Page 64

It’s late, well past midnight, when we finally leave Palewyne’s estate, back in our Martysh garb.

The opulent world of the ball feels like a distant, surreal dream as we walk down the dark streets toward the stable.

Before we departed, Zanyar, in his typical efficient manner, handed the annotated map to Lord Palewyne, instructing him to expect a visitor the next day to collect it.

Mounting our horses in silence, we begin the climb up to Jahanwatch.

The full moon transforms the familiar trail into a serene, almost magical path.

It should bring a sense of calm, but the silence between Zanyar and me is anything but comforting.

Instead, it’s a heavy silence filled with unanswered questions and the lingering echoes of our earlier conversation.

Just when I think I can’t endure it any longer, Zanyar finally speaks.

“How about a detour?”

Normally, I’d dismiss such a suggestion out of hand.

My focus should be on reaching Jahanwatch and securing our victory as soon as possible.

But my persistent curiosity is a stronger pull.

And if I’m honest, there’s something about him, about this unexpected detour, that I can’t resist. So, I nod and follow him as he guides his horse down a narrow, overgrown path until we reach a hidden grove on top of a small cliff with a breathtaking overlook.

Shemiran sprawls below us like a living, breathing painting under the vast night sky. The moon looks like a perfect silver coin, hanging suspended above, and casts an ethereal glow that illuminates the river snaking through the city, turning it into a ribbon of liquid light.

We dismount and tie our horses to a gnarled tree and move toward the cliff edge. The cool night air brushes against my skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. I sit at the edge, and Zanyar sits beside me.

It feels as if we’re perched on the edge of the world, suspended between the earth and the sky.

Suddenly, a wave of unexpected calm envelops me, bringing a sense of peace I haven’t felt in days.

I could stay here forever, lost in this tranquil moment.

But I know the peace is fragile—a thin veil over the questions that linger between us.

As if he can hear my inner thoughts, Zanyar breaks the silence without looking at me. “You wanted to know why I came here,” he says, the words not a question, but a prelude to a confession. “The truth is… I came for you.”

Startled by the raw honesty in his voice, I turn to him.

His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, and he has a faraway look in his eyes as if he is speaking to something beyond my sight.

Here, bathed in moonlight, he doesn’t look like the untouchable Golden Ahira—the fearsome warrior, the legend whispered about in the halls of Firelands.

He is simply Zanyar. A young man who has shed his usual defenses.

“I returned to Firelands to offer you a life in Aravan. That’s when I learned you were leaving for these trials.

I couldn’t let you go alone without protection, so I petitioned Ahira Emmengar, claiming I could follow his command here.

It was a convenient excuse to join the Firelands delegation.

But my only goal was to keep you safe during this competition and then, after you returned, to offer you a place by my side in Aramis. ”

Sincerity resonates in every word, making it hard for me to hold onto my anger at his presumption that I would lose and return to Firelands.

“Why do you want me in Aramis?” I manage to ask.

At that, Zanyar finally turns to me, and a small, almost shy smile touches his lips. “Arien,” he says softly. His voice is a gentle caress. “Surely, by now, you must know. ”

His words make my stomach leap to my throat. I turn away, unable to look at him, and my gaze falls on the glittering lights of Shemiran below. My fingers twist together, and I swallow against the nervous flutter I feel.

The obvious answer dangles between us, unspoken but undeniable.

“I think I do. But it is… bizarre,” I mumble under my breath.

He probably doesn’t understand why I need to hear the words directly from his mouth.

Our worlds are so different. He’s accustomed to adoration and effortless connections.

He probably assumes it’s easy for me to believe, to accept, to reciprocate.

But years of feeling unseen make it hard for me to trust any of this.

He must sense my uncertainty because he lets out a soft, almost defeated sigh.

“Arien, from the moment you arrived at Firelands, you captivated me. The way you carried yourself with such quiet strength—even back then—it resonated with something deep inside me. I can’t say it was affection, not at that time.

We were just children. It was more about curiosity and concern.

