Page 18

Eighteen

Laya

The muted rapping on Laya’s door announced that a new day had once again broken over Mariit.

Laya rolled onto her side with a groan.

The other half of the mattress was cold.

She dreamed Luntok had come to see her, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone.

A maid’s voice chimed from the other side.

“Dayang, could I help you?—”

“Go away,” Laya snapped, and spent the rest of the morning watching patches of sunlight creep sluggishly up the whorled wall panels across from her bed.

No one was waiting for her on the terrace when, after several hours of deliberation, she summoned the strength to leave her chambers.

A wave of sadness washed over her as her gaze fell on the empty breakfast table.

It was foolish to think she would find anyone there.

With the feast days ending the next evening, the king and queen had an endless list of engagements.

The king, she knew, had gone to Mariit’s lower wards to hear the commoners’ grievances, while Hara Duja was trapped inside one of the palace’s receiving rooms with members of minor nobility.

It was just as well, for Laya did not wish to speak with her mother after their conversation the previous evening.

Let Luntok go, she’d said.

Maybe Laya did have to let him go.

It was better to forget him now.

If he returned her letter with hateful words, Laya did not know if her heart could bear it.

For company, Laya had no one else to turn to but her sisters.

Eti, as was typical, was nowhere to be found.

And Bulan?—Laya seethed at the thought of running into her that morning.

After the tournament, they’d exchanged violent words.

Laya had been furious enough to summon a monsoon, but she’d kept her head on her shoulders.

She didn’t want to give Bulan the benefit of confirming that she was the more levelheaded, more rational one.

Laya, despite her frustration, refused to prove her sister right.

Laya knew life hadn’t been kind to Bulan, whom the gods cursed at birth.

Compared to Laya, she had so little.

Without the power of Mulayri, what gifts could Bulan claim?

Sword fighting was the sole domain in which she excelled.

The day before in the gardens, the boys had wounded her pride when they implied her claim to excellence was empty, like most things about her.

Laya might have pitied her had Bulan chosen to inflict her vengeance on anyone else but Luntok.

Later that night, in the heat of anger, Bulan screamed at her, tears streaming down her face, “You would choose Luntok, the traitor’s heir, over your own blood.” The words continued to rattle in Laya’s mind, denying her peace.

Bulan was wrong.

Laya loved Luntok, but she was a Gatdula above all else.

Yet she knew Luntok’s heart as if it were her own?—a Kulaw he may be, but he was no traitor.

But Laya did not want to agonize over Luntok any more than she wished to think about her sister.

He had not answered her letter the previous evening, which worried Laya more than she cared to admit.

Did he truly hate her, or had Bulan wounded him so badly he could not hold a pen?

Laya didn’t know what she was thinking when she left the terrace and made her way downstairs to the central courtyard.

She marched up to the guard stationed before the eastern wing and demanded entrance.

“If you please, Dayang,” the guard said, opening the door to let her in.

Muffled voices carried down to the shadowed entrance hall.

Laya’s ears perked up.

She looked at the staircase leading to the upper floor, confused.

Ariel wasn’t alone.

Laya crept upstairs.

She kicked up small clouds of dust as her sandals padded across the tiled corridor.

A faint vinegary scent hung in the air, mingling with the dust.

She wrinkled her nose.

The Orfelian was a commoner, but he was still a guest.

Surely, her mother would have sent someone to clean his living quarters.

At the end of the corridor, the door to the Orfelian’s study hung open.

She peered inside.

Ariel was once again hunched over his writing desk.

Laya blinked, shocked to find Eti sitting across from him.

Their heads were bent over a book.

Eti jabbed her finger at one of the pages, chatting animatedly.

Ariel nodded, his spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose as he followed her finger.

Unlike so many members of the court, who merely humored Eti when she spoke, Ariel seemed genuinely interested in what the younger girl had to say.

The corners of Laya’s lips quirked up in a tiny smile.

She stepped into the room, clearing her throat.

Both of them looked up from the book.

Eti brightened.

“Laya, look! I’ve saved Ariel from eternal boredom. Come see.”

Laya raised an eyebrow before settling into the chair beside her.

“Oh?” she said.

“How can that be?”

“Dayang Eti was kind enough to bring me some reading materials from the royal library,” Ariel clarified, meeting Laya’s gaze.

