Instead, Mallack told me about Myccael. About how headstrong he was as a boy. How he refused to wear shoes for an entire rotation because someone told him real warriors walked barefoot. I laughed until my stomach ached. Myccael—the golden, proud susserayn—throwing tantrums and stomping barefoot around Hoerst.
“You must have been a good father,” I said softly, cradling the warm tea he’d made me.
Mallack shook his head, not in denial, but in quiet reflection. “I tried. But I was always waiting. Waiting for him to be old enough. Waiting for Hoerst to be safe. Waiting to finally see you again in the next life.”
The words settled between us, heavy with so many unspoken emotions. I stared down at the tea. My hands were trembling, and I didn’t know why. We didn't speak much after that, but when we were done with dinner, like by an unspoken command, we gravitated to the spot by the fire where I woke up this morning. We sat next to each other, looking into the flames. It was a companionable silence, but so much was on my mind, and I supposed on his too.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
He lifted a brow. “For?”
“For dinner. For today. For not—” I hesitated, “not expecting me to be the person I used to be.”
He leaned back on one elbow, legs crossed in front of him. His body was carved from shadow, but there was nothing distant in the way he looked at me now. “You are the person you used to be,” he said. “You're just... finding your way home.”
Something about those words made my throat tight. I looked down at my cup, swirling the dregs. “Mallack... can I ask you something?”
His head tipped slightly. “Anything.”
I didn’t look at him. “Thalia. What is she like?”
He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice dropped into something softer, more reverent. “Thalia is fierce, but not reckless. She chooses her battles. She’s clever with words—too clever sometimes—but when she stands up for someone, she does it with her whole soul."
I listened, my fingers still curled loosely around my cup.
“She didn’t have an easy start. She grew up in a pleasure house, raised to clean and serve,” he said, his voice hollowing out slightly.
A sharp, strange ache tugged at something deep in my soul.
Mallack smiled, a wistful, fatherly thing. “She fought her way back. The male who recognized her—Darryck—he could have ignored it, walked away, but he didn’t. He brought her to me. And that was when I knew. In the line of her jaw. Her fire. Her eyes… she has your eyes.”
Hypnotized, I listened, drinking up each word like I hadn't had water in cycles while wandering aimlessly through a desert.
“She hated court at first,” he continued. “But she came into her own. Stood up to Kennenryn. Faced down Darryck’s enemies. Even protected his sister once by lying in front of the entire royal court.” His lips curled with pride. “She’s not just brave. She’s good.”
There was something almost devotional in the way he spoke of her. As if her existence was a miracle he’d never stopped being grateful for.
“Is she happy?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“Zyn,” he said, his whole body relaxing with the word. “Darryck adores her. He’d tear the skies down for her. And she gave him twin boys—both with the kiss of the dragon. An unheard-of thing. They named their daughter Zara.”
A laugh bubbled up from me unexpectedly. I had grandkids! “Zara?”
“She was going to be named Daphne,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I asked them to pick another name. There’s only one Daphne.”
I looked at him then. Really looked. At the lines around his eyes. The quiet storm of devotion he still carried.
“I’m not her,” I whispered.
“Ney,” he agreed, his voice steady. “You’reyou. And I loveyou. And you’ll love you again. Even if it takes a thousand nights beside the fire. Even if you never remember.”
Tears burned behind my eyes, but not from sadness; they came because I was starting to believe him.
The silence that followed was warm—golden like the firelight curling between us. I reached out and placed my hand over his. He looked down, then up at me. He didn’t move at first. Just let our hands rest there, side by side, skin to skin. His palm was rough with calluses, warm from the fire. Steady. The kind of steady I hadn’t known I needed until that exact moment.
He shifted slightly, angling toward me. His other hand lifted, slowly—so slowly—and brushed a lock of hair from my face. His knuckles grazed my cheek, featherlight. A breath caught in my throat.
His eyes searched mine. “May I?” he asked. His voice was raw, as if it cost him a lot to say the words.
