The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 69: The Water Remembers

The Firefly’s Burden-Chapter 69: The Water Remembers

Dawn didn’t so much arrive as invade.
Curtains ripped back, cold sky poured in, and a brisk voice cut the air: “Up.”
I shot halfway upright with a snarl of sheets. Not my room—too big, too new, too Vale. Stone walls veined with faint wardlight. A balcony wide enough to parade a cavalry across. A hearth that smelled like someone else’s lavender last night. Isolde had given me an entire wing—stars help me—because apparently a duchess needs echo. Only two people had rights to this space: me and my mother. Comforting.
“Up,” Althaea repeated, already mounting the assault on Cassie’s curtains. “You have a schedule. We are not losing a minute to dramatics.”
Cassie’s groan could have curdled cream. “It’s not dramatics,” she mumbled into her pillow. “It’s survival.”
“Feet,” Althaea said, merciless.
My feet found cold rugs. The marble bit my soles. Outside, the keep’s wards hummed a low, contented note; beyond them, morning bells ticked along the valley like dew striking glass. The air held that honeyed chill of pre-sunrise before the Summer Court remembered itself and turned hot.
“Water,” Althaea said, shoving a warmed mug into my hands. Steam rose with lemon and salt. “Drink. Then wash. Then dress.” She was already moving—checking the folded riding leathers on the bench, tapping the travel satchel’s weight, setting a narrow case of field-kit along the table edge: bandages, salves, wipes, needle-and-thread, a coil of sterile ribbon, a pocket mirror. Prepared to mend either clothes or people.
Cassie pushed up on her elbows, hair a golden snarl. “Do all Drennaths conscript their duchesses?”
“Yes,” Althaea said sweetly. “And their princesses. Especially their princesses.”
I took a sip. Salt cut sleep fuzz; lemon lit the back of my throat. “You do realize I’m your employer.”
“You’re my cadence,” she said, already tying back her own braid. “And your cadence is late.”
The water hit my empty stomach and woke everything else: skin, scent, the ache in my legs from yesterday’s drills. Toasted marshmallow ghosted warm; stargazer bloom unfurled; ocean rain threaded through as the balcony draft found me. The contrast sharpened the room: polished armor on a mannequin by the hearth, the faint rasp of Roran’s voice in the corridor, Kael’s softer footfalls pacing a perimeter like a heartbeat.
“Bathing chamber,” Althaea ordered, steering us like recruits. “Quick wash. Teeth. Faces. Mira first.”
I shuffled into the marble glow, splashed cold over eyes and cheekbones until the world stopped doubling. Braid out; fingers comb; a strand of moon-silver ribbon caught the early light like a small star and steadied me. Three-tap on the sink’s lip—one, two, three—until my pulse agreed to cooperate.
In the mirror: a girl who looked like a duchess because Althaea refused to allow anything else. Copper freckles sharp against sleep. Dark-brown eyes with their starlit flecks. No glamour. No mask. Just me, bright and inconvenient.
“You’re zoning,” Althaea called, because she could read silence like text. “Back in the room.”
“I was thinking,” I said, wiping water down my throat. “I need to set a training schedule. Tharion isn’t here. Roran can hire a trainer—trainers. Maybe rotate disciplines. And you can—”
“Torment you?” Althaea appeared in the doorway, one brow up. “Gladly.”
Behind her, Cassie dragged a comb through her hair with the grim resolve of someone preparing for war. Her scent snapped from sleepy vanilla to frosted citrus, crisp as a blade’s edge. “If I have to be awake before dawn,” she said, “I get to watch you suffer in drills later.”
“Deal,” I said. “As long as you suffer too.”
“We’re married; that’s implied.”
Althaea flicked her fingers. “Out. Clothes.”
She had laid them with military neatness.
For me: day-two field ensemble—built for mist and docks. A slate-grey, long-sleeve silk-cotton underlayer; over it, a short riding coat of river-teal waxed leather, matte gunmetal fittings, water beading off the surface before it even landed. Storm-grey riding trousers reinforced at the knee. Knee-high oxblood boots, the polish muted, tread meant for wet stone. Gloves in river-silver hide, rune-threaded inside to keep grip and check heat. A sea-glass light cloak, thin and hooded, folded for the causeway. Belt with my personal buckle—star within flame, brushed bronze, a quiet warmth when it kissed my hip.