Laya’s cheeks warmed at the sight of his grin.

She remembered the spark that wound through her the last time she and Ariel were alone together.

A trick of the mind, she was convinced.

That spark wouldn’t strike her again.

She turned her attention to the book laid out before them.

“What sort of books did you bring him?” she asked.

Eti hauled a few heavy tomes from the floor and deposited them at the edge of the desk.

They landed on the lacquered mahogany surface with a loud thump.

“Mostly historical accounts,” she chirped.

“I asked Father to bring me the most comprehensive volumes. Ariel’s got nothing to do at the moment, so I thought these would keep him busy.”

Eti was a kindhearted child, and she never failed to impress Laya with her thoughtfulness.

Although if Eti wished to keep the Orfelian entertained during his stay at the palace, she ought to have chosen something a touch more entertaining than Maynara’s densest historical texts.

Laya scanned the titles of the books beside her, biting back a chuckle.

“Everything you’ve chosen is in Maynaran,” she remarked.

“That won’t be a problem,” Ariel said.

“I know how to read Maynaran now, after all.” He gave Laya a pointed look.

“In that case, these books ought to keep you enthralled,” she said dryly.

Ariel’s grin broadened.

For Eti’s sake, he did not say anything to the contrary.

“You will find, however, that my vocabulary is lacking,” he told Laya.

“I should think, then, that another lesson is in order,” she said, her eyes twinkling with the promise of a challenge.

Surprise flickered in Ariel’s expression.

“If that is what you are offering, Dayang, I would be grateful,” he said, bowing his head.

She stared at him.

He had yet to lose his nasal Orfelian accent, which grated Laya’s ears to no end, but something had changed in his inflection?—the rolling dips within words, the slight upturns at the ends of his phrases.

In the few days since Ariel had arrived, he had begun to adopt Maynaran’s songlike speech patterns.

Fascinating.

Laya smiled to herself.

The Orfelian was definitely not a fool.

“Ariel can speak over a dozen languages. He’s traveled around the world,” Eti piped up between them.

“Laya, did he tell you that?”

“No, he did not.” Well, that explained how fast Ariel had picked up Maynaran.

Once more, she met his gaze.

“I suppose we have a great deal to learn from each other.”

“Yes, Dayang. I suppose we do.”

Ariel stared back at her with the same brazen openness, which Laya might have mistaken for insolence in other circumstances.

This time, she didn’t mind.

She understood the intent she saw behind those spectacles.

Ariel wished to read her, the same way he wished to read the book splayed out on the desk between them.

The same way Laya wished to read him.

She had not forgotten the vow she’d made to Ariel before their first language lesson.

She would discover his true business in Maynara.

In the meantime?—

Laya reached for a sheet of paper on the other side of the desk.

“Another lesson,” she said without preamble.

Ariel chuckled and reached for his pen.

“Certainly, Dayang. Whatever pleases you.”

They went over the Salmantican alphabet once more.

He taught her how to link the letters together to form words.

Laya found the alphabet easier to understand than she had the first lesson, but perhaps that was because she poured every ounce of her concentration into mastering it.

The paper she had stolen from Ariel’s desk earlier that week was still hidden beneath the floorboards in Laya’s bedroom, and she had pored over it the previous night to distract herself from her sorrows.

She quickly discovered it was a letter, addressed to someone named Nelo and written in Orfelian.

Her first lesson with Ariel had not taught her much, but she was able to cobble together a baffling string of words and transcribe them into Maynaran: comrade , prince , and most cryptic of all, precioso.

Laya would learn to read the rest of it, no matter how painful.

With the letter in mind, she watched Ariel’s gestures and mimicked them, committing each stroke to memory.

The awful, ugly script kept her hands occupied?—and her thoughts oceans away from Luntok and Bulan.

When Ariel complimented Laya’s progress, her stomach betrayed her and fluttered in excitement.

“Now that you know this writing system, you’ll be able to read most western languages as well as Orfelian,” he explained.

“I’m not sure what good it will do me, but that’s satisfying to hear,” Laya said with a shrug.

In the seat beside her, Eti yawned.

She had been following the lesson until then.

But she’d become bored.

“If this is what you plan on doing all day, then I’m going to practice my wielding,” she said.

