"You're brooding." Daryn's voice interrupts my thoughts, weak but laced with familiar amusement. "That face you make when you're mentally berating yourself for failing."
I look up from the book I've been pretending to read. Research notes from a healer in Ter, promising techniquesinvolving moon magic and blood rituals. I'd tried three of them already. None worked.
"I'm not brooding."
"You absolutely are." He shifts in his chair, the movement costing him more energy than it should. His silver hair catches the lamplight, duller than it used to be. Everything about him is duller now—the brightness slowly draining away like water through cupped hands. "Tell me it's not about me."
"Of course it's about you." I close the book, frustration sharpening my tone. "I got the latest remedy from Ter two weeks ago. You're not improving, Daryn. If anything, you're?—"
"Declining. I know." He says it so calmly. Like we're discussing the weather instead of his imminent death. "But you're doing everything you can. More than anyone should expect."
"It's not enough."
"It's everything." His silver-blue eyes pin me in place. "And you know what else I've noticed? You've been smiling more lately. Actually smiling, not that grim determination you usually wear around here."
I blink at the subject change. "What does that have to do with?—"
"Keira." Daryn's smile turns knowing, infuriating. "She's been different with you. Softer. Lingering when she brings Amisra around. Actually talking to you instead of fleeing like you're contagious."
Heat creeps up my neck. "I don't know what you're implying."
"Yes, you do." He laughs, the sound rough but genuine. "She brought Amisra to see me yesterday and you were there, remember? Going over those notes about the blood ritual. She stayed for nearly half an hour, asking you questions aboutyour research. Listening when you explained the theory behind sympathetic magic."
I'd noticed. Of course I'd noticed. The way she'd leaned forward slightly when I talked, hazel eyes focused on my face. How she'd asked intelligent questions that proved she was actually paying attention. The soft smile she'd given me when Amisra climbed into my lap and demanded I tell her a story about the Thirteen.
"She was being polite," I say, though I don't believe it.
"She was being interested." Daryn shifts again, wincing. I move to help him but he waves me off. "In you. Specifically. And you're an idiot if you don't pursue that."
"I'm pursuing it slowly. At her pace." I set the book aside, leaning forward with elbows on my knees. "She's finally talking to me, Daryn. Actually giving me a chance instead of avoiding me. I'm not going to rush her and ruin it."
"Good." His approval is immediate. "That's exactly right. But don't wait forever either. Life is—" He stops, something dark crossing his face. "Shorter than we think. Don't waste time being afraid."
The words hit harder than they should. Because he's right. Time is running out, and not just for him. For all of us. For whatever fragile thing is building between Keira and me before reality crashes back in and reminds her why trusting a dark elf is dangerous.
"I'm not afraid," I lie.
"Liar." But he's smiling. "Go home, Val. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow and we'll try whatever new torture you've dreamed up."
I should argue. Should stay and monitor him through the night like I've been doing more and more lately. But he looks tired—that bone-deep exhaustion that comes from fighting alosing battle—and I recognize the dismissal for what it is. His way of protecting me from watching him suffer.
"Tomorrow," I agree quietly.
I gather my things, checking his breathing one last time before I leave. The walk through the house is familiar now, my feet finding the path without conscious thought. Past the sitting room where afternoon light had made Keira's hair glow amber and gold. Past the kitchen where we'd shared tea and terrible jokes. Past Amisra's room where?—
Laughter drifts from outside. High and bright and unmistakably Amisra's. I detour toward the garden entrance, drawn by the sound, and find them illuminated by moonlight.
Keira and Amisra, playing some elaborate game that involves running in circles and dramatic gestures. The little girl's silver hair streams behind her like starlight, her face alight with joy. And Keira?—
Keira is beautiful.
The moon catches on her chestnut hair, turning the brown to gold through frost. She's laughing, actually laughing, as Amisra demands she play the monster trying to catch her. Her cheeks are flushed pink, either from exertion or the cold—probably both, given how she's rubbing her arms periodically.
It's a little cool out here. The kind of autumn evening that carries a bite beneath its beauty. And I know Amisra. Know how she'll drag out playtime for as long as Keira allows, heedless of temperature or exhaustion or anything beyond her own enjoyment.
I watch them for another moment, committing the scene to memory. This moment of happiness in the middle of everything dark and dying. Then I step out into the garden.
"Uncle Val!" Amisra spots me immediately, abandoning her game to barrel toward me. I catch her mid-launch, swinging her up into my arms.
