Strange how the silence inside me matches the room. Also the warmth, a languid unfurling in the center of my chest, like a coal less hidden beneath ash.
It’s a terrifying, fragile thing. Probably best cut clean off like these dead blooms because…how can I harbor warmth for someone who wronged me so many times? Who lied to me? Who threatened my soul and prowls around my brother’s?
And yet…and yet the warmth persists, kindled from how I witnessed a side of Vale he never showed before, capable of warmth, of kindness…perhaps even compassion. Or maybe I just never looked closely before?
Sighing, I prune a stem an inch below where it started to brown, letting the quiet hum around me. No, nipping it in the bud isn’t an option. Not if I want to break this curse once and for all, which requires the opposite.
Nurturing it.
That warmth answers the thought like it has a vote in this matter, spreading deeper.Necessary,it seems to whisper, curling through my ribs with a stubborn little pulse that feels unearned yet refuses to leave.
Ihave to love Vale.
I have to love Death.
Something I called impossible, but…now I’m not sure anymore.“Don’t hallucinate virtues in me,”he warned, but the fact is that he has them. Death might huff a little, but he does honor bargains. More than once, he showed restraint when he could’ve easily overpowered me. His humor is dry enough to scrape, and it matches mine so well it annoys me. When he isn’tbusy lying, he’s actually honest in a way that hurts. And when he deals hurt? Well, the way hedoesapologize out-skills me by leagues.
I slice through another stem, petals fluttering to the ground as dark red as that heartstring I saw in his chest. Once the curse breaks—once the crown shatters and returns his heartstring—could he love again? Could he kiss me the way he did in the orphanage and feel more than lust? Could he love?—
My throat tightens in an unfamiliar way, so I don’t let myself finish that question. For now, it’s?—
“Elara…”
At the sound of Vale’s voice, I rise and turn around, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth unprompted. It dies instantly.
Vale stands beside an iron column, hands clasped behind his back, his body strung so tight the tension radiates across the humid air between us. He shifts his weight from one boot to the other—a restless, jagged movement.
I step toward him, brown linen sticking to my skin as my clasp tightens around the pruning knife. “What’s wrong?”
One hand comes forward, clutching his ocean blue vest, fingers digging into the velvet. He doesn’t look at me. He looks at the floor. At his boots. At a pebble. Anywhere but my face.
“Another broken toy needs mending?” I ask, forcing a light tone I don’t feel, trying to mask the sudden spike of panic in my gut. “Is it your heartstring? Do you?—”
“Go to him.”
The words land softly, and still my muscles tense. “What?”
Vale’s jaw tightens. His hand lifts again to his chest, presses once—hard—then drops as if he’s barely steadying himself. “Daron. You must go to him. Now.”
A cold pulse travels through my body, starting at my chest and sliding down my spine to my knees, turning my legs into something too loose to trust.
For a moment I can’t move.
I can only stare at him.
“Why?” I ask, the word stupid and numb. “He’s fine. I saw him earlier. He’s doing much better. Has for days now.”
Vale doesn’t respond.
My fingers clench around the knife until the handle bites into my palm. The sun overhead is suddenly too bright, too hot. Why isn’t he saying anything?
“Daron’s been doing better,” I repeat, louder, as if volume can make it true. “Not cured, I…I know that. But…he’s been awake. Talking. Eating a little. Jesting.”
“Miss Hampshire cannot find your mother. Your brother is…” He shakes his head. A slow, tortured movement. “He’s alone. Elara, he…is waiting.”
“I-I don’t understand why you’re—” The air in the greenhouse thickens, turning me hot, turning me dizzy. “Waiting for what? What is he wait?—”
“For me.”
