“Read it, Fenrik.”
He snatched the paper, his coordination returning in a snap. He scanned the lines, his brow furrowing deeper with every word. The shadows around his collar lashed out.
”’I cannot let her know the truth,’“ he read, his voice devoid of inflection. He looked up, and for a second, his face was a mask of austere, marble stillness. “It’s my handwriting.”
“I know it’s your bloody handwriting, I want to know when you wrote it. I want to know if you were laughing when you sent for me. Just another tool for the collection? Something to use up and discard before the curse took you?”
“I didn’t...” He squeezed his eyes shut, the paper crumpling in his fist. “I don’t remember writing this.”
“So you said. How convenient. Does the beast eat your memories, or just your conscience?”
“I don’t remember!” He roared it and surged to his knees, looming over me, and the air in the corridor turned frigid. Frost cracked across the stones.
I scrambled back, my heart hammering. He looked monstrous then, truly monstrous. His lips pulled back from his teeth, sweat slicking his pale skin, the silver cracks on his face glowing.
“I try,” he gasped, one hand clawing at his temple as if to dig the memory out. “I try to find the moment, but it’s... it’s smoke. It’s ash.”
“Try harder,” I challenged, though my hands were shaking. I hated him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him. I hated that I wanted that. “If you didn’t write it, tell me. Look me in the eye and tell me.”
He looked at me. And then his eyes rolled back. The shadows on the floor reared up, solidifying into distinct, serpentine shapes that hissed. Fenrik slammed his forehead against the stone floor, a sound of agony tearing from his throat.
“Stop it,” I reached for him, but he snarled, actually snarled, and slashed a hand through the air between us.
“Get back!” he choked out. “Don’t you see what I am? Run, you stupid girl. Run before I finish what I started upstairs.”
“You didn’t start anything,” I said, my voice trembling. “You stopped. You barely touched me, then you ran away like a coward.”
He lifted his head, panting. The look he gave me was pure, unadulterated venom. “I stopped because I am trying to keepyou alive. Though why I bother, given your determination to walk into the fire, is a mystery even the library couldn’t solve.”
“Maybe I like the fire,” I shot back.
“Then burn alone.” He shoved himself upright, staggering, using the wall for support. He looked at the letter in his fist, then at me, his expression darkening.
“If this letter says I am a monster who used you, then perhaps you should believe it. It would be safer for both of us.”
He remembers,I realized.He remembers writing this, and he can’t bear to say it.The shadows twisting at his feet weren’t some external curse attacking him. They were his own conscience, finally choking him. He hadn’t brought me here to save him. He’d brought me here as a lamb for the slaughter, hoping my gift would silence the monster inside his chest long enough for him to pretend he was human.
“You’re right. It is safer to believe the letter. Because the letter is the only honest thing you and your house have given me.”
I stood there, clutching the damned letter, my chest heaving as I watched the silver light fade from Fenrik’s eyes, leaving him grey and hollowed out.
“Oh, Fenrik.” The voice was soft, slipping from the shadows at the end of the hall.
I jerked around, because I hadn’t heard footsteps. Not a rustle of fabric, not even a breath. Lady Kelda Morvain materialized from the gloom of the corridor, her pale green robes crisp amidst the dust and rubble the house had shaken loose. She didn’t even look at me, her focus was entirely on him. Shemoved with grace, closing the distance between them looking for all the world like an angel descending into a pit.
“I’ve got you,” she said, catching his weight against her slight frame with surprising strength. “Easy, now.”
Fenrik didn’t pull away. He let out a broken sound.
“Kelda?” he said, the name slurring.
“I’m here. Just breathe.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the cut on his forehead where he’d struck the stone. Only then did she turn her eyes toward me. There was no gloating triumph. Just a profound, weary pity that felt like a slap across the face.
“You should step back, Miss Emberlin,” she said, her voice intimate. “Your aura is... agitating him.”
“Agitating him?” I bristled, taking a step forward despite the warning bells ringing in my head. My own hands were stained with ink and sweat, and I felt wild and unkempt next to her. “I am the only one who has been able to stop the shadow. I stabilized the wyrmling and I stabilizedhim.”
“Did you?” Kelda tilted her head, a crease marring her brow. She shifted her grip on Fenrik, her fingers pressing into the pressure points of his neck. Shadows curled around her wrist, docile. “Look at him, my dear. Truly look.”
