I go to her. “Cassy. It’s me.”
Her eyes dart to mine. Something flickers—recognition, regret—and then she looks away.
“The garden will burn,” she murmurs. “The veil will tear. He will rise. And fall.”
“Okay,” Mariel says carefully. “She’s getting creepier.”
I pull a blanket over Cassy’s legs and smooth a curl away from her brow. “I’ll stay tonight,” I say. “She shouldn’t be alone. If Keiren wants to know where I am, he can find me himself.”
But even as I sit, the air shifts. A pulse moves through stone and spell, subtle as a breath, undeniable as the tide. The draft down the corridor carries a thread of sound.
A whisper. A promise. Or a warning.
Chapter 32
Healing
The library decided to be helpful. By dusk, a small fortress of books circles the hearth—legends of dragons, lost gods, half-translated tomes. A few even hurl themselves from the shelves, landing at my feet as if mocking my desperation. I’ve spent the whole day scavenging their pages for answers, for anything that might break the curse. But all I find are riddles and contradictions.
I sit cross-legged beside the fire, smoke stinging my eyes, my mind a blur of ink and hopelessness. Outside, a storm rages. The wind howls as the rain beats against the mouth of Keiren’s cavern. My hair hangs loose, and my fingers tremble as I flip another useless page.
You will never be enough. You will never find what you seek,the darker part of me whispers.
“I swear,” I mutter, “if one more book tells me ‘true love’ is the cure, I’ll burn this whole library down.”
A soft laugh answers me, startling me from my reading. “Then it’s fortunate that the fire’s already lit.” His voice drifts through the room like a gentle caress.
Keiren leans in the doorway, sleeves rolled to his forearms, rain still threading through his dark hair.
“You’ve been at this all day,” he says, moving closer. “You should rest.”
“Rest won’t break a curse,” I reply with a sigh, turning to meet his gaze.
He nods and steps away from the wall to stand beside me, eyes flicking over the chaotic pile of scattered tomes. “With as much time as you spend in here, you’re in danger of becoming a permanent fixture.”
I give a humorless huff. “What, you’ll steal my soul and turn me into a lamp?”
He shrugs.
I squint. “Wait. Has that actually happened before?”
“Keiren?” I turn fully toward him now, unease creeping in. “Keiren …”
Silence.
My pulse jumps. “Keiren!”
His mouth finally curves—just faintly.
Realization slams into me. “You—”
“Relax,” he says smoothly. “I’m joking.”
“Bastard!” I shove his arm, then smack it again for emphasis. “That’s not funny.”
He laughs—warm and unguarded—and when I hit him again, my hand lands on his chest instead. This time, he doesn’t let me pull away.
His hand comes up, closing gently over mine, stopping it—and pressing my palm flat against his heart.