But I saw you, Arien, and I couldn’t look away. ”

My eyes return to him. “I watched you from a distance. I admired your resilience, your quiet strength, the way you navigated that harsh world. And when I left Firelands after the Academy, I realized that the only thing I would truly miss was the sight of you surviving—no, thriving—against all odds.”

Numbness spreads through me. All those years, I felt invisible, weak, lost in their world. And he saw strength ?

“For four years, I wandered the continent as a Fire Eye, trying to escape my father, Aramis, Firelands, everything . In Aramis, people adore the idea of who I am but despise my sorcery. In Firelands, they worship my status and abilities, but I am constantly burdened by guilt and my deserted responsibilities to Aramis. Conflicting expectations… divided loyalties… that’s what I’ve been struggling with all my life.

On the road, I didn’t have to deal with any of that.

Alone, under desert stars or in ancient forests, I kept searching for my purpose beyond what was expected of me.

But it was you who kept creeping into my thoughts.

“Gradually, your memory became a source of solace for me. The other Ahiras all seemed so settled, so certain of their place in the world, except for you. I kept wondering what secret dream kept you apart from the others. I was searching for something like that, a purpose beyond expectations, and I clung to the idea of our shared displacement, a mutual sense of not belonging that I thought connected me to you. It made my loneliness feel a little less profound. I knew it was a fantasy, but it was comforting. Harmless.”

He pauses, and a flicker of bitterness crosses his face. “Eventually, my father’s will became inescapable. Aramis summoned me back.”

The raw defenselessness in his voice is both unnerving and strangely captivating.

“My father… he’s never accepted my sorcery.

He has three daughters, grandsons aplenty, but in his mind, I’m the heir.

He’s obsessed with me continuing the line and claiming the seat of the High Lord.

He tried to force a marriage on me, a Zareen woman, naturally, to produce a suitable heir.

Except there aren’t many Zareen women of marrying age in this generation or the last. The best suitable match was High Lord Helmsworth’s daughter. ”

My heart sinks faster than a stone in a well. Hannah. My… sister. Or half-sister, to be precise. The familiar ache in my chest flares up.

He’s right. She is of Zareen Blood. The Helmsworths and the Zareens both trace their lineage back to King Zaccarya Zareen.

When the Great War ended, instead of offering the Gajari deserts to the Gajaris, he decided to separate a chunk of Aramis, attach it to the vast Gajari deserts, and create a new province called Myra.

He appointed Lord Hassyan Helmsworth, who just happened to be married to his only and most beloved daughter, as the first High Lord of Myra, my great, great, great… grandsire.

Now that I think about it, Zanyar and I, if we trace our family trees back several generations, both descend from Zaccarya Zareen. The thought of being related to Zanyar, even distantly, is so bizarre that I almost want to laugh.

“My father paraded noblewomen before me for years,” Zanyar continues, unaware of my internal turmoil.

“Each one was more vapid than the last. But Lady Hannah—there was something about her. We courted for a year, but I kept delaying and stalling, using my connection to Ahira Emmengar to fend off my father’s pressure on the council to declare an order for my marriage.

Then, one afternoon, in the gardens of Aravansir, she leaned in for our first kiss.

That’s when it hit me: she looked like you. That’s what I had been drawn to.”

A shiver, cruel and sharp, races down my body, stealing my breath. This confession is so brutally honest that it leaves me staggering. I blink rapidly, fighting against the sudden, stinging rush of emotions rising to the surface.

He’s talking about my kin, completely unaware of our connection.

The last time I saw Hannah was twelve years ago.

She didn’t look like me then; she was everything I wasn’t.

Adorable, cherished, beautifully dressed, she radiated a happiness that seemed to mock my own miserable existence.

I remember it with painful clarity, watching her from my hiding place behind the trees, a small, forgotten child consumed by envy and an aching longing.

And Zanyar saw me in her? He’s sitting here, confessing this to me, completely unaware of the cruel twist of fate that binds us together. The only thing that grounds me is the sadness in his voice and the weight of this long-held secret, which is incredibly touching.

“The realization was jarring,” Zanyar admits. “I pulled back, completely baffled. Was it affection all this time? How could I have feelings for someone I’d never even spoken to?”