Laya tousled her hair.

“Go on, then,” she said, dismissing her.

She turned back to Ariel, a renewed hardness in her tone.

“I don’t believe our lesson is over quite yet.”

“Suit yourselves.” Eti set her pen down and swept from the room, no doubt to spend the rest of the afternoon crafting a bangle or two.

Ariel held Laya’s gaze, this time with a frown.

“You truly don’t believe learning to communicate in these languages will be useful to you?”

“To communicate with foreign dignitaries, you mean?” she asked.

“To communicate with anyone who isn’t Maynaran.”

“When I am queen, I shall require any foreign dignitaries to study my language before I deign to speak with them. As for non-Maynarans...” Laya trailed off with a laugh.

“I hardly think I will encounter them enough in my lifetime to make learning their languages a worthwhile endeavor. You, of course, are the exception.”

Ariel’s frown deepened.

“With all due respect, Dayang, Maynara is but one small island in a vast world. I understand your people’s policy of isolation, but even isolation has its limits. There are dozens of countries out there with whom you might form a beneficial alliance. As a future sovereign, you must be at least a bit interested in this.”

Laya matched his frown with one of her own.

“By the gods. You sound like you’ve been spending too much time with my mother,” she said, annoyed.

She was willing to tolerate Ariel’s insolence, but she was not going to allow this foreigner to presume he knew what was best for Maynara’s future, more than she did.

“Hara Duja is being realistic,” Ariel said, frustration rising in his tone.

“Maynara must open the door to the rest of the world in some way, be it through trade agreements or diplomacy. Openness does not always end in conquest.”

“Oh, but it does. We need only look at your homeland to know this,” Laya retorted.

She slouched back in her seat, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“No matter what you believe, Ariel, Maynara does not need the rest of the world. We’ve survived hundreds of years for a reason. If closing our doors protects our people, so be it.”

“Maynara may not need the rest of the world, but the rest of the world needs Maynara. Did you once consider that?” Ariel shoved his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and leaned in.

“I watched you in the courtyard the other day, Dayang. Had I an ounce of your power, I?—”

Laya cut him off with a harsh laugh.

“Go on, then, Orfelian. You would not know the first thing about Mulayri’s power. All this talk of the rest of the world, you speak like an enslaved man.”

Ariel’s gaze snapped to hers.

“You dare speak to me of enslavement?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.

“What else are we to speak of? It’s all your people know,” Laya said, raising her chin.

She was accustomed to hurling cruel words at anyone who dared challenge her.

Less often did they throw their own cruel words back.

Ariel threw his pen down, splattering ink trails across the sheets of paper.

Behind his spectacles, his eyes bulged with anger.

“And what do you know of Orfelia, sitting up here in your palace?” Ariel said, his cheeks reddening with each sentence.

“For centuries, my people have fought for freedom. We penned pamphlets. We rallied the resistance. And my friends?—these uncultured imbeciles, as you regard them?—they could not carve out islands from the ocean floor. They could not summon the wrath of the skies at their fingertips. Their power was but a dream , and they died for it.” Fury flashed in his sharp, scholarly eyes.

He jumped to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping across the floorboards.

“Tell me, Dayang, what kind of mindless slave would risk their life for that?”

His words rang out across the room, which suddenly felt too small for the pair of them.

Ariel fell silent, bracing his weight against the edge of the desk.

His shallow breaths filled the study.

Laya didn’t dare speak.

She stared up at him in astonishment, her mind reeling from his impassioned words.

Of all the information she had hoped to wheedle from the Orfelian, this was not what she’d expected him to confess.

Ariel flushed as he caught his breath.

He sat back down, horrified.

“I?—I apologize, Dayang,” he said quietly, shifting his eyes to his lap.

“I should not have lost my temper. You meant no disrespect.”

She blinked as she gazed back at him in awe, momentarily struck speechless.

His candidness caught her off guard.

Laya’s cheeks heated, not in rage, but in shame.

She cleared her throat.

“No, Ariel, I am the one who should apologize. I meant every disrespect. And that was wrong of me.”

Ariel’s outburst hung heavy in the air; in comparison, her words came out thin, feeble.

Inadequate.

Rarely did she admit fault, and miraculously, the Orfelian had startled an apology out of her.

