I don’t look back when I walk away, Nyssa falling into step behind me as we leave the courtyard and Keres behind—but I can feel his eyes trailing after me, heavy as an oath.
The halls feel colder now,the usual hum of the palace replaced by an uneasy stillness. Shadows stretch under the faint glow of auras, and every scuff against floor beneath our feet feels deafening in the silence as we race back to our chambers. By the time we reach our sanctuary, my legs are trembling under the weight of all that just happened.
Of all that it means.
Nyssa closes the door to my room behind us, then rounds on me, her face pale and her brows knit tightly. She doesn’t speak at first. Instead, she studies me, her eyes flitting over the blood smeared on my skin, the cuts marring my forearms, and the tension coiled in every line of my frame.
“You’re not fine,” she says finally, her voice soft but laced with urgency.
I collapse onto the edge of my bed, burying my head in my hands as waves of exhaustion crash over me. “I’m still standing. That’s…something.”
She crosses the room in two strides and sits beside me, her weight shifting the mattress enough to make me look up. “Aella.” Her voice edges on sharp, a rare crack in her usual air of control. “What just happened out there—the blood, the chaos…” She exhales sharply, shaking her head like she’s trying to banish the scene from her mind. “None of us were ready for this. And Zina—”
I cut her off before she can say it. “I know.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “I know, Nyssa.”
Her expression softens as she takes my hand, guiding me to the bathing chamber. Kneeling beside the tub, Nyssa works with calm precision, her hands steady as she fills it with warm water. She steps out to give me privacy, leaving me to soak in the soothing heat, which melts away the lingering chill in my limbs. When she returns, she carries a bundle of supplies. I dry myself off and pull on a robe before she sets to work, methodically cleaning the cuts on my arms and carefully tending to the deeper ones.
“You’re lucky none of these need stitches,” she says, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes remain focused.
“It turns out Cynna is more capable than I thought.” I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my shoulders loosening ever so slightly under her care.
Nyssa doesn’t respond right away. She finishes wrapping a bandage around my hand, then looks at me, her expression unreadable. “The way you looked at me tonight,” she says after a moment, “like some self-sacrificing heroine—you will never look at me like that again, Aella Sotiría. I’m not certain of the reason, but I can make an educated guess. What I need you to understand is that your life, your well-being, and your sanity also mean more to me than my own.”
Her words hang in the air, leaving me speechless as she packs away the supplies, her movements slow and intentional. I just watch her, the weight of the night pressing down on me. But her presence feels like an anchor, pulling me back piece by piece as the silence lingers.
Eventually, Nyssa breaks it. “You need rest,” she says, her voice steady and commanding in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I know what you’re thinking, and it can all wait until morning. You won’t get answers tonight by tearing yourself apart. Just…sleep, Aella.”
I want to tell her that sleep isn’t what waits for me in the darkness—that the moment I close my eyes, I’ll be back on the stage, in the chaos, watching consciousness slip from Cynna’s wild eyes or hearing Lydia’s screams, again and again. Instead, I nod. It’s a motion both hollow and desperate, a lie I wish could be the truth.
Nyssa studies me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. Then, as if she understands the words I can’t bring myself to say, she presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s brief, but in it, I feel the weight of her affection, her need to shield me from a storm that’s already passed but still rages inside me.
“Good night,” she says simply, her tone softening as she takes a step back. She moves toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “And, Aella, if you need me—if the silence becomes too loud—just call. I’m here.”
I try to smile, but it’s weak. She doesn’t wait for a reply, slipping out of the room and closing the door softly behind her.
Nyssa’s words echo in the room’s silence long after the door clicks shut behind her.
I’m here.
A promise of comfort, of stability, yet it feels like a lifeline I can’t reach for. My chest tightens as the memories press in—Cynna pinned beneath me, the blood pooling beneath Zina’s lifeless body, Keres’s unyielding gaze. No warm bath or bandages can salve wounds like these, the ones no one can see yet hurt more than anything physical.
The shadows press at the edges of my vision, the faint glow of moonlight from the window doing little to keep them at bay. My eyes drift to the nightstand beside my bed—the same drawer that holds the small vials of somniseed I swore not to touch again. But tonight, the pull is stronger than it has been in weeks, a siren’s call promising relief from the endless cycle of reliving choices and regrets that cut deeper than any blade.
I rise to my feet without realizing it, my body acting on its own as I move toward the drawer. My fingers curl around the handle but stop, frozen. A part of me knows it’s not rest that the somniseed offers. Not truly. It’s silence—a numbing, blissful quiet that feels so tempting when the world is too loud.
My hand hovers there, trembling above the drawer for what feels like an eternity, until a knock sounds at the door—a sharp, deliberate sound that finally forces me to take a step back.
When I open the door, Raven stands just outside, his gaze sweepingover me with unnerving precision. His lips press into a thin line, his usually sharp features softened by something unreadable.
“I watched the trial,” he says, wasting no time.
“Of course you did.” My voice carries a bite I don’t mean, but exhaustion dulls my filter.
“I’m not here to lecture you,” Raven counters smoothly, his brows drawing together. “Just to make sure you’re not about to shatter.”
I blink at him, startled by the bluntness of his words. “What makes you think I’m not fine?”
“Because I know you better than that.” He steps closer, his eyes burning into mine, searching for something beneath the surface. His hand comes up, his fingertips brushing across the dressings on my forearm. The gesture is gentle, but the touch sends a ripple through me, unseating the composure I’ve been clinging to.
