinges groaned. Dust motes swirled in the dim entryway.
I stepped inside the kitchen just as I’d done the first time. Rydian had been at my back then. He’d saved my life that day in the alley despite pretending to hate me through it all. That was the day he’d admitted what he really felt. And the day I learned who Callan truly was.
My chest tightened painfully.
Had it only been weeks since then?
Slade dropped his cloak on a hook. “I’m going to find out if we still get hot water.”
“I’ll see if there’s anything to eat,” Thorne said, turning for the pantry.
But I was already drawn toward the stairs.
Rydian’s room was at the end of the hall—small, neat, sparsely furnished. A cot, a trunk, a weapons rack. A small wooden table. I didn’t need to ask whether it was his. I knew it by the scent. Even now, after so much time away, it still lingered here. Woodsmoke and pine resin.
I sat on the edge of his bed.
It felt wrong to be here without him. But it was also a comfort.
On the table, half-hidden beneath a folded shirt, was a letter. The handwriting struck me instantly—sharp strokes, elegant flourishes, ink blotted once as if the pen had trembled. My gaze drew down to the signature line.
Cadira.
Rydian’s mother. The queen of the Midnight Court, who had refused to meet me when I’d been all but on her doorstep.
My heart thudded.
I shouldn’t read it.
But my fingers were already unfolding the parchment.
Rydian,
I prayed the Furiosities had turned their attention elsewhere and chosen another vessel to burden with such a sacrifice… but when have the gods ever been merciful?
If she truly carries the Chosen’s power, then your path is already written. I cannot ask you to step off it. I cannot beg you to stay. So I will simply say this: I do not want to lose you. I do not want you to die for someone the gods chose without care for the ones leftbehind.
If there is another way—any other way—I will find it.
—Mother
My hand shook slightly.
She hadn’t been cruel. She’d been terrified. Terrified of losing her son. Terrified of me taking him from her. A single line burned in my mind:I do not want you to die.Neither did I. But the gods didn’t care what we wanted.
I folded the letter carefully and set it back.
I lay down on his bed, burying my face in his pillow. The faint scent of him on it made my throat ache.
Slade knocked on the doorframe, pushing open the door to peer in. “Thought I might find you here.”
I pushed myself upright. “And the hot water?”
