“Lady Ilyra,” I murmur. “Can you hear me?”
It doesn’t take long. A whisper weaves through the air, a note of music no louder than a breath. Then moonlight and stardust scatter beside me, coalescing into the shape of a female. She bows low, her form flickering at the edges.
“My Prince,” Ilyra says. “Are you well? Have you found her?”
“Yes.” Just saying it aloud fills my chest with something close to peace.
Amara is here. She's safe. For now.
“That is wonderful news. Will you return to the Sundered Kingdoms?”
“We sail for the Untold Sea now. If all goes well, we’ll reach you before the hunter’s moon.” My voice lowers. “Lady Ilyra... do we still hold our territories?”
“Yes, Prince Daedalus,” she replies, her voice a shiver in the wind. “But we await your return. The days grow darker.”
I nod. “Hold fast. I’m coming.”
The wind rises, and her form dissolves, scattering like petals on a breeze until nothing remains.
I descend quietly to the cabin below. The room is dim, lit only by the warm orange flicker of a lone candle near the bed. Amara sits with our daughter in her arms, nursing her with tender focus. She looks up when she hears me enter.
“She’s hungry again,” she says softly.
I nod, letting the warmth of the moment ground me. “Good. She’ll grow strong.”
I move to sit at the edge of the bed, but before I can, Ashen hops up, small as an armful tonight, circling once before curling into a ball exactly where I would have sat.
He doesn’t spare me so much as a glance. Still sulking, no doubt, over being banished back to the void. But as soon as Amara asked, I bought him right back. That doesn’t seem to have changed anything.
I frown. “No room for me, then?”
It’s almost a joke. Almost. But Amara doesn’t laugh. Her gaze drops to the baby at her breast.
“There’s a cot,” she says, nodding toward the corner where a lonely hammock sways gently with the motion of the ship.
I wait for her to smirk, to glance at me sideways with teasing eyes. But there’s no smile. No softness.
“You want me to sleep there?” I ask.
Still, she doesn’t look at me. She watches our daughter instead, her fingers brushing a dark curl from the infant’s brow while Ashen snores quietly at her feet.
“For tonight. If that’s alright.”
A dozen responses catch in my throat, none of them right. If my wife wants space, she shall have it. But I’ve faced war and monsters and the void itself, and nothing has ever cut as deep as this: knowing she doesn’t want me beside her.
“Of course,” I say, forcing the words past the sharp ache in my chest. “If that is what you wish.”
Finally, her eyes lift to meet mine. For a moment, I think this is it, where she says she was joking, where she smiles and beckons me back to bed.
But instead, she just says, “Thank you,” and looks down again at our daughter.
I nod, but my body stays frozen, dumb and stiff as stone. Only when the silence stretches long enough to bruise do I turn on my heel and cross to the sad little hammock in the corner.
I strip with more drama than necessary. Shrugging off my shirt and throwing it over the chair, yanking my belt free with a sharp snap. I kick off my boots louder than I need to, glancing at Amara between each move, but she doesn’t look at me once. Not a flicker.
With a quiet curse, I pull off the last of my gear and stare down the hammock like it’s an enemy formation. I’ve commanded fleets, conquered cities, survived the void, and yet climbing into this damn thing might be my undoing. I grip both sides, brace myself, and hurl my body at it.
It sways violently. My arms flail. My dignity dies a swift, merciless death.
