Shadeau
Séraphine’s voice lingered in my mind, the way it had shifted when she spoke his name, and unease coiled tighter in my chest. I wondered what kind of man—or creature—Maître Vesper truly was. She had spoken of him with a mixture of caution and familiarity, but that told me little. I didn't know who was, but I knew I couldn’t leave here without the eye.
A plan was already forming, even as my chest ached and the weight of uncertainty bore down. I’d get him back to the ship—back where the crew could help him, where he could rest and recover and not bleed out in some forgotten alley of Shadeau. Then I’d come back.
I’d return for the Eye. For the truth. For whatever pieces of myself might still be buried here.
I turned to Alaric. "I’ll get you back to the ship—then I’m coming back for the Eye."
His jaw tensed instantly. "No."
No.The word scraped something raw inside me. He said it like he always did—final, immovable, assuming my choices were his to approve or deny. I’d spent my entire life being told what to do. When to sing. When to kneel. When to be quiet and grateful andless. Now Alaric did the same thing with concern and that relentless gaze and a voice that dared me to argue. I hated it. I hated the way he tried to cage me, like fear gave him the right to decide my limits. I wasn’t some fragile thing he needed to lock away from the dark corners of the world. And if the Eye waited in Shadeau, then I would go and take it, whether he liked it or not. I was not asking for permission.
"It’s too risky," he ground out, halting in place. "We don’t even know if the Eye is actually here. For all we know, Séraphine could’ve been wrong, or worse—lying."
"You don’t trust her." I said.
He laughed bitterly. "I know her. That’s worse."
"We can’t leave without it."
Alaric shook his head. "If the Eye is in Vesper’s hands, do you really think he’ll just let you walk in and take it?"
"No," I admitted. "But we don’t have a choice."
"We always have a choice," he snapped, then grimaced, pressing a palm to his side like the words had cost him. "And I’m notletting you run headfirst into whatever trap has been laid while I’m rotting on the deck of the Marrow."
I stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. "I can do it. You just have to trust me."
His eyes met mine—storm-dark, unyielding. "It’s not you I don’t trust, Nerina. Don’t make me stand here and watch you sacrifice yourself for something that might not even be real."
We stood there in the street, the weight of too many truths pressing in around us. Alaric’s shoulders were drawn tight, his posture rigid in a way that felt forced. But I wasn’t going to walk away from this. Not now. Not when we were this close. Just as I opened my mouth to speak—for a moment, I thought he could read my mind—
He looked at me, wounded and furious. “No more pawns. No more bargaining chips,” he said, his voice strained around the edges. “There are other ways to get what we want—there has to be.”
I stared at him, unsure if the sudden rush in my chest was anger or something more fragile. “If I walk away now, I will lose more than a relic. I lose answers. We lose the Black Marrow. I lose you.”
The words still echoed in my head, raw and trembling. I wasn’t sure if he’d heard them—if he’d felt the weight behind them—but part of me hoped he had. And part of me feared what it meant if he hadn’t. That thought gutted me more than I wanted to admit. He challenged me, infuriated me, terrified me… but he lookedat me like I was something real. Something worth saving. Worth protecting.
“I’m not bargaining with more of your blood—and neither are you,” he snapped, the words tearing out of him as they bounced down the alley. He turned away abruptly, staggering half a step before catching himself, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
“You don’t understand,” he said, spinning back to me. His face had become pale, sweat beading at his temple despite the cold. “The kind of magic she deals in—it isn’t just a parlor trick.” His shoulders hitched, like something inside him twisted hard enough to steal his breath. “Blood magic remembers. It binds.”
His voice dropped, dangerous and urgent. “And it never stops taking.”
I blinked, taken aback by the heat in his voice—and the way his hand curled at his side, fingers flexing like he was fighting pain he refused to show. “She only took a little.”
“And that little is enough for someone like Séraphine,” he shot back. A tremor rippled through him this time, unmistakable, before he forced himself still. “Blood is power. Especially yours. Who knows what she could do with even a drop? What she might already be doing.”
I crossed my arms. “Then what do you suggest we do? Sit here until Vesper kicks the door in?”
Alaric turned, bracing one hand briefly against a stone wall.
“We will search the city,” he said tightly. “Quietly. Carefully. No more blood. And no more deals.” He paused, shuddering once before he straightened. “But first we rest.”
I hesitated, watching the line of his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw.
"What happened between you and Séraphine?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them—born of selfishness and jealousy as much as curiosity. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know the answer.
