Page 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

My sisters all rush past me as we reach Mirendel. They’re all excited about different aspects of today’s plans. Harek glances over at me with an amused, knowing look and squeezes my hand. He’s been finding it more and more lately.

The market at Mirendel’s base is alive again. Festive lanterns sway above open carts, and the bright magic hums with fresh enchantment. It should feel like progress. Peace. But even with my sisters up ahead, laughing and arms full of goods from Einar’s—our—home, something in me remains on edge.

Harek stays beside me, his side brushing mine as we navigate the stalls.

Brynja and Torvi argue over the best kind of trail bread. Runa tugs on Helga’s sleeve, trying to get her to look at a caged flame-moth.

And I stop.

Dead in my tracks.

Because across the square, cloaked in gold-threaded robes, stands Lys.

His expression is unreadable. He’s still as always, but something about the tilt of his head tells me he’s been waiting for us.

For me.

Then someone steps up beside him.

My heart slams once. Everything else disappears.

Einar. My father. My dead father.

I blink. Then again, more rapidly. It’s him. The same silver-streaked dreadlocks, the same warm smile that could melt a frozen lake.

The world tilts. My vision blurs at the edges, and for a moment I think I’m imagining things—a phantom conjured from too many sleepless nights, too much grief carried too long. But no. The way he holds his shoulders, the familiar crease between his brows.

It’s him.

Whole. Standing. His hair swept back, his frame broader, stronger than I’ve ever seen it. No limp. No scars. Just… alive. Alive. The word echoes in my skull like a prayer I’d forgotten how to say.

“Eira,” he says, like it’s the only word he’s ever known.

My knees nearly buckle. The market, the noise, my sisters—everything fades except the impossible sight of him. A sob catches in my throat, raw and desperate. “You… you’re… how?”

I stumble forward, past Harek’s startled reach, past the crush of bodies that suddenly feel like obstacles between me and something I thought I’d lost forever. My hands shake as I reach for him, afraid he’ll dissolve like smoke.

Like in every dream I’ve had of him since his demise.

He doesn’t hesitate. Just folds me into an embrace that burns through the cold hollow in my chest. He’s warm. Real. I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, strong and steady, and the relief that crashes over me is so intense it hurts. Like drowning in reverse.

“I thought—” My voice cracks. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“Never,” he whispers into my hair. “Never again.”

When he pulls back, his hands remain on my shoulders. His eyes are clear. No shadow of pain, no weight of whatever darkness had been eating him alive before. “The sanctuary… it didn’t just heal me. It reforged me.”

“The curse?” I whisper, hardly daring to hope.

“Broken. Truly. You and I are not bound to destroy each other anymore. Whatever our blood once was, fate doesn’t own it now.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Relief so sharp it feels like joy, like sunlight after endless winter. The curse that had hung over us like a sword, the terrible certainty that one day we’d be forced to kill or be killed.

It’s over. Once I overcome my shock, we can celebrate. And I plan on throwing the biggest party I can.

My father is alive again. I’m no longer an orphan.

But then, behind him, someone else steps out from the shadows.

A woman in midnight silks. Hair in elaborate twists. Green eyes sharp as glass. Hair changing color like the evening’s sunset.

Vivvi.

Lys’s mother.

The relief in my chest crystallizes into something colder. And with it, a creeping dread that slides down my spine like ice water.

“I had a hand in this.” Her voice is like velvet stretched tight. “Magic of that age doesn’t wake easily. Or without cost.”

My throat goes dry. The joy of seeing my father whole, alive—dimming just slightly as her words sink in.

Cost. There’s always a cost.

I swallow, tasting copper and fear. “Wh-what kind of cost?”

Vivvi’s smile isn’t kind like it was last time I saw her. It’s calculating, like she’s already three moves ahead in a game I didn’t know we were playing.

“The kind that binds,” she says simply.

And somewhere deep inside, I know she didn’t do this for us. She did it for whatever’s coming next.

The market around us continues its cheerful chaos, but I can barely hear it over the roar of blood in my ears. My father is alive. The curse is broken. But standing here, caught between Lys’s unreadable gaze and Vivvi’s sharp smile, I realize we’ve simply traded one trap for another.

And this time, I have no idea what the price will be.

My mother’s shield comes to mind, the etchings shining brightly. Almost too brightly.

The answer must be there.

If only I can find it. I’m the only one who can read it. Decipher it.

Hopefully I can.

I’m the Secret Keeper, but I don’t know what the secret is. And maybe that’s the point. If the one person protecting it doesn’t know, then nobody can pull it from her.

But the look in Vivvi’s eyes tells me that won’t stop her from trying.