His eyes flitted back to hers in shock.

“You aren’t angry?”

Laya shook her head.

No, she wasn’t angry.

Her skin prickled as the damned spark burst through her once again.

She stared at him and, this time, truly drank in his features.

In the muted light of the sitting room, Ariel appeared to be in his midtwenties?—younger than Laya had initially thought him to be.

But she could sense a weariness in him that belonged to a man twice his age.

The Orfelian was lying about what had brought him to Maynara.

He was not who he said he was.

But something he said struck a chord with Laya.

Maybe Hari Aki was right.

They did have much to learn from each other after all.

Laya did not know what overcame her when she reached across the desk and cupped her hand over his.

The slight touch alarmed them both, but Ariel did not pull away.

“I am sorry, Ariel?—about your friends,” she murmured.

“They were brave to fight. And what happened to them was awful.”

Her words did not encapsulate half of what Laya wished to say, but to make amends, they were enough.

Ariel swallowed.

“Thank you, Dayang... It was awful,” he said, his voice tight.

He was still in pain, she realized.

She did not want to press him any further.

Instead, Laya leaned back and reached for her pen.

Something told her that would please him.

“If you don’t mind, Ariel,” she said gently, “I suggest we continue with our lesson.”

Ariel continued to plague Laya’s thoughts until she retreated to her chambers after supper.

The evening’s festivity had been an intimate affair involving the Gatdulas, cousins from Hari Aki’s bloodline, High Shaman Maiza, and a handful of the queen’s closest, crustiest advisers.

Her father had invited Maynara’s most exclusive troop of dancers and musicians to perform for them while a singer narrated their ancient myths.

Normally, this was the feast-day event that excited Laya the most.

But throughout their performance, Laya did not pay attention to the gongs and flourishes, nor to the story of Mulayri, who’d sent his birds down to earth and pecked mankind into creation.

Her mind wandered to the Orfelian’s fallen rebel friends.

She imagined them to be as young as Ariel, wide-eyed fools who dived headfirst into a battle they knew they could not win.

A vision of Ariel charging alongside them, a saber in his scholar’s hands, his wire-framed spectacles splattered with blood and soot, broke her heart, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Was it Maynara’s responsibility to balance the odds in those unwinnable fights?

To bolster the scrappy rebels scattered about the world?

That was what Ariel had implied.

His words echoed in her mind as she shut the door to her bedroom behind her.

So absorbed was she in their conversation earlier in the eastern wing, she did not realize she was not alone.

“Laya.”

Luntok’s voice, softer than rustling palm leaves, jolted Laya back to reality.

She looked up with a gasp.

He was standing on the balcony, his profile silhouetted against the full moon.

When he stepped out of the shadows, he gazed at her, his smooth face fixed in a somber expression.

“Luntok,” Laya cried.

She forgot about the world beyond her bedroom when she ran to him.

Every inch of her body sang in delight.

Luntok had come to the palace.

He hadn’t abandoned her.

“I’m here,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms.

The blood and swelling were gone, flushed away by the healer’s touch.

Luntok stood before her, as strong as he’d been before his fight against Bulan the previous evening.

Laya pulled back to cup his face, her brow knitted in concern.

“When you didn’t answer, I thought you were deathly hurt. Or perhaps...” She trailed off, swallowing hard.

“Perhaps you didn’t want to see me again.”

Luntok caught her hand and held it to his cheek.

“I would die if I couldn’t see you. I’d throw myself off the summit of Mount Matabuaya. I’d pitch myself into the Untulu Sea,” he said, and pressed his lips into the tender flesh of her palm.

“A poet’s words.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes were not.

Luntok was there.

She threaded her long, slender fingers between his.

She thought back to her mother’s warning, and her heart grew heavy.

No, Laya wouldn’t let Luntok go?—not yet.

“I meant them,” Luntok said.

His gaze scalded her skin, a flame that blazed hotter the longer he looked at her.

Laya remembered what she had written in her last letter; that was what she’d promised him.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, reeling him closer.

“You must be careful with your words, poet,” she whispered in his ear.

“My heart cannot bear the beauty of them, and I have already fallen so deeply in love.”

“Love,” he repeated, his voice strained, as if the word were fragile porcelain that would fracture the moment he uttered it.

