Page 86

The memory surfaced with startling clarity.

His room had been sparse, and that stone had been out of place. Smooth, dark, warm to the touch despite the cold air. She had felt it respond before she’d even reached it.

It contains memories, he had said.

Her pulse quickened. The lamp guttered, though there was no draught. Maia stared down at the half-written letter, then slowly set it aside. He had told her, hadn’t he? The others would destroy it. This one should not be lost.

That stone hadn’t been a keepsake, it had been an anchor. Caelith had never intended for the truth to be written down, he had hidden it somewhere it could not be altered.

Maia grabbed her shawl and set off into the night to find Julen. Umbralyn patrols were out in force, but there were few around the scribes’ quarters. She didn’t have to leave the building to find Julen’s quarters - it would be easy despite curfew. Or so she thought.

Just before she got there, she turned the corner and bumped straight into another Umbralyn. The one from the square, dark silver eyes, silver scars glistening under his hooded cloak. The same scars that a boy’s stone had opened, the crowd screaming for his blood. He smiled at her.

“Maia Colwyn,” he said. Not a question. “Out after curfew.”

Her pulse stuttered. She forced her shoulders to remain level. “I was on my way to see someone.”

His mouth curved, just slightly. “So late, for a someone.”

“I have permission,” she said, and hated how thin it sounded.

“From whom?” he asked mildly. “Your tutors? The Elders?” A pause. “Or do you believe rules loosen once one survives such… spectacle?”

Her jaw tightened, a flash of rage sweeping across her mind. She took a breath in.

“I wish to see Julen,” she said. “He is a fellow scribe.”

“Ah.” Recognition flickered across his face. “The injured one.” His gaze moved over her bandages. “Though not the only one.”

“As are you,” she said, before she could think better of it.

He stepped closer. Maia felt the power in his presence; a low pressure, like standing beneath deep water.

“And why,” he continued, “should you hope to see him at this hour?”

She swallowed. This was the moment.

“I wished to spend the night with him,” she said quietly. It was the only reason that would not sound like a lie.

For a heartbeat, the Umbralyn only studied her. Then a soft sound escaped him, like laughter but not quite.

“How… human.” His gaze sharpened. “And yet, you expect me to believe your attentions have shifted so conveniently?”

She felt heat rise to her face, but she let it. Let him read it as shame.

“You needn’t worry about my attentions,” she said, letting the word sit as ugly as he’d meant it. “Working closely isn’t affection, I know that now. I confused the two, and it nearly killed me. I’d rather not repeat the lesson.”

His eyes glinted.

“You refer,” he said slowly, “to your proximity with one of ours.”

Maia did not answer. She didn’t need to.

“You grew close,” he continued. “Too close. A miscalculation you paid for.” He tilted his head. “Or do you deny it?”

“No,” she said. “I learned what happens when humans forget their place.”

Something like approval passed through his expression.