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I take a deep breath, trying to organize my churning thoughts. "He works for a very powerful lord in Soimur. He's not just any xaphan—he's connected, respected. If he knew about this baby..." My voice falters.
"You think he'd take the child from you," Harmony finishes.
I nod, my throat tight. "I'm nothing to him. Just a human he visits when he's passing through. A convenient lay."
Even as I say the words, something inside me rebels against them. The way Araton kisses me goodbye each time, lingering a moment too long. The way he sometimes made me feel like he wanted to stay. The lunox carving tucked into my pack, carved from blue-veined white stone, its face tipped with azure that reminds me of the skies over my village at dawn.
"He doesn't love me." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. "But a half-xaphan child? That would be a prize worth claiming."
Harmony reaches across the space between us, her calloused fingers closing over mine. "Listen to me, Ronnie. I understand what you're afraid of. Better than you might think." She glances toward the door where Adellum and Brooke disappeared. "I've been where you are."
"With him?" I can't keep the incredulity from my voice.
"In a way. Scared, pregnant, alone." Her grip tightens on mine. "You're not alone anymore. I'll help you. We'll all help you."
"Why would you do that?" I ask, still suspicious despite the desperation clawing at my insides. "You could wipe your hands of the trouble.
"Because someone helped me once," she says simply. "And now I'm helping you. That's how it works in Saufort."
I don't trust her—not completely. But as the nausea finally begins to subside and the panic in my chest loosens its grip, I find myself nodding.
"I don't regret leaving," I say firmly, more to convince myself than her. "It was the right choice."
Yet even as I say it, a traitorous, tiny part of me aches at the thought I'll never again see Araton's crooked smile when he appears at my door. Never feel the heat of his skin against mine, or the way he tangles his fingers in my hair when he kisses me. Never hear that low laugh when I say something that genuinely amuses him.
It's just the sex I'll miss, I tell myself firmly. Just the physical release. Nothing more.
I don't talk about him after that. Not his name, not what he looks like, not the way he calls me "fierce one" in that rumblingvoice of his. Not the way I know he will have found out I'm gone by now and I don't know if he even cared.
I don't talk about any of it. Some secrets are safer kept buried.
9
ARATON
Ishouldn't be here.
The thought circles my mind like a black pitter as I land on the outskirts of this miserable little village—the one I'd visited a dozen times before, each time for the same reason. Each time forher.
My wings fold against my back with an irritated snap as I take in the familiar cluster of stone buildings and thatched roofs. Nothing has changed in the month since I discovered Ronnie was gone. The same crooked sign swings outside the tavern. The same three children chase each other through the dusty streets. The same acrid smell of human fear rises in the air as they catch sight of me.
They should be afraid. My mood hasn't improved since my last visit.
"Told you he'd be back," someone mutters as I stride down the main road toward Ronnie's shop. I'm not shocked to see Tomas, watching me, his eyes tracking my progress with open hostility.
I ignore him. I ignore all of them. My focus narrows to the wooden building ahead, its windows still shuttered, door still locked. Just like last time. Just like she left it.
"She isn't there."
I turn to find Tomas has come up behind me, his eyes narrowed on me. Rage lines his body, and I'm not sure why the fucker keeps bothering me.
"I can see that," I reply, my voice carefully controlled. "I merely wished to verify it for myself."
"Verify?" He spits on the ground near my boots. "You mean you came to sniff around where you're not wanted. Again."
My jaw tightens. The urge to wrap my fingers around his scrawny throat flickers through me—a dangerous impulse I immediately suppress. Lord Ithuriel wouldn't appreciate his courier murdering village healers, no matter how satisfying it might be.
"I have business with Rosalind," I say instead, using her full name, the one she hates. "When she returns?—"