For Cassie: frost made practical. A pale ice-grey linen shirt with a standing collar, sleeves rolled and tabbed; a fitted glacier-green canvas vest cut to move; a cropped tide-dark oilskin jacket with quick-release cuffs and pewter hardware; midnight charcoal trousers; black boots with frost-runes etched subtle at the cuff. Althaea had set a moonlight-blue ribbon beside her comb; her fingers already hunted it.
Cassie eyed the pile. “I wanted to be a slug in bed, not a legend on a horse.”
“Legends rise,” Althaea said, utterly gentle and utterly inexorable. “Arms.”
Cassie groaned, but she obeyed. The vest slid on; the oilskin followed; Althaea tugged seams with a tailor’s mercy. She moved like muscle memory—one tug, one smoothing pass, a decisive pat to settle fabric into obedience. She looped the ribbon into Cassie’s braid so the light would catch it just so when she turned her head. Presentation, yes. Function, always.
I buckled my coat. The river-teal leather hugged; the waxed finish whispered as it moved. The glove seams sighed as I slid them on, rune thread waking beneath my palms—humming, not visible, a private promise against scorch. My buckle kissed my hip. My body exhaled into the right shape: ride, meet, fight, listen, repeat.
“Breakfast,” Althaea said, pressing a small crusted hand pie into my free hand. “Eat while you walk.”
“It’s pre-dawn,” Cassie muttered, accepting the twin pie Althaea planted against her palm. “This should be illegal.”
“Your uncle called this ‘character,’” Althaea said. “Chew.”
I took a bite. Hot egg and onion and something herbed, steam fogging the air in a single, perfect puff. My scent warmed accordingly, marshmallow flirting with caramelized edges.
The door knocked twice—sharp, spaced. Althaea turned, listening to the air like it might lie. “Enter.”
Roran slid in, already in crimson formal leathers pared down for travel: no cape, knives visible, short sword at hip. Molten-amber eyes swept once, cataloguing positions, exits, the state of our boots. “Perimeter clear. Stable yard secure. Plainclothes riders fanned along the lower streets. Mirror-drones will stay high and quiet—no banners.”
Kael ghosted at his shoulder, hair a disciplined black arc. “Route runs south gate to causeway. Watch rotations at the docks augmented. On the water, we have two skiffs—one local, one ours. I’ve briefed both. No surprises unless we make them.”
“Excellent,” Althaea said. “My duchess and princess will be at the stables in seven.”
Roran’s gaze ticked to the hand pies, then to my face. “If we are ambushed, throw the food first. It will distract them.”
“I could throw you,” I offered around a mouthful.
“Paperwork,” he said, deadpan. “Don’t do it to me.”
Kael’s mouth almost twitched. “If you throw him, I’ll log it as a training accident.”
Cassie pointed her pie at them like a scepter. “If anyone mentions forms before coffee again, I will declare a small, personal war.”
“Noted,” Roran said. “Speaking of—” He lifted a thermos charm. “Bitter as sin, hot as fire.”
Althaea took it, sniffed, nodded. “Pour. Half cups. No shaking hands on reins.”
“Sergeant,” Cassie muttered.
“Princess,” Althaea returned, unbothered.
I leaned against the dressing table for one heartbeat, letting the swirl of them fill in the edges of the room. The wing might be strange, but these people weren’t. My three-tap settled into the floorboards—heel, toe, palm against thigh—until the rising churn of the day found a rhythm.
Cassie’s thought brushed the ring, warm and dry. You look awake enough to be dangerous.
You look expensive enough to bankrupt a baron, I sent back.
Goal for noon: bankrupt three.
Make it sport, I teased.
Althaea shoved my satchel into my hands. “Contents: travel kit, spare gloves, thin cloak for the causeway mist, dried fruit, reusable cups, bandages, salve, sterile wipes, a set of ward-matches—do not use unless I say—and a handkerchief.”
“For weeping nobles?” I asked.
“For snotty children,” she said. “You will meet at least one.”
“Lady Althaea,” Roran said with a bow of mock-gravity that somehow still respected rank, “the stables?”
“Now,” she said.
We moved out like a small unit: Althaea ahead, me and Cassie side by side, Roran and Kael taking the rear angles at an offset that made it look accidental. The hall breathed cool. Our boots knocked a clean drumline down stone—one, two, three; one, two, three.
Past the balcony, the keep unfurled into terraces and towers. Dawn was only a thought yet, blue tucked under the ridge, the sky the color of an unpolished blade. Candles guttered in iron sconces; the air smelled of oiled leather, faint ash, and the ghost of last night’s beeswax polish. Servants dipped quick bows that were more muscle memory than fear. Someone far below laughed.
