He gestured vaguely with his chin toward where Gessa had disappeared. “Same dark hair, maybe, but that’s not it. It’s the look in her eyes when she thinks no one’s watching. That ‘I’ll-bite-you-if-you-get-too-close’ fire.” He let out a low whistle of memory. “Siia. That was her name. Gods, she was a storm held together by skin… and had a way of moving that made a man forget his own name.”
Jaedon finally turned his gaze from the path to Ky, a teasing smirk returning to his lips. “Of all the women in that town who were throwing themselves at us, she was the one you went for. The impossible one with two master swordsmen for brothers.” He shook his head in fond disbelief, his eyes once again following Gessa’s retreating form. “And it’s the way she moves now. All that strength she’s found… coiled up tight under those recruit’s robes. Siia had that exact same walk. Like a predator trying to convince the world she’s prey.”
That was it. The final comment, with its casual, knowing appraisal of her body, was the spark on a short fuse.
In the past, this was their rhythm. They were Spurs, elite and desired. He remembered nights in Oakhaven or Silverport, warm bodies and easy laughter, where a woman might move from Jaedon’s arms to his, or be shared between them in a haze of wine and pleasure. It had been a game, a camaraderie of shared spoils.
But the thought of Jaedon looking at Gessa like that—weighing her, wanting her—didn’t spark camaraderie. It triggered a violent, nauseating recoil. The idea of anyone, evenhis brother-in-arms, touching her, or evenseeingher with that kind of hunger, was suddenly, violently unbearable.
A hot, ugly spike of something primal—jealousy, possessiveness—flared through Ky. He hated it, hated himself for feeling it, and the feeling curdled instantly into rage. Night, sensing his master’s shift, rose silently to his feet, his gaze fixed on Jaedon’s mustangs, which had become still, their ears now fully alert.
He rounded on Jaedon, his voice a low, venomous hiss that was completely out of proportion. “What she looks like is not your concern. And it’s damn well not mine. She is a recruit with a volatile talent that could get us all killed. Nothing more.”
Jaedon was visibly taken aback, his teasing smirk vanishing. He raised his hands slightly, his eyes widening. “Whoa. Alright,” he said carefully. “I see.”
The two words were heavy with finality, and the look that accompanied them made Ky’s gut clench. The teasing light in Jaedon’s eyes was gone, replaced by a sharp, unwelcome clarity. It was a look of dawning alarm. In that moment, Ky knew his friend wasn’t just seeing the anger; he was seeing right through it to the raw, possessive nerve underneath. He saw how deep Ky had waded into this, and the feeling of being so easily and completely read left a bitter taste of shame in Ky’s mouth. Jaedon’s mustangs shifted uneasily, their hooves scuffing the dry earth.
Jaedon’s tone was now completely devoid of humor. He looked from Ky’s stormy face to the empty path where Gessa had disappeared, and a flicker of something more complex—weary sadness for his friend, crossed his features. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Ky…” he began, his voice losing its edge of alarm and taking on a more serious, comradely weight. “Look. For the first time since the Maw, you don’t look entirely like a ghost hauntingyour own boots. I see a spark in there again.” He met Ky’s gaze directly. “And I know she’s the one who lit it.”
He let that hang in the air for a beat, a clear acknowledgment of the positive change he saw. But then his expression hardened again with undeniable worry.
“But that doesn’t change the rest of it,” he said, his voice dropping to an urgent, low command. “Listen to me. Be careful. That one’s got more baggage than the autumn caravan. And some of it has teeth.” Jaedon’s mustangs snorted softly as if in agreement, before he turned and began to walk away, his soul-beasts falling into step beside him. Night remained standing, his gaze fixed on their receding forms until they disappeared beyond the trees.
Later that night, the oppressive humidity still clung to the air in Ky’s small quarters, making the stone walls feel slick and close. But the sweltering heat of the summer night couldn’t touch the chill that had settled in his bones—a cold that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with memory. Night lay curled near the hearth, his rhythmic breathing the only other sound in the room.
He sat in a worn chair before the hearth, where the last embers of a long-dead fire glowed weakly, a faint orange pulse in the darkness. He wasn’t seeking warmth; he was just staring, his gaze fixed on the dying light. He rubbed his scarred left leg, where the humid air did its cruel work, aggravating the old injury into a familiar, dull, gnawing fire—a phantom echo of shattering bone that was his constant penance for survival.
The great cat, forced to curl tight to fit the narrow space between the chair and the hearth, nudged his hand, the forceof it warm and solid. Night stared at him with intelligent blue eyes, a low, questioning rumble vibrating in his deep chest. Ky absently scratched behind the lynx’s ears, the thick fur a familiar comfort. Night laid his head across Ky’s bad leg, a silent, knowing gesture of shared pain.
Ky looked at the great cat, the living symbol of his broken soul, and felt the familiar, hollow space in his own chest where Dawn’s presence should have been. The grief was a constant, a missing part of his own heart.
But tonight, for the first time in years, another thought pushed through the cold fog of his loss. The solid, living weight of Night’s head on his leg was also a truth. The steady rumble in the lynx’s chest was a constant, living rhythm against his own pain. He looked into those loyal, blue eyes, and a flicker of something other than grief surfaced; a fragile, aching thankfulness.
You are still here,he thought, the admission a quiet revelation.Gods, Night. I still have you.
The day’s events circled in his mind, each one another weight pressing down on him.
His thoughts drifted back to the lecture hall. He could still see the foolish, hero-worshipping look on Recruit Finn’s face, asking about a legend Ky wished he could bury. They saw a hero who survived the Silver Maw; he saw only the ghosts of his failure and the searing memory of Dawn’s loss. Their ignorant awe felt like salt being rubbed into a wound that would never heal.
Then his mind, against his will, turned to Gessa. He saw the lead ball sliding through the labyrinth, a beautiful expression of her raw power. He saw the shy, hesitant smile she gave Jaedon—a smile he knew he’d never receive. He felt the phantom warmth of her skin under his hands. Staring into the sun was an apt comparison; she was brilliant, powerful, and looking at her fortoo long made his head spin, leaving him blind to everything else. And he knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that getting too close would mean getting burned.
And finally, Jaedon. His oldest friend, looking at him with that expression of weary, knowing sadness. The words echoed in his head:‘I see a spark in there again... And I know she’s the one who lit it.’The observation was as sharp and accurate as one of Jaedon’s own blades, and it had pierced Ky’s armor completely. Jaedon saw the truth: the spark was real, but the baggage Gessa carried had teeth, and Ky was walking toward it with his eyes wide open.
He was caught. Trapped between the ghost of his own legend and a future that seemed both impossible and necessary. He looked at the great cat curled beside the dying embers, at the unending loneliness in those blue eyes that mirrored his own. He had been a ghost for years, content to haunt the halls of his own past. But now, a new and dangerous warmth was threatening to burn the embers of his dead heart back to life, and he was terrified it would consume what little he had left.
17
THE ANVIL'S ECHO
Gessa lay still, staring at the stone ceiling, her mind replaying the midnight mission that had cost her sleep.
She had crept back to the administrative wing in the dead hours, barefoot and terrified, to retrieve the petition she’d dropped on the stairs in her panic. Even now, in the safety of her own bed, a flush of heat pricked at her skin at the memory ofwhyshe had fled. The echo of Lolly’s uninhibited pleasure—and the sudden, searing image of Ky that had blindsided her—still felt like a fever under her skin.
She had gathered the scattered parchment with trembling hands, the silence of the hallway pressing against her, before placing the sealed document on the scarred oak table designated for the dawn courier.
It was done. The severance was in motion.
