"I will." The words are out before conscious thought forms them, but they're true down to my marrow. "Whatever you need. Whatever she needs. I'll be there."
He looks at me then—really looks—and something in his expression softens. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've already started making arrangements. Legal guardianship documents, inheritance structures, all the tedious nobility nonsense. I want you named as her primary guardian when I'm gone."
"Done." My throat feels tight. "Of course. You don't even have to ask."
"I'm asking anyway." He reaches across the space between our chairs, grips my forearm in the warrior's clasp. "You're my brother in all but blood, Valas. You're the only one I trust with this."
I return the grip, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles. The weakness he's trying to hide. "We're going to fight this. I don't care what those healers said—there's always something. A ritual, a reagent,somethingthat can slow this down. Buy you time. I'm not letting you go without a fight."
The smile he gives me is sad and fond and grateful all at once. "I know you're not. But Valas... don't make promises you can't keep. Sometimes the Thirteen take us when they will, and all our magic can't stop it."
"Fuck the Thirteen," I say, and mean it. "I'm not giving up on you. Not now. Not ever."
We sit there in the gathering dark, holding onto each other like drowning men, and I swear to every god and demon listening that I'll find a way. I have to.
I have to.
I stay longerthan I intend, until the moons are high and the glowmoths have given way to nightbirds singing their ethereal songs. We don't talk more about the curse—there's nothing left to say that won't curdle the air between us—so instead, we drink and remember. Training yard mishaps. Disastrous romantic entanglements. The time Daryn convinced me to sneak into the khuzuth district library and we nearly got expelled for it.
By the time I rise to leave, I'm steadier. Not better—I won't be better until I've found a cure—but functional. Focused. I know what I need to do tomorrow: dive into every medical text I canfind, consult with specialists outside the city, call in every favor I'm owed.
Daryn walks me to the door, moving slower than he used to. The thought makes my chest ache.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For... all of it. For not treating me like I'm already gone."
"You're not gone." I clasp his shoulder, careful not to squeeze too hard. "You're right here, and you're going to stay here for a long time yet. I'll make sure of it."
He doesn't argue, but I see the skepticism in his eyes. The resignation. It makes me want to punch something.
Instead, I step out into the cool night air, breathing deep to clear the Amerinth fog from my head. I'm halfway down the front path when I hear voices—one bright and young, one lower and warm like honey poured over river stones.
"—and then Uncle Val said the spell would make flowers grow from myearsif I wasn't careful, but I think he was teasing because that's silly, isn't it?"
"Very silly," the second voice agrees, amusement threading through the words. "Though I'm sure Uncle Val knows many impressive things."
I round the garden hedge and stop short.
Amisra is there, silver-white hair catching the moonlight as she bounces on the balls of her feet. She's supposed to be asleep by now, but apparently, she's convinced her new caretaker to let her stay up to watch the nightbirds. Or perhaps the caretaker simply couldn't say no to those enormous lavender eyes.
Speaking of the caretaker...
She's human. That registers first—the warm umber skin, the distinctly mortal scent of her, the lack of magical resonance that marks all my kind. But it's everything else that catches and holds. Long chestnut hair braided over one shoulder, escaping in soft curls around a face dusted with freckles. Hazel eyes—green at the edges like moss after rain—that meet mine with immediate wariness.
She's dressed practically. Trousers and a tunic instead of the flowing dresses most humans wear when they work in dark elf homes. The fabric is worn but clean, and there's something about the way she holds herself—straight-backed, chin lifted despite the fear I can smell on her—that suggests this is a woman who refuses to be diminished.
"Uncle Val!" Amisra spots me and launches herself in my direction, all enthusiasm and zero coordination. I catch her automatically, swinging her up onto my hip even as I keep my eyes on the woman.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, little bird?"
"Keira said I could watch the nightbirds forfive more minutes." She holds up five fingers to demonstrate, as if I might have forgotten how counting works. "And then I have to go to sleep and dream about... what was it, Keira?"
"Adventures in faraway places," the human says softly. Her voice is gentle but there's steel underneath. She's watching me the way a nightbird watches the last of the glowmoths settle—ready to flee or fight depending on how I move. "Places where children listen when they're told it's bedtime."
Amisra giggles, entirely unbothered by the implied scolding. "Keira tells thebeststories. Better than anyone."
"High praise." I shift Amisra in my arms, hyperaware of the woman—Keira—and the way she's positioned herself. Not quite between me and Amisra, but close. Protective. Interesting. "I don't believe we've met."
"Keira Wynn." She inclines her head in a gesture that's respectful without being subservient. "I started last week. Lord Daryn hired me to help with Amisra."
