I keep my eyes on the door, desperate for its sanctuary.“What?”I spit.
He clears his throat, hesitating as if choosing between truths that won’t help.“I—I tried.”
He remains facing away from me, his head lowered.
“I know.”It surprises me that I mean it.
The words anchor themselves in the air.He nods once, a brief, sharp motion—like a man accepting a debt he never intended to take on.
His hand illuminates the runes, and the locks within click to life.The room is exactly as I left it—charcoal on white stone, the crescent flaring in the midday light.He crosses the threshold and unlocks my chains, the links rattling in the enclosed space.
He steps back into the corridor.“Eat,” he says, his gaze fixed on anything but me.
“Rest?”I ask, unable to suppress the venom.
His features harden, his jaw clenching.“If you can.”
The door shuts, and the runes glow as the locks seal me back in.
Shivers dance across my skin.I pull the robe tighter, standing where he left me until the hum in my bones finally quiets.
I move to the wall and press my palm to the charcoal crescent.The stone is cool, but the skin beneath my sternum is scalding.I close my eyes, the red lines burning deep as I reach for the voice within.
A single tear glides down my cheek as she answers.
Find the second,her voice curls like silk over a blade.Set me free, and you will be free of me.
Embers prickle within as I open my eyes.
That’s it, my child.Set the fire—and burn them all down.
A slow, cruel smile cuts across my mouth.
21
SEREN
Ilie in a bubble of quiet, but the world outside fills with the filtered sound of the city—a low, indistinct roar bleeding through the walls.
A percussion of persuasion rises from the merchants below, selling the freshest produce from the nearest ports of Palimora or Erosyn.Onlythebest forthebest.
The light feels different today.It’s no longer a tainted gold, but grey, thin and cold—like breath on glass.Or perhaps it’s only I who feels different.
The room is still, the air dense and curved like a breath held for too long.I reach for the nightstand and flick on the lamp, squinting as the brightness warms the space.
Pulling back the sheet, I wince as I lift my nightdress, bracing for the marks I expect to see where Riven touched me.Little pinpricks of heat ghost the layers beneath my skin, but no bruises taint the area.No, they were saved for my knees.It’s as if it never happened at all, though the pain is a sharp reminder that it did.
I press a palm to my sternum.The cold manacles repel the warmth emanating from my skin, pushing back like the opposing forces.
My head falls back onto the pillow, my eyes tracing the black lines I inscribed on the walls.In this early light, the drawings look different: the woman’s eyes a shade darker, the crescent heavier in its arc.I can’t tell if it’s the morning playing tricks on me—or if something in the charcoal woke while I slept.
Thoughts of Sylas flicker into memory, and the crescent—painted by no hand—against the damp wall.The shape hasn’t changed, only deepened in its blackness, but the symbol beside it has grown clearer.It resembles an eye, but no iris or pupil stares back.Did I do that?
I curl into the silken sheets, memories of Sylas floating through my mind like an easy breeze.If I close my eyes, I can still hear the rattle of his breath.A sound that once horrified me; now, it only brings a pang of bittersweet longing—the ghost of a song I wish I could play on repeat.
The endless crater within expands, swallowing my happiness as I let the tears come, drowning my thoughts in a flood of black.
* * *
