The soft rise and fall of Rasa’s chest was the only thing tethering Alara to the moment. Her knees pressed against the cold stone floor, the chill numbing her skin through the fabric of her dress. She sat motionless by the bedside, her hands trembling as they brushed against the fabric of Rasa’s blanket, as if the faint warmth she felt beneath could somehow reassure her that her friend wasn’t slipping further away.
The room smelled faintly of herbs and blood, the tang of iron mingling with the soft, soothing scent of poultices the healers were using. They moved around her in near silence, their whispered instructions blending into the background, more felt than heard. Alara barely noticed. Her entire focus was on the frail figure before her, her thoughts spiraling into guilt and dread.
Her gaze dropped to her hands, still faintly damp. The shimmer of water clung stubbornly to her fingertips, a lingering trace of the surge that had erupted from her earlier. A basin on the nearby table caught her eye. In the distorted reflection of its rippling surface, she saw herself—pale, her hair plastered to her face in damp strands, her lips drawn thin. And her eyes… Her irises had nearly returned to normal, but there was something else—a faint trace of blue that didn’t belong. It was almost imperceptible, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t going away.
Her heart twisted. What have I done? What am I becoming?
The door creaked open behind her, the sound startling her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Uriah stepping inside, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. His usual swagger was absent, replaced by a measured calm that felt almost out of place. His gaze swept over the room, landing briefly on Rasa before settling on Alara. His brow furrowed, though his mouth quirked into a faint, sardonic smile.
“You look like you’ve fought ten wars and lost them all,” he said.
Alara turned back to Rasa, her voice hoarse as she muttered, “I feel like I have.”
Uriah stepped closer, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, softly, he said, “Dal’akar’s awake. Asking about the state of travel preparations. Wants to know if we’re still on track for Valmira.”
Alara nodded faintly, but her fingers curled into fists on her lap. “I can’t leave her,” she said, her voice breaking slightly on the last word.
Uriah tilted his head, studying her. His tone softened, losing its usual sharpness. “You won’t be gone long,” he said. “The healers aren’t going anywhere yet, and they’ll do their best for her. But Dal’akar’s been asking for you specifically.”
Alara didn’t respond. Her focus remained on Rasa, her chest tightening with every shallow breath she heard from her friend. The thought of leaving her now felt like a betrayal, even for a moment.
Uriah leaned casually against the wall, though there was a tension in his posture that belied the gesture. “You’re awfully friendly with her,” he said after a moment, his voice tinged with curiosity. He gestured slightly toward Rasa. “I haven’t said anything to Dal’akar yet, but I expect you to explain the extent of your relationship to me. Soon.”
Alara stiffened, her shoulders drawing back instinctively. She turned her head just enough to glance at him, her jaw tightening. “There’s nothing to explain,” she said quietly, though the words felt thin and hollow even to her.
Uriah’s eyebrows rose, his expression skeptical. “If there’s nothing, it’ll be easy to say, won’t it?” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. His gaze sharpened, though his tone remained measured. “You’re good at dodging questions, Lari, but I’m not blind. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”
Alara’s chest tightened as she forced herself to remain still under his scrutiny. Her mind raced, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She couldn’t let him—or anyone—question Rasa further. The truth was too dangerous, not just for Rasa, but for her, too. Her lips parted to reply, but no words came.
After a moment, she pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll talk to Dal’akar,” she said, her tone clipped. Without waiting for a response, she brushed past him and moved toward the door. “He’s waiting.”
“Lari,” Uriah called after her, his voice softer now. She paused, her hand on the doorframe. “Don’t let him twist your words. He’s good at that.”
She glanced back, her expression unreadable. “I’ll manage,” she said, and stepped into the corridor, her heart pounding in her chest.
<hr>
Dal’akar sat upright in bed, his silhouette framed by the warm, flickering glow of a single torch mounted on the far wall. The light softened the sharp angles of his face, but the pale tint to his complexion betrayed his fatigue. His ice-blue eyes were bright, though, a sharp contrast to the weariness in his features. When Alara entered, his gaze shifted to her immediately, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“They’ve trapped me here under the guise of care,” he said, his tone wry. “Apparently, I’m not allowed to leave this bed.”
Alara paused near the door, unsure of herself. Her fingers twisted together as she took a hesitant step forward. “How are you feeling?” she asked quietly.
Dal’akar shifted slightly against the pillows, adjusting his position with a soft wince. “Well enough to travel tomorrow, but I suspect my healers will fight me on it.” His tone was casual, but the irritation in his voice was clear. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before his expression softened. “What about you? How are you holding up?”