“You hate mornings,” Cassie whispered.
“Correct.”
“You like horses.”
“Also correct.”
“So why do you look like you’re going to bite the sun?”
“It bit me first,” I said.
She bumped her shoulder into mine, a tiny correction of angle that snagged me back from a spiral where I replaced Tharion with nameless trainers and imagined schedules into eternity. Focus, Firefly, slid the ring, playful; sharp. We can build the regimen later. Let Althaea torture you by appointment.
Deal, I sent. On Tuesdays.
“Wednesdays,” Althaea said without turning. “Tuesdays are for Council briefs.”
“I didn’t say that out loud,” I accused.
“You hummed it,” she said. “You do that when you plan things you don’t want to do.”
Roran coughed a laugh. Kael’s eyebrows—those steel lines—might have lifted a fraction. Traitors.
The stable yard was dew-damp and hay-sweet. Horses stamped and tossed, breath pluming silver. My mare—Starline—whickered when she saw me, that soft rumble I felt in my ribs. I palmed her velvet muzzle; she nosed the river-teal coat like it contained apples. I smelled oats and leather and animal heat, a living warmth that did more to wake me than coffee ever could.
“Status,” Kael said, scanning tack.
“Comms live,” Roran answered, checking the tiny glyph inset on my saddle’s front ring. A soft blue pulse acknowledged the link. “Perimeter pings running. Mirror-drones at altitude.”
“Minimal escort,” I reminded. “No parade.”
“Plainclothes at distance,” Kael said. “We’re shadows, not flags.”
Althaea tightened my girth with efficient hands, then checked my gloves like she didn’t trust me not to try bare-palmed bravado before sunrise. “Don’t show off,” she said. “We’re going to Moonwell to listen. Not to glow.”
“I can listen and glow,” I protested.
“You can, yes,” Cassie said, swinging into the saddle with infuriating grace. “But you promised to keep combustion to a minimum before breakfast.”
“Semantics,” I muttered, and mounted.
The world lifted. The hum of wards throbbed faintly through the stones, a pulse under hoof. A mist had already crept up from the valley, laying cool fingers along my jaw; tiny droplets caught in my lashes. The causeway to Moonwell stretched in my mind: slick stone, water sigh, lotus steam. The thought steadied me, a shape I could ride toward that didn’t require perfect answers—just presence.
Althaea swung onto her own mount and took her place just behind and left, precisely where she belonged. Not a shadow. A rhythm.
She glanced up at me once, quick and narrow-eyed. “You remember how to breathe?”
“In for three, out for three,” I recited, and couldn’t keep the smile from curling. My mother had taught me crowns; Althaea had taught me breath.
“Good,” she said. “Try not to terrify any priests before we’re on the docks.”
“No promises,” Cassie said, wicked.
“None needed,” Althaea replied. “You terrify them by existing.”
Roran raised a hand. “Gate.”
The south gate yawned open, wards thinning to a translucent veil that brushed my shoulders as we passed. The first breath of the morning beyond the walls hit like a coin dropped into water—ripples, quiet shock, then widening calm. Wet stone. Lotus steam whispering up from the distant lake. The faint chiming of the ward-bells threaded into our reins, a soft, cautious music.
“Ready?” Cassie asked, and in the bond I felt her mental hands cup my face, steady and teasing. Frost and lemon and that clean, cold pride she wore like perfume.
“As I’ll ever be,” I sent back.
“Which is to say,” she thought, “a menace.”
“Your menace,” I returned, and she laughed so quietly I felt it more than heard it.
Althaea looked back once to make sure our guards were where they were supposed to be. Roran adjusted two paces right. Kael’s gaze ticked over the fog, mapping threats into nothings and filing them anyway.
“Move,” Althaea said, and we did.
Hooves found the causeway’s first slick stones. Mist curled around fetlocks and boot-tops, had the audacity to be beautiful. The world narrowed to the drum of horse and the heartbeat of the Court in my chest. One, two, three. One, two, three.
We rode for Moonwell.
Hooves rang soft over wet stone, ward-bells on our reins chiming the lightest silver like someone whispering a song they half-remembered. Mist came in cool breaths off the water, beading on my lashes and darkening the slate of my jacket. My gloves hummed—rune-stitch waking with each flex of my fingers—and I counted the stitches at the cuff when the world crowded too close. One, two, three. One, two, three.
