Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
"I will," I promise.
As they file out, Brunhild stops briefly beside me. "Tomorrow. Do not forget our training.”
When they're gone, Raith closes the door with a soft click. He stays by the door.
"Your friends are protective of you," he observes.
"So are you."
“I only have three days to get you back to full strength. Three days until the Crucible.”
"I’ll be ready.”
He turns to me, his expression unreadable in the growing shadows. "Nessa, I need to tell you something."
My heart quickens. "What is it?"
He hesitates, conflict visible in the tense line of his shoulders. "Do you trust me?" he asks suddenly.
"Yes," I answer without reservation, surprising myself with the certainty of it. After everything—the secrets, the warnings, the distance he's maintained—I still trust him with my life.
He crosses the room in three long strides, stopping before me. "Then trust me when I say that during the Crucible, you need to keep your head down. Complete the objective, nothing more. Don't try to fight Malakai, don't try to be a hero, don't reveal your full abilities unless your life depends on it."
"But my friends—"
"Will be safer if you follow my advice," he interrupts. "The less attention you draw, the better. Make sure Typhon knows, too."
"That's not much of a strategy," I point out.
"It's the only one I have that keeps you alive," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "And that's all that matters to me right now."
The raw honesty in his voice steals my breath. I feel the truth of his words—the depth of his concern, the fierce protectiveness that borders on desperation. Whatever secrets he's keeping, whatever his true purpose here, his desire to keep me safe is genuine. It matters more to him than anything else.
I reach for him, my fingers finding the collar of his uniform, pulling him closer. "I'll be careful," I promise. "But only if you promise to keep yourself safe, too. That siphon wanted you dead, Raith."
His hand comes up to cover mine, his skin warm against my fingers. "I've survived worse," he says, but doesn't elaborate. Another piece of his past kept in shadow.
"Raith..." I begin, uncertain what I even want to ask. There are too many questions, too many mysteries surrounding him. But what comes out isn’t even a question. "Stay with me tonight."
Surprise flashes across his face, followed by a heat that makes my pulse quicken. Then there's a roguish twist of his lips. "You are in my room, Nessa. I was planning on staying with you whether you liked it or not."
"I just... don't want to be alone."
"You won't be."
"And I want you in the bed. Not on the floor. Only to sleep," I add.
It's not even dark yet, but Raith shows no sign of caring. He can tell I’m tired and need to sleep again.
We prepare for bed in near silence, the routine oddly domestic despite the extraordinary circumstances that brought us here. I brush my hair out to keep it from tangling after spending so long resting. I change while Raith turns his back, slipping into fresh, clean underwear and throwing a thin academy night shirt over myself. Then I climb into the bed.
The bed is narrow, clearly not meant for two, but we make it work. Raith lies on his back, one arm behind his head, while I curl on my side facing him. There's a careful inch of space between us, a boundary neither of us is quite ready to cross despite everything that's happened.
Just like he warned, the heat radiating from him is like a small furnace. But it's cold, even in the fire tower, and his heat feels absolutely perfect. It makes me desperately want to cling to him and cuddle close.
"The dreams," I say into the darkness. "The ones I've been having. They feel like memories, but they're not mine."
I feel him tense beside me. "What do you see?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
"A castle. A child running. Screams." I hesitate. "Fire."
The silence stretches so long I think he might not answer. Then, "The tether," he says finally.
The truth I’ve suspected and been afraid to acknowledge finally rises up, impossible to ignore any longer. The dreams aren’t from Typhon. They’re not imaginary. They’re memories.
Raith’s memories.
Which means… gods.
Raith was supposed to be a king. But a king of where?
"Are they your memories?" I ask directly.
Another long pause. "Yes," he admits, the word barely audible.
I wait for him to elaborate, to explain the child, the castle, the fire. To explain how the hells a prince in line for a throne could wind up as a volunteer at Confluence and covered in scars. But he remains silent, the weight of unspoken truths heavy between us.
"You don't have to tell me," I say finally. "Not until you're ready." If I hadn't seen what I've seen, I would maybe press him harder. But if those are his memories? The sound of that scream—his sister's scream—comes to my mind so vividly it gives me cold chills. The thought of his brother, Gareth, makes my heart ache. The brother he lost. The brother he cared for so deeply he's trying to take care of all the fire affinities now to make up for what happened.