Holding Amaya close, his arms wrapped securely around her, Flynn listened intently to the soft cadence of her breathing. A lullaby he hadn’t known he’d needed. For a moment, he allowed himself to savor it—to lose himself in the rise and fall of her chest, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, the way her body softened into his as sleep reclaimed her.
For a fleeting span of minutes, he felt the world narrow to just this—
just her—and he tried to hold onto the moment with quiet desperation. Her breathing deepened and he closed his eyes, his muscles easing around her.
Despite his efforts, her warmth felt like a fragile balm against the storm that had been building in his mind, slowly slipping out of reach with every passing second. Like the tide, his thoughts crept back in, relentless as ever, and dragged him from the edge of sleep.
He reopened his eyes, fixating on the amber glow of the ceiling. The weight of each task waiting for him began to unfurl in his thoughts, one after the other, crowding his mind. The feral blight-born loomed at the forefront. Where was it now and why had there been no word of progress? Each question stabbed at him like daggers, lodging deep into his chest.
The silence in the room felt like a shadow inching closer, thick and suffocating. And there was still so much he hadn’t yet said to Amaya.
Dread coiled tightly in his chest, but Flynn remained still, unable to bring himself to let her go. His arms tightened around her, holding on as if she were the only thing tethering him to sanity. But his eyes stayed locked on the ceiling, memories and fears playing out like ghosts across the empty ceiling, weaving a tapestry of what-ifs and could-bes that he couldn’t escape.
Mercifully, a soft knock at the door shattered the endless loop of his thoughts. His body tensed, and he glanced down at Amaya, her features still peaceful in the embrace of sleep. For a moment, he thought about staying there, letting the world wait.
But duty always had a way of calling louder.
Flynn shifted, sliding his arm out from under her as carefully as possible. He paused, watching to ensure she remained undisturbed, before rising from the bed and quietly crossing the room to the door.
When he opened it, a guard stepped aside to reveal Elara standing with her ever-composed demeanor, her silvery hair catching the light in the dim hallway. Beside her was Eris Hightower, whose sharp eyes locked onto him with concern before she bowed her head.
“Lady Moonshadow, Lady Hightower,” Flynn greeted them softly, his voice low, mindful of the sleeping Princess behind him. He opened the door wider, motioning for them to step inside.
“She awoke earlier, but...” his gaze flicked back to Amaya. He could still feel the way her lips pressed against his.
“She’s asleep again.”Elara entered the room, her gaze instinctively gravitating toward the fragile figure reclining on the bed. The pallor of her friend’s complexion, illuminated by the silvery cascade of moonlight threading through the curtains, rendered her beauty delicate, almost spectral. Relief coursed through the handmaiden like a muted current, a fleeting reprieve that could not fully dispel the persistent knot of trepidation tightening within her chest.
Her glacial blue eyes shifted to Flynn, briefly catching the fatigue etched into his features before flicking to Eris, who had followed close behind her. “
I brought Lady Hightower, as you requested, and have informed her of everything that has transpired.”
“Thank you, Elara.” Flynn gently closed the door behind them, watching as Eris quietly moved toward the bedside.
Kneeling at Amaya’s side, her gaze swept over the Princess with intense focus. Finding the speckling of bruises along the lower half of Amaya’s forearm, a frown formed on her lips.
“She’s in pain from it.” Flynn quietly informed Eris, stepping around Elara to sit at the foot of the bed, his worried eyes shifting between Eris and Amaya.
Eris didn’t respond, her focus entirely locked on the Princess. Slowly, she reached out, pressing the back of her hand against Amaya’s forehead. Her skin was cool to the touch, no fever present, but the absence of one only deepened Eris’s concern. Relief might have been her instinct under different circumstances, but now, she wondered if Amaya’s body was failing to recognize the blight-borns foreign substance.
After a long moment, Eris’s gaze flicked to Flynn. He was watching her every move intently, brows drawn together. Their gazes met briefly, a silent understanding passing between them, before Eris turned her attention back to Amaya.
Gently, she placed a hand on Amaya’s shoulder, her touch firm yet careful. Leaning in slightly, Eris spoke, trying to make her words soft enough to avoid startling but clear enough to cut through the haze.
“Your Highness,” she murmured, giving the slightest shake to Amaya’s shoulder.
“Can you hear me?”Amaya’s brows drew together slightly as her breathing shifted. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused with sleep. Then she registered a presence above her.
Flinching back, Amaya gave a small gasp as the world came back to her. Flashes of crimson and pain shot through her like ice — and then her mind caught up with her surroundings. The face above her wasn’t pale with bloody, dripping teeth. It was familiar. A woman. Flynn’s sage.
Flynn.His presence was unmistakable, drawing her attention like a beacon. Pale blue eyes met green as Amaya’s heart tried to slow itself again, adrenaline sharp in her blood. He seemed so far away from her, sitting at the edge of her bed. She didn’t know if that was a relief or an ache. Amaya held his gaze as the memory of his warmth echoed through her body — against her back. Along her cheek. Into her lips.
She looked away from him — towards
anything else. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Her skin was warm. The feel of her dress against her body was suddenly too tight, the blankets too heavy as they weighed her down… but not as heavy as his arm around around her waist, holding her close, breathing her in —
In her desperation to avoid Flynn’s gaze, she found someone else: Elara. Silver and unmistakable, her friend stood near the back of the room, safe and whole.
Some tightness in Amaya’s heart unspooled as relief flooded her.
“Elara,” she breathed.
“You’re here.” You’re safe.Then she remembered herself. Even with her scattered nerves, Amaya fought to pull herself back together. She returned her attention back to the woman above her.
“Lady Hightower,” she murmured in greeting.