The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, her hands tightening against each other. “Physically, I’m fine. But…” She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “It’s overwhelming.”
Dal’akar nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s understandable. None of us walked away unscathed.”
His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight pressing against her already heavy thoughts. Dal’akar’s hand moved to the edge of the blanket, his fingers curling slightly as if searching for something to hold. “I’ll leave men behind to investigate Rufus’s whereabouts once we leave for Valmira,” he said, his tone quiet but resolute. “This isn’t over.”
Alara’s brow furrowed as her thoughts shifted to the chaos of the dungeon. “What about Marta?”
“She’s been captured,” he replied, his tone even, almost detached. “She’s taken all the blame, though. Hasn’t mentioned Rufus at all.”
The words hit Alara like a stone sinking in her stomach. Marta’s silence, her unflinching loyalty to Rufus despite everything, was more troubling than any confession might have been. It left them blind—without direction or answers.
“And… what do you remember?” Alara’s voice wavered slightly, a hint of hesitation bleeding into her tone. Her heart raced as she awaited his response.
Dal’akar let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter but faintly amused. “Rufus hit me with the pommel of his sword so hard it rattled my head. I barely remember what his face looks like. I don’t know if I could pick him out in a crowd.”The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Alara blinked, surprised by the lightheartedness in his tone despite the gravity of the situation. She didn’t miss the hint of frustration beneath his humor, but before she could respond, Dal’akar’s gaze softened. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but steady. “But I do remember you standing between us. Thank you.”
Alara froze as his hand reached out, brushing against hers. The warmth of his touch was brief but startling, and she felt a flush creep up her neck. Her thoughts scrambled for a response, and she stammered, “Anyone would have done it.”
Dal’akar’s smile deepened, the faint lines around his eyes softening. His voice carried a quiet sincerity that pierced through her unease. “It is telling of your heart that you believe that is true.”
For a moment, the silence between them wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward or strained. It was something softer, filled with unspoken gratitude and the weight of decisions yet to be made.
Dal’akar leaned back against the pillows, his features dimming slightly as the wry humor that had lingered in his earlier words faded. The faint flicker of the torchlight played across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw as his expression turned more serious.
“Do you still plan to come with us to Valmira?” he asked, his tone quiet but probing.
Alara hesitated. Her thoughts immediately drifted back to Rasa—the pale, fragile form lying under the watchful care of the royal healers. She could almost hear the faint, shallow breaths she had counted over and over, afraid that each one might be the last. Her stomach churned at the idea of leaving her behind, at the idea of Rufus’s shadow growing unchecked.
“Yes,” she said finally, though the word felt heavier than she expected. “I think it’s best.”
Dal’akar nodded thoughtfully, his hands resting against the blanket. “Marta’s interrogation will give us the answers we need. There’s no reason to bring Rasa if she’s better left here to recover.”
“No.” Alara’s voice sharpened immediately, her spine straightening as she stared at him. “Rasa is a key part of this conspiracy. Leaving her behind could be a mistake.”
Dal’akar studied her carefully, his ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing her words against his own thoughts. After a moment, he sighed, the sound quiet but filled with reluctant understanding. “It will be difficult to move her,” he said, his voice softening. “She’s unconscious, and the journey won’t be easy.”
“She can travel in a wagon,” Alara insisted, her tone firm. The words spilled from her before she could second-guess them, and she pressed forward before he could interject. “I’ll arrange for one myself. She’ll be safe.”
Dal’akar’s gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the room fell silent save for the faint crackle of the torch on the wall. His lips pressed together briefly, and then he nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. “You seem awfully devoted to this.”
Alara swallowed hard, her chest tightening as the weight of her emotions pressed against her. “I don’t want anyone else to die by Rufus’s hands,” she said, her voice steady but edged with quiet determination.
Dal’akar’s expression softened slightly at her words, the tension in his shoulders easing. He nodded again, more firmly this time, as though her sincerity had struck a chord. “Very well,” he said. “Make the arrangements.”
For a moment, they simply held each other’s gaze, a mutual understanding passing between them. Alara’s resolve felt stronger than it had minutes before, and as Dal’akar turned his head slightly to glance toward the door, she knew her fight for Rasa wasn’t over—not yet.
The door creaked open, and Du’lan stepped inside, his presence as steady and composed as ever. His expression was unreadable, his gaze sharp as it swept over the room. The soft rustle of his robes was the only sound as he approached, the light of the torch casting long shadows across the chamber.