“Left curve,” Kael murmured from behind, all blade-edge calm. “The stones pitch outward.”
“I know,” I said, even as Starline adjusted for me like she’d read the thought first. The causeway’s sheen wasn’t treacherous, just honest—slick, cold, beautiful. Lotus steam curled up from pools along the banks, carrying the low, green smell of living water.
Cassie nudged her mare closer until our knees brushed. Her palm found the inside of my wrist, two taps—anchor, then a slow glide down tendons to press right where the nerves sang. “With me,” she said, voice easy. In the bond, lemon lit the dark like a struck match.
“With you,” I sent back, letting my scent even from marshmallow-too-sweet to warm ember and bloom.
Althaea kept her place just behind my left—no shadow, all rhythm—eyes busy, shoulders loose. “When the sun’s up this will be a mirror,” she said. “Try not to admire yourselves into the lake.”
“We’re very admirable,” Cassie said.
“Exhaustingly,” Althaea returned.
Roran angled two paces right, scanning fog as if it owed him an apology. “Mirror-drones holding high,” he said. “Plainclothes at the ferry house, two on the eastern ridge. No flags.”
“Good,” I said. “I didn’t brush my hair for flags.”
“You brushed it because Althaea threatened to cut it,” Cassie said.
“She wouldn’t dare,” I said, then added, because I knew her: “She would dare.”
“Correct,” Althaea said without looking up.
We crested the last bend and the docks drew out of the mist—low lacquered piers, prayer-ribbons fluttering under the weight of dew, lantern glass pearled over by water. The lake held the sky like an oath it intended to keep.
He was already there, of course. Lean and silver-quiet, gear in lake hues, the short fall of his hair catching what little light the morning had. Aevryn Sylvaris stood at the end of the dock with a coil of mooring line over one shoulder, bow unstrung across his back, the sort of smile that looked like it had just been thinking of trouble.
“Your Grace,” he called, reverent in public as always—and then, when we drew close, the corner of his mouth tucked up the way it only did for me. “You made the sun hurry.”
“You’re late to flatter me,” I said, and felt Cassie’s attention sharpen with a prickly curiosity that warmed the inner rim of the bond.
He bowed from the shoulders—proper, deep enough for the crowd of fisherfolk nearby to see—and then took my mare’s bridle lightly to steady her as I swung down. “Welcome home, Mira.”
Hearing my name like that tugged a small, private thread somewhere under my ribs. We’d grown up being each other’s excuse to breathe when rooms turned predatory. Old habits have long shadows.
“Lord Aevryn,” Cassie said, sliding to the pier with a grace that bordered on rude to the rest of us mortals. “I hear you’re responsible for half the Moonwell’s charm.”
“Only half?” He flashed her a grin, then corrected himself with a court-precise dip of the head. “Your Highness. The other half shows up and makes the rest of us look underdressed.”
“Careful,” Althaea said dryly, taking my reins from his hand. “She’ll make you polish her reflection.”
Aevryn’s gaze flicked—just once, quick as a fish—to Althaea’s braid, to the bead of mist caught at her temple, to the set of her mouth when she pretended she wasn’t amused. For a heartbeat he forgot to breathe. I felt it like a shift in air pressure; Cassie felt it too. The prickle along our bond eased, replaced by a spark of quiet satisfaction. Oh, she sent, cool and pleased.
NOT YOU.
Not me
, I echoed, amused. We’d almost been something once, Aev and I—almost, in the way of young people trying on futures like cloaks. He’d made me feel seen when I didn’t want to be seen by anyone; I’d made him laugh when the temple made him too careful. We pressed to the edge and stopped there. It mattered that we stopped.
“Captain Veyra,” Aevryn said, shifting into the respectful gravity he wore like a second skin before strangers. “Lord Ashvane.”
Roran nodded; Kael’s chin dipped a fraction. Althaea gave the Serrated Althaea Noise that meant she’d permit pleasantries for exactly sixty seconds and then we were back on schedule.
“You’re early,” he told me, teasing.
“You’re glowing,” I told him back, and Cassie’s elbow pressed into my side—warning, wicked—while Aevryn laughed the kind of laugh that belonged to the dock, not to a hall.
“You brought the ward-bells,” he said, eyeing the silver chimes on our reins. “Good. The priests sleep better when they can pretend they hear you coming.”
“They’ll hear me,” Cassie said, mild.
“They’ll pretend not to,” I said.
