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Images of her parents’ deaths, their lifeless bodies on the other side of the riverbank. Evelyn’s flame buried within her. She tried to run to them but found herself in a dark room, locked inside. She begged to be let out. Banged on all the walls. Her hands were small, too small to be her own; they were the hands of a child. Her hands as a child. Nightmares and memories blended together. A certain rake-thin tutor appeared, standing over her.

“You are nothing without your flame, Evelyn Carson!”

She sprang awake, sweat sticking the bedsheets to her bare legs. She clutched her hand to her chest, a phantom pain pulsing through the bones of her fingers. The fireplace had gone out, smoke wisping from the ash. Evelyn took a deep breath, her throat raw from the screams of her night terrors.

A single beat passed, and the door to her room crashed to the floor. Cyrus stood on the other side, panting and searching her room with crazed eyes. He’d knocked her door straight off its hinges, bursting the dead bolt through the door frame.

“I heard you scream,” he said as if in explanation.

Evelyn only stared, her heart thudding in her chest. How was she supposed to process this? He’d broken the door down to get to her. She rose from bed, eyeing Cyrus and the destroyed door.

“I...it was just a nightmare,” she breathed.

Cyrus nodded, evident relief flashing over his features. “A nightmare.”

No one in the Dinberry inn stirred, the hour so late that others must’ve been dead asleep, as the two of them continued to stare at the other. Evelyn couldn’t bear what this all meant, couldn’t shake the depths of his stare. The intensity left her feeling as if he saw every inch of her. The heat made her insides smolder, her only desire for Cyrus to touch her, to run his hands down her sides.

Only his touch would give her relief. From her fears, from this growing tension between them. If she gave in, she’d shatter and be free of this growing desire for him.

Stupid, irrational thoughts.

Evelyn shook her head, gripping the sheets of her bedding so tightly her knuckles went white. She stood, reaching for a shawl and searching for her boots.

“What are you doing?” Cyrus asked as he stepped into her room.

“I need a walk,” she said.

“A walk?”

“To see the moon,” Evelyn said, pulling on her boots. She imagined she looked ridiculous, boots with no pants, her sleeping tunic, a shawl for a cloak.

Cyrus took a step back, staring at her with wide eyes as if she were mad. “The moon?”

Evelyn barely caught his question as she laced her boots. “Yes, the moon.” She tightened the final knot and stood. “The sight of it calms me.”

“The sight of the moon calms you,” Cyrus repeated, his eyes glowing in her dim room.

Evelyn nodded. “Would you care to join me?”

Cyrus swallowed. “Saige, it is frigid out, but there happens to be a view of the moon outside my room.” He stared down at her door, the wood chippings scattered about. “I hope you don’t find me too forward, but I don’t believe you’ll be sleeping here for the rest of the night.”

Evelyn teetered. He’d invited her to his room. Goddess, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. It was just to see the moon, she told herself. And to sleep. Maybe.

“I suppose that might be a better option,” she whispered.

He nodded and led the way to his room at the end of the hall. Outside an open balcony, the moon sat in a starless sky, opal and bright. Evelyn’s hammering heart slowed, her magic calming.

Her Goddess may be the sun, but the moon tempered her soul from time to time, like an element of peace tied to her very essence.

“You weren’t lying,” she whispered.

The view of it in Cyrus’s room reminded her of her apartment in Sorin. She’d gazed at the moon then, too, when she needed time to think, to feel calm. Cyrus had also been right about the cold. The temperature had dropped, a threatening winter chill in the air, but to the right, a lively fire kept the small room toasty. A chair sat at the cusp of the room and open balcony, his bed untouched.

“You’re up late.” Evelyn turned away from the moon.

Cyrus still stood by the door, staring at her. The fire reflected in his eyes, gold against orange. He wore a pained expression as he gazed at her, then turned away.

“I couldn’t sleep.” His voice came out gruff, and Evelyn’s toes curled on instinct.