“Thank you,” I murmur. “For that and for everything else. For saving me. For taking care of me. For not pushing me even when you could have.”
His smirk softens into something gentler. “Well,” he says, voice low and amused, “you’re not the easiest person to take care of, but I suppose it’s been worth it.”
Before I can respond, Ravelle laughs. “Not the easiest? She’s impossible. Remember when she nearly burned down that cottage in the Roxlem mountains when she got sick?”
“Hey! You knocked over those candles, not me.”
“Semantics.” Ravelle waves it off, then leans closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “Though, I’ll bet you give that human boy even more trouble than you give us.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Ravelle, can we not—”
“Not talk about Koen?” she cuts in sweetly, savoring every syllable.
Dimitri huffs a laugh that almost seems forced.
Ravelle gasps, delighted. “Oh, Dima, look…she’s blushing. Stars above, Ren. You can hide from him all you want, but you might want to work on this,” she says as she waves her hand in front of my face, “before you see him again.”
“Goddess help me. Can you bothstop?” I groan,dragging a hand over my face.
“Don’t worry. Dimitri is the same. I’m always catching him making eyes at me.”
“Making eyes at you?” Dimitri repeats dryly.
She smirks, flicking her hair back. “Don’t look so offended, darling. You practically sparkle whenIwalk into a room.”
He shakes his head, chuckling, and I laugh despite the heat still in my cheeks. I missed this. I missedthem.
The guilt hits me hard then, like a sudden crack in the ice beneath my feet, threatening to swallow me whole. I watch Dimitri smile, the same familiar grin, and my heart twists.What am I doing?How can I sit here, laughing with them, when I haven’t even begun to forgive him for the part he played in Kallan’s death? He hasn’t even apologized. Then again, what difference would it make? A hollow apology wouldn’t bring Kallan back.
The rest of the meal passes in silence. If they notice the change in me, they don’t say anything. A part of me is grateful for that. That conversation would be too heavy for tonight. The air between us feels thick, like they are pretending it’s still the way it was before—when none of this was a reality.
The moment we rise from the table, I feel the urge to escape, to breathe air that isn’t thick with unspoken memories. Dimitri and Ravelle linger behind, still talking softly, but their voices fade as I walk the familiar corridor toward the library.
It’s quieter at night. The fire in the nearest brazier burns low, leaving the air smelling faintly of cedar and old parchment. I move another stack of brittle tomes onto the long oak table,careful not to let them tumble.
The oldest records are always the most temperamental. Some refuse to be read unless coaxed with the right magic. I mutter a quiet unlocking spell, and the cracked spine opens with a sigh. Most of the texts were written in a script that predates my kingdom. Some, I can read. Others need Dimitri’s translations.
Tonight, though, I work alone. I scan another page—more scattered references of the Vorthari, more useless court records from centuries ago. But then, in the margin of a crumbling ledger, I catch a single phrase.
Roxnos’slast covenant, sealed in the depths of Gravenholme.
I pull the book closer, dying to know more. No maps of that region survived, only sketches of coastlines swallowed by water, a city reduced to broken spires beneath the waves. In every record, Gravenholme was tied to the same symbol: a four-pointed star or compass split between dark and light—each point featuring a constellation-like design.
Brushing my fingers over the ink, my pulse quickens.
It’s obvious that Gravenholme is the cursed lands where the second trial took place. I just can’t find information on what happened.
I close the book, staring at the flickering shadows cast by the brazier. My fingers twitch. Too many questions tangle in my mind. What happened to break the bond between gods? Did any Vorthari survive? Or are they truly extinct?
The library feels alive around me. My shadows seem to curl closer, patient and expectant, as if they are aware I am closing in on something important. I close my eyes, leaningback against the chair.
“You know,” a voice drawls from the doorway, “if you stay in here much longer, you’ll turn into a shadow that smells like parchment.”
“You’re blocking the light, Dimitri.”
He saunters in, every step measured, blond hair glinting softly in the pale-blue glow of the moonlight spilling through the high library windows.
Dimitri’s silver eyes sweep over the books piled around me like barricades. “I thought I’d check to make sure you were still alive. Or…whatever it is you fae call this state when you haven’t moved in hours.”
