I stand there, caught between wanting to argue and wanting to run toward something that might hurt worse than watching my best friend die by inches. The vial feels heavy in my pocket. The study feels too warm. Everything feels impossible.
"Get some rest," I say finally. "I'll check on you in the morning."
"Coward," Daryn murmurs, but his smile takes the sting from it. His eyes are already closing, body sinking deeper into the chair. "Go find your starlight, Val. Stop letting fear make your decisions."
I leave before he can say anything else. Before he can voice the truths I'm not ready to face. The hallway stretches before me, afternoon light fading into early evening shadows. Down the stairs and to the left is the library. Where Amisra is. Where Keira is.
Where I should go.
Where I can't make myself go, because Daryn is right—I am a coward. Brave enough to search for impossible cures but too terrified to risk hearing confirmation that the woman I'm falling for will never want me back.
My feet carry me toward the library anyway, drawn by something stronger than fear. By hope, maybe. Or desperation. Or the simple need to see her again, even if she doesn't want to be seen.
The library door stands slightly ajar. Through the gap, I hear Amisra's voice, high and excited, asking questions faster than anyone could answer. And beneath it, patient and warm and achingly gentle, Keira responds. Reading something. Explaining. Making a four-year-old feel like the center of the universe.
I stand in the hallway, hand raised to knock, and lose all courage. She's in there. Right there. And I can't move.
Because Daryn is right about everything, and that terrifies me more than any magical sickness ever could.
Instead, I walk away.
5
KEIRA
The kitchen smells of meadowmint and honey when I step inside, the afternoon light streaming through tall windows in golden bands. Outside, through the glass, I catch glimpses of Amisra's silver hair as she runs across the garden. Daryn trails behind her—slowly, but he's trying. Always trying. Even when exhaustion pulls at every line of his body, even when I can see the effort it costs him to simply exist.
He's dying. Everyone knows it. The servants whisper when they think I can't hear. The healers come and go with increasingly grim expressions. And still, he reads to his daughter. Still, he plays in the garden. Still, he smiles at her like she's his entire world wrapped in a four-year-old frame.
It chips at something inside me. This belief I've held onto like armor—that dark elves are cruel, selfish bastards who care for nothing beyond their own pleasure and power. Daryn is none of those things. He's gentle with Amisra, patient with the servants, kind even to me. A human. A slave, technically, though he's never once made me feel like property.
I push the thought away and focus on the tea. Meadowmint leaves measured carefully, hot water poured with precision. Theritual of it soothes the unease that's been building in my chest for weeks. Months, maybe. Ever since Valas started appearing at the house every other day, his moon-violet eyes tracking my movements when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
The kettle whistles. I pour water over the leaves, watching steam curl upward, and try not to think about how those eyes make heat bloom under my skin. How I've started timing my movements to avoid him because being near him feels dangerous in ways I don't want to examine.
"—always watching her."
The voice drifts from the hallway outside the kitchen. Female. One of the dark elven servants, though I can't place which one. I freeze, hand hovering over the teapot.
"The human?" Another voice responds. Younger. "I've noticed. It's quite bold of him."
"Bold?" The first speaker laughs, low and knowing. "He'sValas Morthen. A healer with noble connections. If he wanted the girl, he could simply claim her. Daryn would probably sell her contract without protest."
My stomach drops. The teacup in my hand suddenly weighs too much, ceramic edges biting into my palm. They're talking about me. About Valas wanting me. About beingsoldlike?—
"Do you think he will?" The younger voice sounds curious. Excited, even. "She's pretty enough, I suppose. For a human."
"Does it matter? She has no say in it either way." Fabric rustles—robes, maybe, or skirts. "Though I don't understand the appeal myself. Humans are so... breakable."
They move past, their conversation fading into something about market prices and imported silks. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out everything else. The teapot sits forgotten, steam still rising, while fear roots itself deep in my belly.
He could claim her if he wanted.
Daryn would sell her without protest.
The words circle like vultures. I know they're true. That's the worst part—knowing that my freedom, my body, my entire existence could be bought and transferred as easily as signing a document. Valas could walk in right now and announce he wants me, and there would be nothing I could do. No choice. No voice. No escape.
But beneath the fear, twisted and dangerous, lives something else. Something that makes my face burn with shame.
