I understand why she's pulling away. Logically, rationally, Iknowthat this is how someone like Keira—someone who's spent her whole life navigating exploitation—would react to suddenly being owned by the man she was starting to trust. She's always listened to her head more than her heart. Always been cautious, careful, protective of herself in ways that break me even as I admire them.
She probably thinks everything between us was a lie. That I was just playing the long game, making her feel safe so the eventual ownership would be easier.
The assumption guts me.
But I can't even tell her she's wrong. Can't explain that Daryn orchestrated this without my knowledge, that I'm going to dissolve the contract, that I never wanted to own her—because she won't let me near enough to speak.
And breaking a contract takes time. Weeks, maybe months depending on how Daryn structured it. I can get her freedom, can give her a choice, but it won't be immediate.
Even if I started the process today, we'd be stuck in this nightmare for a while.
Not that it matters. I can't talk to her about any of it if she won't open the door.
A thalivern flutters past, iridescent wings catching the light. I watch it land on one of Daryn's carefully cultivated brimbark plants. He used to say gardening kept him sane when court politics got too ridiculous. That there was something honest about dirt and growing things.
I miss him so much I can barely breathe.
Miss his laugh. His terrible sense of humor. The way he could read me better than I could read myself. The easy comfort of knowing someone understood exactly who I was and loved me anyway.
He was my brother in every way that mattered.
And now he's gone, and I'm sitting here falling apart, and I don't know how to?—
The door behind me opens.
I tense, hope and dread warring in my chest. Maybe Keira finally?—
But when I turn, it's not Keira standing in the doorway.
It's Amisra.
She looks so small. So fragile. Her silver hair is tangled, her dress rumpled, her pale lavender eyes huge in her thin face. For a moment she just stares at me, frozen on the threshold like she's not sure whether to run or stay.
Then recognition sharpens into something raw and hurt and she'srunning.
Straight toward me.
I barely have time to brace before she crashes into my chest, her small arms wrapping around my neck with desperate strength. The impact nearly knocks me backward off the bench. I catch her instinctively, pull her close, and shesobs.
Not the quiet, controlled crying I've heard through the door. This is full-bodied grief, wails that shake her entire frame, tears that soak through my shirt within seconds. She clings to me like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's crumbling beneath her.
"You were supposed to save him," she chokes out between sobs. "You promised—you said you'd make Papa better?—"
The words hit like physical blows. I hold her tighter, one hand cradling her head against my shoulder while the other rubs circles on her back. My own throat closes up, vision blurring.
"I know," I manage. My voice sounds wrecked. "I know, little bird. I'm so sorry."
"You're a healer!" She pulls back just enough to look at me, her face blotchy and wet. "You were supposed tofixhim! You said—you said you'd find a way?—"
"I tried." The confession cracks through me. "I tried everything I could think of. I wanted to save him more than anything in the world."
"But you didn't!" She hits my chest with one small fist, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make her point. "You didn't save him and now he'sgoneand I—I?—"
Her words dissolve into fresh crying. I gather her back against me, press my lips to the top of her head, and let her rage. Let her grieve. Let her blame me for failing at the one thing that mattered most.
Because she's right.
I didn't save Daryn. Couldn't. And now this child who I love like my own is orphaned and heartbroken and looking for someone to hold responsible.
