And only shattered can they be remade.
He read it twice. Three times. Each time, his frown etched deeper. His mind was quiet as he handed the scroll back to Matheo, who placed it on the table, eyes wide.
Mariah slowly turned in her chair, tipping her chin up to meet Andrian’s gaze. A new emotion, one he knew she’d only come to know recently, shimmered in the depths of her eyes.
Fear.
She swallowed, fingers tightening into fists.
“Moon,” she finally said. “It said ‘moon.’”
It took him a moment to understand.
The prophecy spoke of a moon—singular. Not plural. Not the two that their world had.
The stories from his youth flashed through his mind. Of the legends his mother used to tell him. How their world hadn’t always had two moons and wouldn’t have them forever.
He’d believed them to be nothing more than stories. Hadn’t he? After all, he’d given Mariah a name tied to those very same stories.
He kept those thoughts to himself. He knelt beside Mariah, reaching for her hand.
“A bad translation,” he murmured. “Just some rambling old nonsense. Like everything else in this library.”
Mariah nodded, but a haze of doubt lingered over her gaze.
Andrian couldn’t lie that he didn’t feel the same.
“Look,all I’m saying is that while it’s beautiful here, it’s just too…pious. For me.” Matheo raised his hands in surrender. “Personal preference. Not meant to be an offense.”
Signe, sprawled across on the couches in Mariah and Andrian’s rooms, rolled her eyes. “Pious.” She scoffed. “You use that word like it’s an insult.”
“It’s not an insult. It’s just too quiet here.” Matheo slouched further into the chair.
Mariah chuckled. She was stretched out like a cat, her head resting in Andrian’s lap. He played idly with the dark strands of her hair, a smile tugging at his lips.
Dangerous. Her casual comfort with him was dangerous. That had always been the biggest risk with Mariah; no matter how hard he fought, he could never stay away from her. Could never keep his hands from making their way back to her skin.
It was an impossible urge, and one he’d given up fighting. If only to keep the other impulses at bay.
But even his control onthatfront was waning, and he knew it.
“You only say it’s quiet, Armature, because you’ve never left these rooms past sunset.” Signe leaned toward Matheo, her usual mischief sparkling in her violet eyes. “We are the people and followers of the God of Night. Do you really think we don’t come to life in the dark?”
Matheo narrowed his eyes. “Half of you call yourselves priests and priestesses.”
Signe nodded. “Yes. We do. But Callamus demands our loyalty, not for us to sacrifice our happiness.” She grinned. “The best of Leuxrith is found in his night.”
Matheo sat up in his chair. His expression changed, curiosity taking light in his eyes.
The younger Riqueti had never been able to resist a new adventure.
“What happens in Leuxrith after dark?”
Signe laughed, the sound light and breathy. “That’s the beauty of it. It’s the dark. No one sees, no one knows. We only sing and dance and feel andlive.”
Matheo was silent as he searched the priestess’s expression. The younger warrior’s fingers drummed on his thighs, like he was itching to move and was fighting to keep himself still.
Signe stood, padding to Matheo with an outstretched hand. Mariah sat up, silky hair slipping through Andrian’s fingers. He clenched them into a fist to keep from dragging her back.