“Your Majesty,” he said, nodding respectfully to Dal’akar. His eyes flicked briefly to Alara before settling back on the king. “Preparations for the journey to Valmira are progressing as planned. The horses and supplies will be ready by dawn.”
Dal’akar inclined his head slightly. “And the dungeon?”
“The flooding is being dealt with,” Du’lan replied. “It’s slow work, but the damage is manageable. The cell walls have held, and the lower levels will be usable again soon.”
Alara felt a faint tension coil in her chest. The mention of the water stirred unwanted memories of its sudden, uncontrollable surge. She turned her gaze to the corner of the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“And Marta?” Dal’akar’s question broke the brief silence.
Du’lan’s expression tightened slightly. “She remains uncooperative. Her loyalty to Rufus is... resolute. She takes full responsibility for the events, naming no accomplices.”
Dal’akar let out a quiet sigh, his irritation clear in the set of his jaw. “No progress, then.”
Du’lan shook his head. “Not yet. But we’ll continue questioning her.”
The words hung heavily in the air, and Alara could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She pushed herself to her feet, breaking the silence. “I need to arrange the wagon for Rasa,” she said, her voice steady but firm.
As Alara stepped toward the door, Dal’akar’s voice stopped her mid-stride, calm but pointed. “Alara… do you know where the water came from? The dungeons were dry before.”
Her hand froze on the doorframe, and for a moment, the air between them felt impossibly heavy. Her heart began to pound, each beat echoing in her ears. She could feel the faint, lingering hum of the power she’d unleashed earlier, still coursing through her veins like a quiet, relentless current. Her throat tightened, the question threatening to unravel the fragile calm she had just regained.
Alara turned back slowly, keeping her expression neutral even as her thoughts raced. “I wish I knew more about how it came to be there myself,” she said carefully, each word deliberate. She forced herself to hold his gaze, even as unease coiled within her.
Dal’akar studied her intently, his ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to discern something unsaid in her tone. After a moment, he nodded, his expression thoughtful but firm. “Rufus, no doubt,” he said, the words laced with conviction.
Alara’s chest tightened at his assumption, but she said nothing. Let him believe that, she thought. It was safer that way. Safer for her, for Rasa, for whatever fragile control she thought she had over this power she didn’t understand.
But her mind lingered on the memory of the water’s surge—the way it had responded to her emotions, wild and untamed, yet unmistakably hers. The faint pulse of Aedre’s presence still throbbed within her, an unspoken reminder of what had happened. It wasn’t Rufus’s doing. It had been hers.
Alara swallowed hard, inclining her head slightly in acknowledgment before turning back to the door. Her thoughts churned as she stepped into the corridor, the faint hum of the power thrumming with every step. I need to understand this. Before it controls me. Before it happens again.
Stepping out into the cool night air, Alara drew in a deep, trembling breath. The crispness stung her lungs, chasing away the oppressive warmth of the torchlit chambers behind her. The fortress courtyard was quiet, the faint hum of distant voices and the soft rustle of the wind in the trees the only sounds breaking the stillness. Above, the stars stretched endlessly, glittering like scattered fragments of light against the deep expanse of the sky.
She tilted her head back, letting her gaze trace the constellations her father used to point out to her as a child. They seemed distant now, yet comforting, a reminder of something unchanging amidst the chaos that had consumed her life.
The weight of the day pressed heavily against her shoulders—the blood, the betrayal, the unrelenting surge of power that still throbbed faintly in her veins. It would have been easy to let it all overwhelm her, to sink into the enormity of everything she didn’t yet understand. But as the cold air prickled her skin, a small, determined spark flared to life within her.
She couldn’t let it end here. Rasa’s life depended on her. The lives of so many others, unknown to her but equally in danger, rested on the choices she would make in the days to come. She clenched her fists, her nails pressing into her palms as if to anchor herself.
I will protect her, she thought. I will learn to control this. Whatever this power is, whatever it means—I will master it. And maybe… maybe I’ll find a way to hear Aedre herself.
The thought gave her pause, a flicker of doubt creeping in at the edges of her resolve. Would the goddess answer her? Could she even reach her, or was this gift—or curse—something she would have to navigate alone? She closed her eyes for a moment, the cold wind brushing against her cheeks, as though it carried the faintest whisper of reassurance.
Her eyes opened, clear and steady, as she turned her gaze back to the stars. “I’ll make sure no one else dies,” she vowed softly, her voice carried away by the wind.
The night felt alive around her as she stood in the quiet determination of her promise. No matter how uncertain the path ahead, she would face it. For Rasa. For those she’d lost. And for herself.