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I ring out my hair and then begin the laborious task of unpeeling my clothes and dressing in something dry. Even after I do, my wet hair drips onto the clothes.

Right about now Des would’ve dried my hair for me. He does weird, considerate things like that all the time.

Did.

I sit down heavily on my bed—ourbed—a piece of paper rustling beneath me. The violent, breathless pain of my grief is slipping like poison through my veins.

I cover my eyes. Ugly, aching sobs rack my body.

I let it out, I let itallout until I feel drained dry of the last of my tears. Placing my hands on my thighs, I take a deep breath.

That’s about when I finally notice the unassuming piece of parchment that I’m sitting on, the paper crinkling every time I shift. It rests there, like Des just carelessly left it on the bed. But Des doesn’t do anything carelessly.

I pull it out from under me. It’s actually two pieces of paper, one a formal-looking document and a smaller note written by a familiar hand. I have to put the back of my palm to my mouth to stop another round of sobs.

Don’t be frightened of yourself, cherub. You are exactly as you should be. From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, I am yours always. Till darkness dies.

~Your Bargainer

Des knew he was going to die.

That’s what this is—a post-mortem love note.

Suddenly I’m angry, brutally, grievously angry at him.

My hand shakes, the paper crinkling.

Thatbastard. Howdarehe leave me.

I almost don’t read the other piece of paper, I’m so furious. But then, this is all I have left of him. A short note and another piece of parchment.

Grimacing, I smooth out the paper, my eyes trailing over the words written in formal stanzas.

The Prophecy of Galleghar Nyx

Mighty Nyx came,

Mighty Nyx sought,

All that he could,

Of his dark lot.

In the deep night,

His kingdom rose,

Beware, great king,

Of that which grows.

Easy to conquer,

Easy to crown,

But even the strongest,

Can be cut down.