The courtyard opened before him, carved from the mountain’s flank. With the sun in hiding, only Polis lanterns and the glow of torches lit the cobblestones beneath his feet. Cold air rushed in, edged with frost, and the scent of stone and steel. Four merchant wagons lined the northern wall; their wheels braced, their cargo tarped and bound. The sigils on their canvas were from Maradryn—familiar, precise.
His seal had summoned them.
He crossed toward them, boots whispering over worn flagstone. One of the handlers noticed him and started to approach, then thought better of it. Smart. He wasn't in the mood for idle chatter. Speed was of the essence now, and he hoped he'd planned well for the undertaking ahead.
Kailorien paused beside the lead wagon and rested his gloved hand on the wooden panel. Felt the grain. Listened to the stillness behind it. Inside were furnishings. Handmade furniture. Books. A painted screen. Blankets soft enough not to scratch her skin. Seeds for the spring. Wheat, the rarest of crops. With her magic, she would have no trouble tending it. Rare tinctures. Warm clothes. A basin carved from pale riverstone.
His hand lingered there, tracing the basin’s cool edge. Her hearth. Her future. Her life—without him.
He hadn't told her. Was afraid she would refuse. When all was settled, he would reveal his plan. Make her see sense. She would refuse at first. Insist on staying with him, even if it killed her. She was too strong. Too fearless. But she was breaking already. He had to get ahead of the unraveling.
Even if she never forgave him.
Even if it cost him everything.
He would rather be hated than watch her fade.
At last, he turned. Cloak snapping in the mountain wind, he left the handlers staring after him in silence, their eyes darting between the sealed cargo and the retreating shape of the Resh'Agar.
Only when his footsteps faded did Auryn cross the stones, her silver gaze drawn to the Maradryn wagons. Lanterns burned low, their false light stretching long shadows across the tarps. She moved between them, fingertips brushing carved wood and painted canvas.
The brightly colored wagons and tarps made her heart race, reminding her of the days she and Kailorien had shared in the sunlight. Lately, with the Cycle of Dark in full swing, the lack of natural light worsened her nightmares. And now that she slept alone in her dank and empty chamber, waking up was worse.
She’d grown used to Kailorien’s warmth at her side. Without it, the air felt thinner. But she couldn’t tell him. Not after that rainy day in the Emerald Moores or the things he’d said. His words still echoed when her chest tightened so much she could hardly move.
I shouldn’t have. Maybe it was a mistake.
He hadn’t meant it. Not like that. But he’d swung the blade, had cut too deep, and now the wound festered. She’d hardly seen him since their arrival at Stonewake. Had hardly heard his voice. The absence of him was a wound in itself. And so, when the wagons came with their cheery colors and smiling merchants, she’d been eager to see what all the commotion was about.
Thessia fell into step at her side, her armored boots clicking against the flagstones. She kept her voice easy, conversational, and Auryn allowed herself to fall into the comfort of her presence. The Lioness never asked for explanations, but she could always sense Auryn’s tension with unerring accuracy.
“Maradryn sends good stock,” Thessia said, brushing a hand over a lacquered chest. “Their merchants like to trade in comfort. They’ll trade you luxuries you didn’t even think you wanted, until you wonder how you ever lived without them.”
Auryn raised a brow. “You don’t seem like one for luxuries.”
Thessia grinned. “You’d be surprised. Should see my home in the capital. I’ve got enough comforts to seduce even you.”
“Do I seem like the kind of woman that would wear something like this?” Auryn asked, genuine in her curiosity as she smoothed her hand over a lavish gown of crimson silk.
“Maybe not to market,” Thessia teased. “But you’d look lovely in it all the same.”
Auryn laughed. Couldn’t help it.
Thessia went on. “Most Maradryn merchants hardly leave the city. Your Resh’Agar must have sent for them.”
Auryn’s smile withered. “He isn’t mine.”
Thessia snorted. “That’s what he used to say about you, moonbeam. But neither of you are fooling anyone.”
Auryn trailed her hand over the next bundle, her voice quieter than the crackle of the lanterns. “Kailorien…he hasn’t spoken to me since the Moores. Not truly. His eyes feel…” she searched for the word, “closed.”
“He’s a hard man toread,” Thessia admitted.
“Not for me…not before…” Auryn lowered her gaze, fingers catching on the grain of one of the wagon’s sides. “But now, here, I cannot see him. He’s buried himself in stone and wards and locked doors.”
Thessia’s hand settled on her shoulder. Auryn swallowed, throat tight. Her hand drifted further across the open cargo—blankets folded thick, books bound in leather, jars of tinctures packed with care.
And suddenly, clarity parted the fog in her mind.