Laya nodded.

“I love you, Luntok,” she said as her heart pounded in her chest.

With trembling hands, he drew her closer by the waist.

Laya tilted her mouth up to meet his and melted into their kiss.

Her heart soared.

Her heart ached.

She ran her hands up the tattooed skin on his arms, tugging him toward her, desperate to eliminate every last inch of space between them.

As she deepened the kiss, her fingers trailed down the front of his vest, tracing the soft, scarlet threads.

Farther they traveled, down his torso and abdomen, before coming to rest atop the hardening tent at the inseam of his trousers.

Luntok jerked back.

“Don’t say this is love, Laya,” he said, shaking his head.

“Not unless you truly mean it.”

Laya’s eyes widened in alarm.

She cupped his face once more in her hands, but he refused to meet her gaze, his jaw tautening beneath her fingers.

“Of course I mean it,” she said, breathless.

“I love you, Luntok. I have always loved you?—you and no one else.”

“Then marry me.” The proposal tore through Luntok’s lips like a snarl.

He grasped the nape of her neck and pressed his forehead to hers.

“Marry me, and I’ll love you the way no other man can love you. Marry me, and I’ll make you happy until the end of our days.”

Laya laid a hand on his chest.

She didn’t shove him back right away.

“For Mulayri’s sake, Luntok,” she told him weakly.

“What do you expect me to say?”

“Say yes . Damn the kingdom. Damn your family. We belong together, Laya. And we’ll silence anyone who dares tell us otherwise,” he said, and gave her a sudden shake.

Laya stared up at him in shock.

He didn’t hurt her?—he wouldn’t dare hurt her?—but she’d never heard him speak with such raw panic before.

For the first time, Luntok scared her.

When she didn’t answer right away, he blustered on.

“In your heart, you know who I am?—and what kind of king I could be. I understand the south, same as I understand the rest of Maynara. Unlike Bato or Waran or the other imbeciles clamoring for your hand, I’m the only one who could rule justly by your side. I wouldn’t whisper mindless drivel in your ears, nor would I grovel at your feet. You would be the hands that steer this land in the right direction. And I?—” He drew in a deep breath, tenderness momentarily dampening the madness in his expression.

“I would be your eyes.”

Laya’s face fell.

She could see how ardently Luntok believed he was the sole man in the realm worthy of being her king.

Part of her wanted to believe it as well.

It was true; no one understood her better than he did.

Their utter acceptance of one another drew them together all those years before?—a mutual appreciation that stretched deeper than lust.

But Luntok did not understand Maynara as well as Laya.

Although the rebellion was long over, contempt for Thu-ki permeated deep into the core of the island.

Her people could never stomach a Kulaw on the throne.

To marry Luntok would be to lose their favor.

To risk her right to the throne.

And no love?—not even one as fierce and unwavering as Luntok’s?—was worth such a gamble.

Carefully, she disentangled herself from him and took a step back.

“I love you, Luntok. Believe me. I want to be with you,” she said.

Her voice cracked, along with the walls she’d built up to protect herself.

The lie couldn’t go on?—it wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

She swallowed the grief rising in her throat and, more firmly, added, “But I cannot go against the will of my family.”

Luntok stared at her, unfazed.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Why not?” she echoed.

“Why not?” She wanted to scream at him for his stupidity.

Instead, she sputtered out a sardonic laugh.

“Because I am Hara Duja’s heir, not some minor noblewoman you can pluck from the masses. Because soon I will be queen of Maynara.”

“All the more reason we should marry. As queen, you will be able to do as you please,” he insisted.

“Just like generations of Gatdulas before you. Just like the rest of your family.”

Laya felt the blood drain from her face.

“What do you mean? That Gatdulas simply do as we please ?” she asked, stiffening.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just look to your great-grandfather,” Luntok said, and threw up his arms in disgust.

“The old king ignored every datu on his council when he opened Mariit to foreigners. The datus warned him, and still, he didn’t spare a single thought about the harm they might inflict upon the city. Or look no further than your sister. She forced her way into the tournament after it had already ended. Although she’s not a true Gatdula, is she?”

Enough.

Luntok went too far.

The moment he insulted Bulan, Laya clenched her hands into fists.

She took a threatening step toward him.

