“Of course,” I huffed, mirroring her position.
“And what did he say?”
“It’s complicated,” I mocked his deep, velvety voice as best I could.
A laugh burst out of my friend. I couldn’t help but join her, a smile finally blooming on my face.
“He did give me something important though. After what happened, I honestly thought he wouldn’t.” I sighed. Even then, the astringent taste of virelthorn lingered on my tongue. A promise that no matter what happened between my mate and me, I wouldn’t See. Death and doom wouldn’t haunt me like a specter in the forest.
“Another vial?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, like she didn’t want to speak the word aloud because the stone was spying.
“Yes,” I murmured, attention flicking around the room and landing on the light leaking below the door. If anyone was listening, we would have sensed them on the fringes of our awareness.
I scooted toward the headboard to prop myself up just in case the shadow of boots passed by with the morning rituals fast approaching.
Heraphia shuffled to sit beside me, color returned to her cheeks. She no longer appeared so exhausted; instead, a glint sparked in her irises—a manic, crazed light that knotted my insides. “You need to keep manipulating him, Sylaira. It’s clear he’s willing to do anything to have you. We can use that to getout of here. To find Zuriel again. The three of us can go back into hiding.”
The desperation in her words shone clearer than the skies over the vast southern lakes. But could I blame her? Zuriel and Heraphia didn’t share a mating bond, but they loved each other with a depth that rivaled oceans.
The female sitting beside me was so different from the one I’d run with all those weeks ago. And yet, she was still my sister—even if not by blood. This place, this situation, the separation, all of it was taking a toll on her—at least that was the lie I fed myself.
“But our bond will always lead him straight to me. We’d never be safe.” My voice cracked on the last word. Not to mention that even now, after he’d hurt me, the idea of doing what his father had done to him still didn’t settle well into my bones.
“Maybe he would let you go,” she offered, hope highlighting her lifted brows.
But there was none left in me about my situation. “I’m shackled. There will never be freedom again for me.” I grasped her hands in mine. “But I promise, Heraphia, I will do what I can to get him to let you go so that you can reunite with Zuriel. You don’t deserve any of this.”
“Neither do you.” Her eyes softened, and the corner of her mouth dipped down. “I will help you however I can. Maybe I can share some of my visions with you so that you don’t have to have them. We have quotas. I usually meet mine within a few days. Whatever I have left, I will whisper to you in the dark so no one suspects anything.”
Hot salt pricked the back of my nose again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Let’s hope it never has to come to that again. That somehow Zahal Ishim defeats the Demons on his nextcampaign and neither of us are forced to See again. Maybe you’ll even find you can live with your fated mate.”
She released my hands, and I tucked my long hair behind my ears. “After everything he’s done? I’m not so sure.” But even as I spoke the words, they tasted like ash. All of the good things he told me—about saving Ilae’s clutch, forgoing tithes, and more—emerged from the back of my mind. Along with all the glimmers of his trauma he’d shared.
The Issaraeth was an enigma, a complicated male, and not entirely the villain I had thought he was.
But he still killed people I loved. Hunted us down like we were animals. Commanded me to do things against my will.
And as I climbed out of Heraphia’s bed to prepare for my day, my discordant thoughts pelted me like hail.
Because I knew one thing for certain: when I went to the healer’s again, the Issaraeth would be there.
And I didn’t know whether seeing him again would infuriate me—or break me.
38
The Issaraeth hadn’t come for me in two days. Our bond scorched my ribs for every inhale without him by my side. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. The pain of his absence was nauseating.
The only saving grace was that I knew he was suffering too. The maelstrom of his emotion raged down our bond at all hours. I let mine storm with it.
As I dragged myself out of bed, world spinning and stomach churning, all I could think about was our last conversation. Over and over, it replayed. The angry words I’d flung to wound him. The ones he’d gouged me with.
Violence wasn’t only physical, I’d learned.
The Issaraeth had shown me that. Had shattered this illusion that I was peaceful. That I was good. That my values were righteous.
I didn’t know who I was anymore.
