Page 30 of On Burning Paths

I don’t know a ton about vampires, but I assumed it’d be rude to ask about their… blood draining process. Although, it might not be. I have no idea.

That was hours ago. Since then, we've done nothing but walk.

We use the Obsidian Spire as our compass when we can see it and trust Thorian's sense of direction when we can't. The forest we're moving through now is familiar to me in a way the others weren't. Firs and oaks, the smell of earth and pine. It smells like home, comforting and safe.

But I know better than to think that means it is.

Fenric moves slightly off the path as we walk, foraging and narrating everything he finds in a low steady stream, detailing the plants he can identify. Thorian's mood deteriorates steadily the later it gets, darkening by degrees, his jaw tighter with every hour that passes without incident.

Talon falls into step beside me.

"So," he says, his voice low enough that it doesn't carry far. "Nyx. Tell me something about yourself that isn't about the Trials."

I glance at him sideways. "Like what?"

"Anything. Where you're from. What you miss. What you were before all of this." He gestures vaguely at the forest around us.

I consider him for a moment. "I grew up in a small town."

"Good family?"

"Once." The word comes out more quietly than I intend. "We had a good life. Before the gods decided otherwise."

Something shifts in his expression, subtle but real. "I’m listening. Tell me everything."

Surprisingly, I do, in pieces. The curse that settled over my family like a slow rot. The way things fell apart so gradually that by the time we understood what was happening, it was already too late to stop it. My parents, gone. Lyra and I left with the wreckage of everything we'd once had, trying to hold together what remained.

When I finish, Talon is quiet for a moment.

"We had everything too," he says finally. "My family. Wealth was only part of it. There was plenty of that, but there was also position. Respect. The kind of name that opened doors before you'd even knocked."

"What happened?"

"A long story for another time." But I can tell from his voice that the story isn't one he's made peace with yet. "The point is, I understand the particular grief of losing something you were raised to believe was permanent."

I look at him properly then, and find him already looking at me.

"Do you remember," he says, his tone growing lighter, a deliberate pivot I recognize as self-protection, "the dessert they used to serve at the Midsummer gatherings? The layered one, with the cream and the candied citrus on top?"

I stop walking for half a step. "The one with the elderflower syrup?"

"That's the one." His blue eyes brighten. "I used to eat three of them before the dancing even started."

"We had something similar at the winter balls my family hosted." The memory arrives with a warmth and an ache in equal measure. "My mother would order them specially. They'd arrive in these little towers, and Lyra and I would always try to steal one from the kitchen before the guests arrived."

"Did you succeed?"

"Every time. My servant and friend, Hilda, pretended not to notice."

He laughs, genuine and unguarded, and I find myself laughing too, and for a moment the forest and the Trials and all of it recedes slightly.

"I miss those nights," I say, before I can think better of it.

"So do I," Talon says, and the lightness in his voice gives way to quiet honesty. Then he tilts his head and looks at me sideways, the ease returning. "For what it's worth, I think you would have been the most interesting person in any room you walked into."

"You're flirting with me," I say, although it should be a question. I’m not quite sure.

"Constantly," he agrees, without a trace of apology.