We led the horses along the dock while Aevryn fell into step between me and Althaea like he’d always belonged there. He had a habit of swinging the mooring rope absently against his thigh; the soft thud-thud synced with my three-beat until my brain quieted. He noticed—he always noticed—and shifted the rhythm to match mine exactly. Steadying without making a show of it.
“You’re freezing,” he said under his breath.
“Wet stone,” I said. “Lotus steam lies.”
“Here.” His hand brushed the small of my back, a quick flare of steady warmth, not a caress, a cousin to the way Cassie’s palm found my wrist. His eyes slid sideways to make sure Cassie saw every intent. My consort’s smirk turned approving.
“Keep your hands, priestling,” Althaea said without heat. “We’re behind cadence.”
Aevryn’s grin widened. “Only if you’re leading.”
“ I am,” she said, and he went very quiet, which was new and interesting.
We took the shore road toward the hot-spring village, six abreast in a ribbon of mist, ward-bells answering each other when the breeze shifted. Shops were still shuttered; steam rose in playful ghosts from vents in the basalt. A tea-seller glanced up from stacking cups and did a double-take that turned into a bow so fast I feared for his spine.
“Don’t crack him,” Cassie murmured.
“Try not to crack anyone before breakfast,” Roran added, deadpan. “Paperwork.”
Kael’s mouth tilted—almost a smile. “I brought the forms.”
“You are all deeply loved,” I said flatly.
“By whom,” Althaea said, “is an open question.”
We rounded a low wall and the village opened like a warm palm—small stone pools framed by white lotus, walkways slick with condensation, families already staking out their favorite ledges. A handful of children chased one another along the edge of a shallow spring, their laughter high and fearless. It took exactly three beats for fear to prove itself.
A little girl’s heel slipped. Her knee kissed rock, hard. She went over with the graceless surrender of the very young, and then the blood came—bright, too bright against wet stone—and her scream cut the air in a way that makes the world smaller for anyone who grew up unwatched.
I was moving before I decided to. Kneel, gloves off, wet seeping through the seat of my trousers; steam wreathing my face. The girl was five at most, fierce and furious. She sucked breath like the wound had stolen air from the whole village.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Hey, little comet.”
She blinked at me through tears, startled by the nickname.
Cassie slid in at my shoulder, field pouch already open, voice low and competent. “Warm water, not hot,” she told the watching mother, who hovered with both hands fisted helplessly in her apron. “It’ll sting less. See?” She dipped a clean cloth in the spring, wrung it with a practiced twist, and the steam came off it like breath from a horse.
The girl’s knee wasn’t bad—surface scrape, dramatic blood. But panic makes everything loud. I let my thumb find the groove in the spoon of my kit—back, forth, back—until my own edges clicked into place.
“In for three,” I told her, demonstrating. “Out for three. Watch me.” I exaggerated it, playful—the way Tharion used to make a joke of pain so the pain would loosen its teeth.
One—two—three. Her little chest hitched, then followed. Brave.
“Good,” I said. “Again.” I hummed the rhythm under my breath, a low steady thing, and let a small cooling sigil write itself in the air above her knee—no more than a breath’s worth of light. Not the kind of magic that terrifies priests. The kind that says: pain can be negotiated with.
Aevryn shifted back to give us space, head bowed the slightest fraction—not in prayer, in respect—while Althaea placed herself between us and the curious ring of onlookers, one palm raised. “Give them air,” she said. “Or you’ll be next when you faint.”
Roran and Kael became posts at our flanks—loose, unreadable, a wall that didn’t look like a wall. Cassie cleaned with gentle, efficient strokes; I blew on the sigil until it settled cool over skin. The girl’s sobs fell to hiccups.
“Can I—” the mother began, voice breaking. “I don’t want to presume with— with Your Graces—”
“Hold her hand,” I said. “You outrank everyone here.”
She did. The girl stared at me like I’d grown a second head, then, the moment the sting dulled, peered openly at my ears. “Do princesses bleed?”
“Constantly,” I said gravely. “Especially when they run on wet stone.”
She giggled, a hiccup-sputter that turned into real laughter. The mother’s eyes filmed with tears. “No duchess kneels in mud,” she whispered, half to herself.
“This one does,” Cassie said, not looking up. She taped a small square bandage, neat and precise, then offered the girl the tiniest, fiercest nod. “You were brave.”
“Show me,” I said, and the girl made her breath the same shape as mine—one, two, three—and beamed like sunrise when she nailed it.
