The ice is gone.
So is everyone’s breath.
The Grotto and its occupants stand in stunned silence.
Noa comes rushing over, eyes wide with panic. “Shit, Cel,are you okay?” His hands are on my shoulders, gripping a little too tight. “One second there was an ice spear heading straight for you, and the next—everything went dark. It was…”
He trails off, looking past me. His eyes lock on Gavrail. The silence stretches.
“It was you,” he says, quieter now. A beat of tension hangs in the air before he adds, “Thank you. For stopping it.” The words cost him. I can hear it in the tightness of his throat, see it in the set of his jaw. But he says them anyway.
Gavrail only nods, giving nothing away. Then, without a word, he turns and walks away—his shadows trailing behind him like smoke dissolving in the air.
Noa pulls me into a hug, tucking me against him. I feel the press of his lips at the top of my head, grounding me, reminding me I’m here. That I’m safe. Unharmed.
But I can’t stop staring. Past his shoulder. Past the chaos of the dueling platform. Past the soft murmurs of my squad as they rush in, surrounding Nate and me in a ring of concern.
I watch Gavrail’s back as he disappears into the dark of the cave.
The echo of what we made together lingers like a second heartbeat beneath my skin.
Gavrail.
There is a quiet menace to him that wasn’t there when we were children. And yet… beneath all that, there is still a strange, magnetic pull. Like gravity. Or prophecy.
I didn’t look at Gavrail and thinkdangerous.
And when our magicks combined, it felt…infinite.
I try to shake the feelings as if I can scatter them like raindrops from a summer storm—sharp, directionless, impossible to gather again. But they don’t go away… and right now, I’m not exactly sure I want them to.
CHAPTER 30
When lakes sing, beware—for they echo not the present, but the shadows of the past.
—Waters of the Deep
Ifind myself seeking the solace of the lake after the duel. Wanting to wrap myself in its calm until my thoughts—and racing heart—finally slow.
My fingers twitch slightly, and from the near-shore water—still unfrozen where the spring feeds in—a thin tendril lifts. It spirals, coiling, blooming into the shape of a tiny horse, its translucent body glowing faintly. It flicks its tail as if it’s real, then darts across the surface, followed by another. And another. Soon, a small herd of water-formed horses dance along the lake’s edge, their silent gallop soothing something frayed inside me.
“I’ve always loved watching them dance,” comes a dark, velvet voice from behind—smooth, low, steady as ever.
I don’t turn. I don’t need to see him to feel the pull of hispresence. The crisp January air stings my cheeks, already numb from the cold, but the air changes when he’s near me—thickening, sharpening to a point of almost pain.
The horses keep their pace for one more heartbeat, then I let my magick dissolve back into ripples. And the second they’re gone, I realize I miss them.
A flash of childhood—two kids laughing, determinedly trying to conjure creatures out of water and shadow by a different lake, a different shore. He was always better at it than I was.
I continue to stare out over the expanse of blue that calls to me—the lake surface now flecked with ice, shimmering with late sun. It hums with ancient memory, the soft breath of the winter wind carrying its secrets across it.
“What’s it saying?” Gavrail asks softly.
He’s closer now—close enough that his warmth breaches the space between us. He smells like shadowed woods at dusk: earthy, resinous, like woodsmoke mixed with amber and warm leather. His winter coat brushes the edge of my sleeve as he comes to stand beside me—brief, deliberate, as if he’s testing whether I’ll move away.
I don’t.
I can feel the heat of him through my clothes. And despite myself—despite everything—it’s… comforting.
