The flames of my rising anger incinerated my desire as I shook off the haunting memories threatening to choke me. I swatted Noctis’s fingers away from my face. “Do you find all of this amusing?” I growled.
“Baradaz, wait, what I meant was—”
I couldn’t do this anymore. If I had to look at him for one more moment, had to relive one more memory I had buried deep in my mind to hold on to my sanity, I was going to scream.
“Get out.” The words were a hiss. The desperate snarl of a wounded animal backed into a corner. “I need to be alone. Now.”
Noctis stared at me, hurt flickering in his eyes. It only fueled my anger, because he had no fucking right to it. Then he abruptly straightened, his expression hardening into an unfeeling mask. “As you wish, my queen.”
I should have felt satisfaction at the sight of him leaving, his bare feet nearly silent on the wooden floor. But I didn’t. I was tired. So tired, I thought I could sleep for a thousand years.
Three days after Vultaron’s attack, I had reached the end of my strength. Sitting at my kitchen table, I couldn’t even glance at my arm, knowing the sight that awaited me: a discolored wrist, swollen to nearly twice its normal size, throbbing with sharp, relentless pain. Using thelyr-stone again was out of the question. I had already done so yesterday, and it would take at least another day for its power to regenerate enough to cast another healing spell. The temptation to let my head sink onto the table and drift off to sleep was almost irresistible.
This wasn’t working. It just wasn’t working. Instead of the usual two hours, it had taken me nearly four to milk my araks that morning. I had done the bare minimum, only providing enough relief to them to prevent an infection, not caring that half of the bluish milk ended up on the barn floor instead of in the bucket. I couldn’t keep them inside the barn forever. Sure, I had managed to feed the chickens, but the henhouse needed cleaning, and there was a gap in the fence of the southern field that required mending.
I could ask Briseis or one of the young workers from the village for help, as I had during past illnesses or harvest seasons. But with Noctis here, I dared not risk it. Who knew what dangers his presence on the farm would conjure up next?
I was going to cry. The pressure built up behind my eyelids, my throat constricting as the first sob threatened to escape.
“Baradaz.”
I would not cry in front of Noctis. I refused to. With a monumental effort, I somehow kept the tears from spilling over.
He stood in the doorway, still disheveled but looking better, color back in his cheeks, steady on his feet. The most striking difference, however, was the expression in his eyes. They were alert, watchful, always fixed on me, assessing my every move, noting every sign of weakness. If I had let the glimpses of vulnerability when he was on the brink of death deceive me into thinking he was less dangerous without his powers, that misconception would have shattered then and there.
Things between us had shifted. Every moment we spent in the same room felt like treading on treacherous quicksand, one wrong move threatening to lead to disaster. With both of us trapped in mortal forms, Noctis had the upper hand, being taller and physically stronger. Unlike me, he had recovered well from his wound. Hownice of me to allow a deadly predator into my house and heal all its ailments to make it easier for it to devour me.
“I no longer go by that name. It is Rada now.” The words escaped me before I could contemplate what they would reveal.
His gaze roamed over me, every fiber of my being coming alive in sharp awareness. I knew he saw everything: the paleness of my skin, the dark shadows beneath my eyes, my slouched posture. The way I flinched every time my true name left his lips. Instead of revealing how much he still affected me, I should have accepted the constant stabs into my heart.
Another mistake. I just could not win with him. And wasn’t that the story of my entire existence? One ill-advised decision leading to the next. Now, I faced yet another. If I refused Noctis’s oh-so-generous offer to help with the farm, my animals would suffer.
But if I accepted…
If I accepted, he would be everywhere. Constantly. Invading my life. I would prefer him to stay in his room—a room I could lock and throw away the key.
He had me cornered, and judging by the expectant gleam in his eyes as he approached the table, the bastard knew it.
At least I had hidden the Chaosdagger after the Chiasma’s attack. A chill had run down my spine as I’d wrapped it in a thick cloth and carried it inside the house, placing it in a chest lined with unhallowedlyr-stone splinters that should keep its power from leaking out. I was tempted to throw the cursed thing into the stream at the edge of my lands, letting the water carry it away. But who could say which damned soul it would end up with? Objects of power have a mind of their own.
Keeping it here was not without its risks, either. Noctis’s bemused smile when I told him I had taken care of it warned me he wouldsearch for it at the first opportunity. If it didn’t lead the rest of his followers here before that. I knew I would have to deal with that threat at some point, but at the moment, it was more important to heal my wrist.
“Rada. Of course.” Another vexing smile was on Noctis’s face as he sat down opposite me. “I’ve been wondering about that. How is it that no one has recognized you? We are in the middle of nowhere, but people here prayed to you in the past, didn’t they?”
“Aramaz asked Enlial to weave a spell to hide my identity. Only those who were close to me can remember my face.” I kept my voice even, showing no emotion.
“Ah.” A glimmer in his gaze. “My brother. Always thinking of everything.”
Much to my surprise, Noctis did not launch into another frustratingly reasonable speech about why I should accept his help. He only continued to look at me with polite curiosity.
“Where do you keep your parchment and quill?”
“First cupboard on the left, next to the stove,” I answered, not really caring what he wanted with those. He would hardly weave his dark magic through handwritten letters. I watched absentmindedly as he stood up, retrieved the items, and returned to the table. He drew four lines on the paper, carefully labeling them with the distinct, sharp strokes of Aurean script. Even upside down, I could read our names over the last two columns.
“What chores do you have to do every day on the farm? And which ones are the most urgent?” he asked.
Too exhausted to resist any longer, I answered without hesitation, and he dutifully noted everything down, categorizing each task and assigning them between us. Should I hate or admire his efficient competence? Hate, definitely hate. It should not have surprised me.Noctis had once ruled over a vast realm that spanned across more than half of Aron-Lyr. He must have learned some things during that time.
