Page 46

Kieran

Dahlia was still asleep when I left the bed the next morning.

The fire had burned low, embers pulsing faintly in the hearth like a heart trying to remember how to beat.

I stood and stretched the stiffness from my spine, then crossed to the window.

There was no sun here. No moon. Just an endless stretch of unnatural dark, broken only by the red glow of runes etched into the stone.

This place reeked of death and power. Old, layered power. The kind you bled for.

And we were running out of time.

Behind me, Dahlia stirred with a quiet sound. I turned to find her blinking up at the ceiling, lips parted like she wasn’t sure she was really awake.

“Morning,” I said softly.

She groaned and sat up slowly, wincing as the pain caught up to her.

I moved to her side in two steps.

“You shouldn’t move too fast,” I murmured.

She gave me a wry, sleep-rough smile. “You can keep saying that. I’ll keep ignoring you.”

I smiled back, but it didn’t last.

There was something I needed to say. Something I’d been thinking about since the challenge. Since the Elder carved that circle into the floor and she stepped forward without hesitation.

“Dahlia…” I sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

Her expression shifted. “What is it?”

I swallowed hard. My hands curled against my thighs. “When we face Calliope… I don’t want you going into that fight alone.”

“I won’t be,” she said immediately. “You’ll be there.”

“No,” I said. “Not just beside you. With you.”

She frowned.

“I want to bind my soul to yours.”

Her breath caught.

“I want you to have my power—my magic—without limits. Not just what I can teach you or shield you from. I want it to be yours , Dahlia. If we lose, you’ll need every ounce of strength.

And if we win…” I looked at her, everything in me raw and open.

“I want to win knowing I gave you everything I had.”

“Kieran…” Her voice was a whisper, trembling.

“It doesn’t need a grand ritual. Just a few drops of blood and a vow.” I reached for her hand. “But it’s not a magic trick, Flower. It’s permanent. It means our lives are knotted together. Forever.”

Her eyes filled. “Why would you do that for me?”

I gave a soft, broken laugh. “Because somewhere between not-poison soup and nearly dying beside you, I fell in love with you.”

She stared at me.

And then she launched herself into my arms.

I caught her easily, cradling her to my chest as her arms wrapped tight around my neck.

“I love you too,” she whispered fiercely. “Gods help me, Kieran Voss, I love you so much it terrifies me.”

I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for centuries.

We sat like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, the firelight casting flickers of gold and red across the room.

A knock broke the stillness.

Dahlia and I both jumped slightly—her hand still tangled in mine, her head resting against my shoulder.

I glanced toward the heavy wooden door as it creaked open just enough for a guard to peer in.

He didn’t speak. Just nodded once and stepped back, allowing a second figure to wheel in a small tray.

Breakfast.

If that’s what you could call it.

The tray was modest—two covered plates, a carafe of water, and a few thick slices of dark bread. No weapons, no utensils sharp enough to cause concern. Just the bare minimum of hospitality required by the Bloodrite.

“Courtesy of the house,” the guard said, barely glancing at us before turning and disappearing down the hall.

I waited until the door clicked shut behind him before I crossed the room and lifted one of the domed lids.

Porridge.

Plain, but steaming.

The second plate held roasted root vegetables, already sliced. Beneath the food, tucked nearly invisible against the edge of the tray, was a folded scrap of parchment.

Dahlia spotted it at the same time I did.

“What is that?”

I picked it up, unfolded it, and scanned the delicate handwriting.

Healing herbs are usually fairly good in food.

That was it. No signature. No mark.

But I could smell it now—faint and earthy, beneath the steam rising from the vegetables.

A mixture of ground echinacea. Witch’s ivy. A thread of bloodleaf. All blended subtly enough to go unnoticed by anyone who didn’t know what they were looking for.

My heart kicked.

Someone was helping us.

I threw the parchment into the fire to cover whatever trail it might leave.

I turned to Dahlia. “These… this is a full restorative blend. Whoever cooked this disguised it well. It’s everything I’d need to close your wounds properly.”

Her brow furrowed. “So someone in the Order—?”

“Someone who doesn’t want Calliope to win.” I looked down at the food, then back to her. “They risked everything just sending this.”

Dahlia’s lips parted, breath shallow. “Then let’s not waste it.”

I nodded, already moving to prepare the herbs for proper use. I wasn’t going to let her walk into that circle with half-healed burns and cracked ribs.

Not when there was even a sliver of hope.

Not when someone, somewhere in this rotting empire, still believed we had a chance.