Althaea passed me a cloth without comment. I wiped mud from my palms; Cassie returned the unused wipes to her pouch in that efficient way that makes quartermasters forgive you everything. The onlookers had gone quiet in the way of people realizing a story was writing them into it.
Aevryn broke the spell with a bright, easy clap of his hands. “Who’s for tea?” he called to the ring of aunties and uncles and suddenly-very-interested men. “First pot’s on the temple—don’t tell the temple.”
A scandalized gasp from somewhere. Laughter anyway.
Cassie’s shoulder bumped mine. Through the bond: Good work, Duchess.
You made it sing, Princess, I sent back, a warm ribbon of pride easing under my ribs.
The mother tried to curtsy. I caught her elbows. “No,” I said. “Walk with her when she’s ready. That’s the only bow I want.”
She nodded hard, mouth trembling. “Thank you.”
We stood. My knees protested; my braid stuck damp to the back of my neck. I tugged it once, hard—sting, center—and looked up into Aevryn’s smile, which had gone soft in a way that had nothing to do with me. He was watching Althaea shepherd gawkers back toward their breakfasts with three words and a pointed look. He looked wrecked and very alive about it.
“Careful,” I murmured as we fell into step again, taking the side path deeper toward Moonwell proper. “She bites.”
“I hope so,” he said, delight unguarded. “I need the discipline.”
Cassie’s laughter touched my mind like frost on a window that writes a rude word and then giggles about it. He’s perfect.
For us, I agreed. For her, if he gets brave.
“Schedule,” Althaea said crisply, pretending not to notice either of them. “Sanctum steps by sunrise. Dockside blessing after. No rune-work inside the inner ring without my say.”
“Or mine,” Aevryn added, professionalism snapping back on like a glove. “The priests will need to see lines observed.”
“I can behave,” I said.
“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Kael observed.
“Paperwork suggests otherwise,” Roran added.
Cassie sighed in long-suffering harmony. “I married chaos.”
“You married velocity,” I corrected, letting the ward-bells and lotus steam settle into the rhythm of my pulse. One, two, three. One, two, three.
We walked on together—six of us now—into a morning that still tasted like mist and possibility.
The path widened as the mist began to thin, revealing terraces of pale stone and water stairways that spilled down into the lake like ribbons of glass. The hum beneath my feet deepened—the kind that lived in the bones of a sacred place. It wasn’t loud, but it thrummed along my pulse until I had to press a hand to my ribs just to make sure it was still mine.
“Welcome to Moonwell,” Aevryn said quietly, voice pitched reverent without meaning to. “The lake doesn’t sleep, it only pretends. The priests say it remembers every reflection that’s ever touched it.”
Cassie’s brow arched. “So it’s a gossip.”
He smiled. “An immortal one.”
We turned the final corner, and there—standing beneath an archway carved with a crescent cradling flame—waited the Marquis Sylvaris himself. His cloak was the same lake-hue as his son’s, trimmed in silver thread. He looked like the kind of man born to stillness. The kind of stillness that makes other people check their posture.
“Your Grace,” he said as we approached, and bowed the exact degree protocol demanded. No more, no less. “Moonwell welcomes you home.”
I didn’t bow, of course. Queens don’t. But I did incline my head, and the way his gaze flicked down to acknowledge the distinction told me he noticed.
“Marquis,” I said. “The welcome is generous.”
His eyes softened a fraction as they landed on Aevryn. “And I see my son has already found himself in his proper place.”
Cassie’s lemon-vanilla amusement hit the air like sunlight through crystal.
Proper place,
she echoed privately.
He has no idea, does he?
None,
I sent back, biting down a grin.
Bless him.
The Marquis gestured toward the upper walkway. “If you’ll follow me, the inner sanctum awaits. The priests have prepared a blessing.”
Aevryn moved closer, guiding us toward the steps, falling into rhythm beside Althaea. I caught the way his eyes lingered—not in the lingering way of hunger, but in the quiet, startled way of a boy realizing beauty doesn’t always ask permission to be seen.
Cassie caught it too. The bond hummed a wicked little tune.
He’s looking at her again.
He’s brave,
I replied.
Or doomed.
Althaea, ever the professional, didn’t react. Not until Cassie cleared her throat loudly and said, “So, Aevryn, are you planning to take a vow of silence, or just trying to impress our lady-in-waiting by pretending you don’t have a tongue?”
Aevryn blinked, stumbled one step, then smoothed it over with a grin. “My tongue is perfectly functional, Your Highness. I was being polite.”
