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“Always, Mother.”

We stood outside for a few minutes, and I inhaled all of the silent healing bonding us. Apologies and regrets, new starts and forgiveness. There was beauty to be found in loss, I supposed. It was a cruel kind, wrought of unfair circumstances, but it existed. This entire day, from the choice to pursue the induction to the peace of the night over a ruined city, spoke of the strength of surviving horrors and forging forward.

As I rested my head on my mother’s shoulder, I understood the necessity of that type of warped elegance in life.

“Ophelia!” Santorina shouted. She ran up to us, eyes flaring wide and a Bodymelder I didn’t recognize on her heels. “You have to come quickly. Something’s happened.”

Chapter Four

Malakai

We’d all developed vices since Damenal was ransacked. They kept us going. Ophelia ran around fixing things until she swayed on her feet and her words slurred. Cypherion had found his way into a new realm of organized fighting, dens popping up around the city each week. It was where he headed now as we split on the path toward the merchant quarter.

“See you at home,” he mumbled and turned down the block, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling them as he disappeared.

“Show no mercy!” I called after him, though it was unnecessary. Cypherion rarely lost a fight.

Some may have said it’s unhealthy, how we chose to cope, but as I knocked on a creaking door of the locked apothecary deep in the Merchant Quarter, I chose to ignore the less approving opinions on vices. Verana opened the door, leaning against the frame in nothing more than a silk robe.

“Mr. Blastwood,” she greeted, voice sultry. “Same as usual?”

Sliding my hands into my pockets, I nodded and followed her inside. “I’ll be quick.” The click of the door closing was loud in the quiet night, though at the palace, the party was still reveling. “I have somewhere I need to be.”

It had become too much for me up there. Too much noise, too many people. Overwhelming in every sense.

The apothecary owner strolled around her work table, bare feet padding against brown tile floors, and placed both hands flat against the wooden surface. Bundles of dried flowers and herbs hung from the low ceiling, a shelf overflowing with tiny glass jars taking up the entirety of one wall. Anything a warrior could need, from pain remedies to meditative incense, could be found between these stone walls.

Verana tilted her head, dark hair lit by moonlight cascading over her shoulder, and she studied me for a moment longer. She seemed to decide not to voice whatever she thought of me being here every week, instead, turning to her shelves and digging.

“Here you are,” she said finally and pushed two pouches into my hands. “You know the deal. Dissolve these in water, a small pinch—no more. They should last you a while.”

“Thank you,” I said, slipping them into my pocket and handing her the coins.

Her eyes bore into me as I left, but I ignored the questions in them and continued back toward the palace, well aware of the fact that I was late but not caring tonight.

The induction had been flawless. Ophelia most of all. Then again, anyone who expected less from her would be a sorry soul.

Ophelia wasn’t perfect. I’d once seen her as such, but in the months since our reunion, I’d learned perfect wasn’t real—ideals were only dreams. Yet while she wasn’t perfect, she fit her position perfectly. Effortlessly. Transforming it to fit her mold.

When citizens of Damenal looked to her these past months, she’d shown unfaltering strength, through what some might look at as weaknesses. Through tears for her father and fury-fueled promises of protection, she became the pillar holding them up.

Spirits, how did she do it? My chest ached with only the consideration, my own demons rising at my shoulders. Gripping the pouches in my pocket, I brushed them off. I’d put these in water, and the numbing effect would sink in.

Ophelia Alabath was made for the position of Revered—quite literally born for it. When I imagined myself dawning the shroud and halo in her place, taking that vow, the image blurred. It was…wrong. A memory of what could have been but never should have been.

But that wasn’t what plagued me. Ruling, having people relying on me, dammit I was glad to be rid of the pressure. The shadows were a welcome reprieve to my life, one I’d grown comfortable with. Recently though, I’d started to question what else may be out there.

The darkness was retreating—the progress slow and fucking terrifying if I was honest. Every step I took into the light, a beast rose before me.

Inadequate.

Failure.

Useless.

They screamed the faults at me, my own misgivings working their way out of my caged heart to form bars around my body, paralyzing me. It was ironic, but if you kept a beast caged too long, it turned feral.

I didn’t know the way past it, but I’d realized one thing. In order to move forward, I needed to look back. There was a hole somewhere in me. One my father’s lies had dug out. A slow excavation of my entire life—one I’d barely realized until the pit was so deep I couldn’t avoid falling into it.