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Nox’s smile was sad. “The Lord Noctis calls, and I . . .”
“Must answer,” Kit finished for them. “It isn’t fair.”
“It is the bargain I struck,” they said simply. Or was that hopelessness Kit heard behind the words?
The tent flap rustled, and a head of strawberry curls tied in a haphazard bun appeared. “That should be the last of—” Tenny stopped midstep. “What’s going on?”
“Tenebris came to say goodbye,” Kit said brokenly.
“What? Why?” Tenny demanded. “You’ve only just returned!”
“And it is because I did so that I must now face the warden’s justice,” Nox said darkly.
Kit balked. “What does that mean?”
“The celestials have decreed that there is to be no further interference in mortal affairs. I knew there would be a price for my disobedience.”
“Disobedience . . . ?” Tenny whispered, horrified.
Nox squared their shoulders, horns tipping to the ceiling. “It was a cost well worth paying, to assist in our victory.” Their gaze flicked to Kit. “To ensure your safety.”
Tears lined the edges of Tenny’s amber eyes. “Will we know where you are? Will we ever see you again?”
Nox raised a hand to softly cup her cheek. “Not in your lifetime, I am afraid.”
They returned their gaze to Kit, a meeting of crimson-black, blue, and green. Just for a moment, the world fell away. Because Nox was dipping their head to press an achingly soft kiss to Kit’s lips.
When they pulled back, they were smiling.
And then their shadows surged.
Tenny gasped.
Kit clutched Nox’s hand in hers, as if she might tether them in place, keep them here.
Keep them with her.
“Farewell,” they said. And Tenebris Nox was torn from her grasp, yanked into the unraveling darkness.
60
DAWN
CEDRIC
The next morning came and went slowly. After the endlessness of the day before—stars above, had all that really happened in a single day?—it was a gift, a reprieve. And now Cedric Thorne stood on the hilltop overlooking the village of Kinsgaith on one side and the former battlefield on the other.
The sun touched the horizon, painting the sky with broad swaths of pink and orange and sunset gold. Cedric twirled his crown in his scarred hands, fingers dancing nimbly along its gilded, jeweled surface despite the lingering marks left by the obsidian shards that had cut through his skin. Shep said they would fade with time.
Cedric hoped they never did.
He wanted to wear them forever—an eternal reminder of every life lost, the price of this victory.
He heard her footsteps before Elyria’s melodic voice landed in his ears. “Heavy is the head that . . . something something. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
Cedric huffed a laugh. “Close enough. I suppose we’ll both be learning that soon, won’t we, Trouble?” He inclined his head at the matching crown set upon Elyria’s periwinkle hair. Sprigs of merryleaf were woven between the spires, tiny white flowers blooming against the gold, and he couldn’t help but smile. She was just so stars-damned perfect.
She grinned at him, the adoration he must have been sending across their bond coloring her cheeks the most delicious rosy shade. “I’d never been much of one for headwear, you know. Always preferred making my own. But this, I suppose, I could get used to.”