“Polite,” Cassie repeated. “That’s what we’re calling it now.”
Althaea’s voice cut through the mist like a knife. “Princess, we are in a holy place.”
“Of course,” Cassie said sweetly. “Just trying to help him find his courage before dawn.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to smother a laugh and failed spectacularly. “She’s right, you know. You could stand to be a little braver, Aevryn. Althaea doesn’t bite—hard.”
Althaea stopped walking. Just for a moment. Then she turned her head with the slow precision of a predator. “Your Majesty, if you keep speaking, I will add two hours to your morning drills. And if your consort keeps smiling at me like that, she can join you.”
Cassie’s laughter cracked through the mist like sunlight. “Worth it.”
“Debatable,” I muttered. “She makes me run uphill before coffee.”
“Then perhaps,” Althaea said, perfectly serene, “you should stop giving me reasons to enjoy it.”
Aevryn coughed into his glove, trying not to laugh and failing. “You see why I stay quiet, Your Grace?”
Cassie leaned toward me, murmuring, “He’s absolutely smitten.”
“Tragic,” I said. “I should warn him about her left hook.”
Althaea’s braid snapped over her shoulder as she started walking again. “You could try,” she said. “But I already know where he sleeps.”
Roran groaned softly. “Please, saints, not another enemies-to-lovers subplot.”
Kael’s expression didn’t move, but her left eyebrow might have twitched in silent agreement.
We climbed higher, the air thickening with heat and mineral scent as the terraces opened into view. Pools rippled with Veilfire—liquid light that shimmered silver one moment and gold the next. Lotus petals drifted on the surface, glowing faintly as if remembering sunlight long gone.
“This is why the faithful come,” Aevryn said softly, awe threading his words. “Selûra’s last trace lingers here. The water still heals—sometimes skin, sometimes hearts.”
Cassie’s gaze tracked the nearest pool. “And sometimes burns?”
He nodded once. “Only if you lie to it.”
The air shifted then—heat rolling up my arms like a pulse. I reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of one basin, and the warmth bloomed gentle instead of fierce. Marshmallow-sweet air curled around me; my fire answered but didn’t rebel.
“She feels familiar,” I murmured.
“Because she doesn’t punish fire,” Aevryn said. “She just asks it to know itself.”
Cassie smiled faintly, watching me.
So basically Selûra’s your spiritual twin.
Great,
I sent back.
Now I have to add divine existentialism to my morning schedule.
She grinned, citrus curling into her scent. “We’ll pencil it in after drills.”
“Try it,” Althaea said without turning. “I dare you.”
“Already did,” Cassie called sweetly.
Roran sighed. “Paperwork.”
Kael: “Always paperwork.”
I laughed then—loud, real—and the sound echoed off the carved stone and water like a blessing. The Marquis turned at the top of the stairs, expression unreadable, but there was a hint of satisfaction there. Maybe he thought the laughter was his doing. Maybe he thought it meant peace.
If only he knew better.
The hum of the Veil deepened as we crossed under the sanctum arch. The air shimmered faintly, gold and silver threading through the steam. Somewhere in the distance, the bells of Moonwell began to toll, and I felt the pull of the divine—quiet, patient, waiting.
And beside me, Cassie whispered through the bond,
Whatever happens next, we’re terrifyingly good at making an entrance.
We’re also good at making trouble,
I sent back.
And they’ve no idea which one they’re getting.
The path narrowed into carved terraces where the lake breathed against the stone. Sunlight hadn’t yet found its way down here; mist pooled in the hollows like silk shaken loose from the sky. Ward-bells chimed when droplets touched them, bright little sighs that made the whole causeway sound alive.
Aevryn walked backward for three steps, grinning. “Moonwell looks good on you, Your Grace. Even the mist is showing off.”
“Flatterer,” I said. “You’ll get yourself reassigned to polishing the temple floor.”
Cassie elbowed me, voice all frost-honey. “You’d let him polish if he asked nicely.”
“Only if Althaea supervises,” I said, loud enough for the woman ahead of us to
definitely
hear.
Althaea didn’t slow. “I supervise everything.”
Aevryn’s grin tilted wicked. “Then I’ll need detailed instruction.”
Cassie made a soft, delighted noise in the back of her throat.
He’s bold.
He’s doomed,
I sent back.
Because Althaea’s shoulders had gone a shade too straight, and her ears—gods help her—were pink. She tried to pretend the steam caused it, but Cassie and I caught it at the same moment. We looked at each other and dissolved into identical, silent laughter.
