So I do. I tell him about the study, about how she'd finally stopped running. About the sounds she made and the way she fell apart and how I'd wanted to keep going until dawn.
He listens with evident enjoyment, making commentary that's equal parts crude and insightful. Laughing when I describe her stubborn refusal to give in easily, nodding knowingly when I admit how badly I want more.
"You really want her." Not a question.
"Yes." No point denying it. Not to him, not now. "I think I have since the beginning."
"I know." Smug satisfaction. "Why do you think I kept pushing?"
"Meddling bastard."
"Always." He yawns, exhaustion pulling at his features. "Stay?"
"Of course."
I settle deeper into the chair, still holding his hand, and we talk. Not about illness or death or futures cut short. Just... talk. Like we have for years.
He tells me about the first time he held Amisra, how terrified he'd been that he'd break something so small and perfect. I tell him about the disaster with the merchant's son last month, the one who'd insisted his rash was demon-cursed until I'd explained what poison ivy looked like.
We reminisce about training days, about the instructor who'd nearly expelled us both for that prank with the animated training dummy. About the first time Daryn had gotten properly drunk on amerinth and tried to fight a statue.
Hours slip past. The lamp burns lower, shadows growing long across the walls. His voice gets softer, words coming slower, but he keeps talking. Keeps laughing.
And I realize with horrible clarity that this is it.
This is goodbye.
Not tonight—he's not that close to the edge yet. But this moment, this conversation, this easy companionship we've shared for decades. It's ending. The next time we sit together like this, he'll be weaker. The time after that, weaker still.
Until one day there won't be a next time.
"Val?" His voice is barely a whisper now, eyes drifting closed. "Thank you. For everything. For trying so hard."
"I wish I could've?—"
"I know." His hand squeezes mine one last time. "But this isn't a failure. You gave me time. Gave me months I wouldn't have had otherwise. Months to prepare, to make plans. To see you fall for someone worthy of you."
The tears come now, silent and unstoppable. I let them fall, no longer caring about composure.
"Sleep." I keep my voice steady through sheer force of will. "I'll be here."
"Always are." The words slur together, consciousness fading. "My brother. My best friend."
"Always will be." I whisper it to the quiet room. "Even after. Always."
His breathing evens out, deepening into the shallow rhythm of sleep. I sit there in the darkness, holding the hand of the person I love most in this world, and finally let myself grieve.
Not for what I've lost yet. But for what I know I'm going to lose.
And there's nothing—not all my training, not all my magic, not every remedy and spell and prayer—that can stop it.
12
KEIRA
The past two weeks have been a study in contrasts—grief hovering like storm clouds on the horizon while something bright and terrifying blooms in my chest.
Valas.
