"Brother." So much love in that single word. "Let me... go."
"No." Valas shakes his head violently. "No, I promised I'd save you. I promised."
"You did... save me." Daryn's smile is peaceful despite the pain clearly wracking his body. "Gave me... months. Got to see... my daughter grow. Got to see you... two. More than... I deserved."
"Don't." Valas is crying now, tears streaming down his face unchecked. "Don't talk like that. You deserve everything. You deserve to see her grow up, to be there with her, to?—"
"Tell Amisra..." He swallows hard. "I'm sorry. That I... couldn't stay. But I'll... always watch over... her."
"Daryn." Valas' voice cracks completely. "Please. Please don't?—"
"Take care... of them." Daryn's gaze locks on Valas with fierce intensity. "Swear it."
"I swear." The words are barely intelligible through Valas' sobs. "I swear on everything I am. I'll protect them. I'll love them. I'll?—"
Daryn's hand goes slack in mine.
His chest rises one more time. Falls.
Doesn't rise again.
"No." Valas surges forward, both hands on Daryn's chest, magic blazing. "No, come back. Daryn, come back. Don't you dare?—"
But the light that had flickered in those silver-blue eyes is gone.
The warmth is already fading from his skin.
He's gone.
I watch Valas shatter. Watch this composed, brilliant, unshakeable healer crumble like sand. He bends over Daryn's body, one hand still clutching his friend's lifeless fingers, and the sound that tears from him is pure, devastating anguish.
"No, no, no." Over and over, a broken mantra. "Please. Please, I'll do anything. Just come back. Daryn, please."
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can only kneel there with my hand still on Daryn's chest, feeling the absence of a heartbeat, and watch the only man I've ever let in break apart.
13
VALAS
The numbness settles over me like frost—cold, crystalline, absolute.
I kneel beside Daryn's body long after the warmth has left his skin. Long after his eyes have filmed over with the milky veil of death. Long after the magic has drained from my hands, leaving them shaking and useless in my lap.
I had months to prepare for this moment.
Years, really, if I'm honest. I've watched hundreds of patients slip away. Held their hands as they crossed that final threshold. Spoken the ritual words of comfort to grieving families. Death is nothing new to me—I'm a healer, and death is the shadow that follows every healer's steps.
But this is Daryn.
This is my brother in everything but blood, and all the preparation in the world couldn't blunt the raw edge of this grief. It saws through my chest, leaving nothing but jagged wounds where my heart used to beat.
Someone—Keira, I think—eventually pulls me to my feet. Guides me from the study like I'm the one who's lost all strength. Maybe I have.
The rest of the day passes in fragments.
The servants preparing Daryn's body for the pyre, their movements efficient and reverent. Someone draping white silk over his face. Someone else pressing his favorite sword into his hands—the blade he hasn't been able to lift for months but kept polished anyway.
Amisra's screams when someone finally tells her. High and piercing and endless, they drill straight through my skull. Through my soul.