“Something amusing, Your Majesties?” Althaea asked, dangerously calm.
“Nothing at all,” Cassie said, innocent as sin. “Just appreciating the view.”
“Of the architecture,” I added quickly. “Marvelous arches.”
Roran coughed a laugh. Kael murmured, “They’ll regret this.”
“Oh, they will,” Althaea said. “Training begins an hour earlier tomorrow.”
Cassie groaned aloud. “I take it back, Mira, stop teasing her—she has power.”
“I warned you,” I said, and Althaea’s smile—small, sharp, satisfied—was worth the doom.
We crossed under the crescent-and-flame arch. Light changed there: warmer, more gold than day should be. Aevryn lifted his hand toward the sprawling pools below.
“Selûra’s first reflection,” he said, voice shifting into that quiet cadence he used when words mattered. “They say this lake is where she first dimmed her fire to look upon the world. Her tears carved the springs, and the heat is what remains of her joy.”
The water steamed pale silver; lotus petals drifted on it like stars lost at dawn. The air smelled of mineral and honeyed ash. Beneath the surface, faint glyphs pulsed—vein-light of the Veil itself.
Cassie knelt, letting her fingers trail through the surface. “Warm.”
“She left half her heart here,” Aevryn said softly. “The other half burns in the sun. That’s why both day and night remember her.”
“That’s romantic,” Cassie said. “Tragic, too.”
“Love usually is,” I murmured, and Cassie’s smile turned knowing.
Roran, practical as ever, glanced around the terraces. “Any of this blessed water actually safe to drink?”
“Only if you like seeing visions of your past mistakes,” Aevryn said.
“Then I’ll pass,” Roran answered.
Kael, scanning the parapets, murmured, “Two watchers on the upper ring. Robes don’t match the others.”
“Novices, maybe,” Althaea said. But her hand had already drifted toward the hilt at her thigh, the motion small enough to look like habit.
We wound between statues: Selûra in sunfire robes, Selûra veiled in moonlight, Selûra pouring light from one hand and shadow from the other. Offerings clustered at their feet—candles, ribbons, folded paper prayers. Some glowed faintly even without flame.
Aevryn spoke as we walked. “When the gods left, this is what stayed. Every solstice, the springs still flare gold and silver together. The priests say it’s her promise that the divine never leaves completely—just hides to see what we’ll do without it.”
“Do you believe that?” Cassie asked.
He hesitated. “I think faith’s like archery. You don’t have to see the target to keep your aim.”
That earned a quiet, approving sound from Althaea. He noticed too late, and she turned aside before he could read the color on her cheeks. Cassie nudged me again.
They’re adorable.
They’re a disaster,
I corrected,
but ours.
The mist thinned as we reached the upper promenade overlooking the central basin. From here, Moonwell looked infinite—terraces stacked like mirrors, steam curling in ribbons, the main sanctum rising at the far end crowned by its dome of stained glass. Light from within painted the fog in shifting gold and violet. The scent changed, too: lotus giving way to something sharper, metallic, like the inside of a bell.
Aevryn slowed. “Hear that?”
At first I thought he meant the bells. Then I caught it—a low vibration beneath the normal hum of wards, just off-pitch, like a harp string pulled too tight.
Althaea frowned. “Interference?”
“Could be nothing,” Kael said, though her voice had gone careful. “Or someone testing the perimeter.”
Cassie’s hand brushed mine—anchor, warning, both. The bond flickered with alertness, cool and electric.
The next chime from the ward-bells came twisted, sour in the air. Across the basin, a line of robed figures turned in unison, movement too precise, too slow. The nearest one lifted his head and I saw it—the faint shimmer of Veil corruption sliding under his skin like oil.
Roran swore softly. “Not nothing.”
Heat rose under my ribs, answering itself. The mist brightened around us, gold seeping through silver. My glove seams hummed.
“Positions,” Althaea said, calm and lethal.
Cassie’s hand tightened on mine once—promise, not fear. “Later you can tell me this wasn’t our fault.”
“I’ll try to sound convincing,” I said.
Aevryn’s bow slid into his hand; Kael already moved to flank the stairs. The corrupted priest smiled—a small, awful thing—and whispered something that made the water ripple dark.
The scent of ozone split the air. Wards flared—too late.
The first blade of shadow tore through the mist.
And that’s where the morning broke.

Chapter 69: The Water Remembers