“My sister is as much a Gatdula as you are a Kulaw,” she said, lowering her voice to an icy pitch.

“And it doesn’t matter how much we love each other. We cannot change who we are. That , Luntok, is why we can never marry.”

The truth swung between them, swifter than an executioner’s blade.

Luntok flinched as if she had struck him.

For a long moment, he stood in front of her, unable to speak.

Laya watched the emotions warring in his expression.

Shock crashed into outrage, which erupted into despair.

He crumpled at Laya’s feet and buried his face in her skirt.

Without thinking, Laya reached out to comfort him.

His shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“Oh, darling,” she sighed, relenting as tears slid down her cheeks.

She cradled his head in her hands as he sobbed into her knees.

They stayed like that for a long while.

When Luntok quieted, he looked up at her with glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

“I cannot lose you,” he said, in a voice of sober resignation.

“I can’t, Laya. I refuse.”

Sensing the panic of denial rising inside him, Laya pulled him to his feet.

She leaned in and kissed him, long and deep, so he knew she meant it.

The last fraying thread inside her broke when she pulled back to whisper, “Lie with me tonight, Luntok. Be with me, as if it were the last time.”

Luntok’s breath hitched in his chest.

He didn’t lunge to make love to her as he would have in the past.

That was when they’d thought their love might be spared from the harsh rules that governed their world.

When they believed their tragedy would be different.

Gently, he caressed her face, tracing a line with his knuckle from the ridge of her cheekbone to the curve of her bottom lip.

“I cannot lose you, Laya,” Luntok said again.

This time, her name rolled off his lips like an ardent prayer.

He looked down at her, his eyes darkening with a zealous need.

Then he gave her another shake, this one more restrained than the first.

“How can I make you understand?” he asked.

“I would do anything for you. I love you. Gods help me, I love you.”

Luntok’s urgent pleas didn’t scare her anymore.

Hearing the desire in his voice, Laya’s blood surged.

She drew him to the bed.

“Come, then,” she murmured, pulling him on top of her.

“Show me how much.”

They did not tear off each other’s clothes.

Rather, they shed each layer with care, as if unwrapping a delicate gift.

For once, they made love slowly, as if they were the only creatures on earth, as if time had yet to begin.

Laya shivered when he dragged his lips down her throat and past her stomach, lower and lower, until he reached the juncture between her legs at last.

“Luntok!” she choked out, tangling her fingers in his hair.

This, too, they took time with.

Luntok teased out her pleasure nimbly, patiently, as she arched into his tongue.

The rattan bed frame creaked afterward, when Luntok joined her on the mattress.

Laya moaned against the pillows as he eased inside her, her legs still quivering from her climax.

Laya did not recognize the foreign rhythm.

Tonight, Luntok rocked against her with a different kind of desperation?—that of a dying man, craving a last, gentle touch.

The rhythm built gradually to a crescendo.

That, Laya recognized.

It crested over her body, rippling up from her core, shooting past her toes and fingertips.

She drew him closer to her by his shoulders, feeling the strong muscles rippling beneath his skin.

In her arms, Luntok became an eagle, arching his mighty wings.

Deeper and deeper, he drove into her.

Then his hands curled around her hip bones, and he finished with a strangled cry.

“By the gods,” he sighed, breathing heavily as he collapsed beside her on the pillows.

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Laya curled into his chest.

“I love you,” she said again to make sure he heard.

Luntok didn’t answer right away, nor did he speak of the argument they’d had mere moments before.

After they made love, a new peace seemed to dawn over him.

He retreated to some faraway place as he traced small, featherlight circles on her shoulder.

Laya listened to his heartbeat.

It thudded in her ear, strong and steady, like soldiers marching through the rolling foothills.

For once, she didn’t ask him to leave?—didn’t want him to.

Their bodies molded together so easily.

How warm she felt in his arms.

The fatigue washed over her, pressing her into the gentle night.

Laya didn’t fight it.

She nestled deeper into Luntok’s embrace.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She was half-asleep when he finally stirred.

He leaned over to kiss her once more, his breath hot against her cheek.

“I love you, Laya. Whatever happens, I pray you won’t forget this.” But the darkness swallowed his whisper.

So soft and strange it sounded, like rain rapping against shattered glass, Laya was convinced she must have dreamed it.