Fighting to not let her discomfort show on her face, Amaya tried to push herself up to a seated position. Her limbs still ached, heavy with the day’s events. She winced through the pain as she moved.
Elara stepped forward, her movements guided by an almost imperceptible urgency as Amaya strained to sit upright. “
You mustn’t exert yourself,” she murmured, her voice a delicate balance of steadiness and gentle admonition. Lowering herself to her knees on the opposite side of the bed from Eris, Elara’s hands hovered just above Amaya’s shoulders—poised to offer support, though she hesitated, unwilling to encroach without permission.
“
I’m here,” she assured instead, her gaze locking with Amaya’s. “
You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
Amaya’s hand moved without her permission, reaching for Elara’s. She needed to touch her, to know that she was whole and real, her skin warm, her pulse steady. A memory flashed in her mind — of laying on Elara’s floor, coated in ice, as they clung to each other.
The Princess, normally so reserved and guarded with her emotions, closed her eyes and gave a quiet sigh. Her fingers tightened around Elara’s.
Flynn watched the exchange, a quiet ache settling in his chest as he wished, just for a moment, that it had been him she had reached for.
“I’m… I’m fine,” she said as she opened her eyes again. Her voice was frail. It was unacceptable.
She kept a hold of Elara as she continued to push herself up with her other hand. Finally, she was sitting upright again, back against the headboard. Fighting to even out her breathing, she refused to look at the other figures in her room — she refused to see the way they looked at her, as she stubbornly composed herself.
Eris watched silently, her heart tightening at the evident bond between Amaya and Elara. A faint smile touched her lips, but it faltered when her gaze shifted momentarily to Flynn. His expression—a mix of longing and vulnerability—was so uncharacteristic that it felt like an intrusion to witness. Eris quickly averted her eyes, as if respecting a moment that wasn’t hers to observe. Rarely had she ever seen Flynn, typically so guarded and composed, allow such emotion to surface.
After letting the moment linger, Eris finally spoke, her voice soft and respectful.
“Your Highness,” she said, her hand gesturing toward Amaya’s bruised forearm,
“may I?”When the Princess offered only a nod, Eris shifted closer. With a small snap of her fingers, two tiny orbs of soft yellow light burst into existence, hovering just above the top of her left hand. Light spilled into each corner of the room in an instant, providing Eris a better look.
Amaya kept her gaze focused on her hand, intertwined with Elara’s as Eris worked. The familiar contrast of their skin tones, the feel of Elara’s slender fingers against hers… for a moment, Amaya remembered different hands. Larger. More callused. Warmer, scorching her skin where they touched her. She couldn’t stop her eyes from glancing up to find him, still sitting at the edge of her bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. She forced her eyes back down.
As Amaya’s gaze lifted, her eyes momentarily alighting on Flynn, Elara detected a subtle shift in her expression that was so short-lived it might have escaped anyone less attuned to her. But the handmaiden was no casual observer; she knew Amaya intimately, well enough to discern the undercurrent of emotion that stirred beneath the surface. The moment was fleeting, vanishing almost as soon as it appeared, yet it lodged itself in Elara’s chest, a disquiet she could neither name nor entirely suppress. Still, she responded instinctively, her fingers pressing lightly into Amaya’s, the touch a silent overture of unwavering support. It was a gesture that conveyed the words she dared not speak, even as an unwelcome pang of intrusion pricked at the edges of her consciousness.
Such feelings were inconsequential. Irrelevant. At least, that was the narrative she forced herself to believe.
Taking Amaya’s forearm into her hands with the utmost care, Eris turned it, inspecting the bruising and central point of injury with meticulous focus. The orbs of light followed her movements as her fingers lightly traced the edges of the discoloration, feeling for any abnormalities. Her expression remained calm, though her thoughts were anything but.
Healing magic had always come naturally to her, but this was no ordinary wound. She could easily mend wounds and ease pain, but dealing with toxins required an entirely different level of power and precision—one she had never attempted, and had only studied.
Such a feat would require magic of an extraordinarily high caliber, and even then, the success was uncertain. Even if Aelios were high in the sky to bolster her mana reserves, the risks of failure were staggering. And without precise knowledge of what was coursing through Amaya’s body, the risk was incalculable.
Even for a skilled healer such as herself, this was daunting.
As she worked, Eris bit the inside of her lip, her mind racing through possible solutions. Her hands moved with care, noting the arm’s temperature, texture, and shifts in tone. Silently, she cursed the fact that she had never been permitted to study blood magic—a forbidden art that would have been invaluable now, though she would never dare voice such a thought aloud.
Finally, Eris looked up, her expression calm.
“Can you tell me where the pain is concentrated, Your Highness?” she asked, her tone soft.
“Has it spread beyond your arm, or do you feel unwell in any other way? Dizziness? Nausea? Anything unusual?”Amaya was still, her words, her breath, her nerves, all held tightly in a ball just behind her heart. Her world felt off-kilter. She didn’t know where she stood, or how to
be, surrounded by people who looked at her with patience and kind eyes and
warm hands. Her emotions threatened to spill out of her. They pulled in her chest, caught in a gravity she was unwilling to give into – not now, not with so many eyes on her. Not when giving in would mean falling apart.
“Fatigue,” Amaya finally said. It felt like the word took pieces with her as it wrenched itself free from her grasp. It felt like an admission of her own inadequacies.
“The pain is concentrated in my arm.” Her voice was soft, but clear. There was a sterile quality to it, like she was trying to hide every bit of herself away to simply deliver the requested information. She tried to sort through what could be related to the blight-born’s magic, and what simply hurt because of her own frailty. Most of her body ached in some way. She was exhausted. Her head swam.
“Even without his blood, some level of discomfort is to be expected, I imagine,” she murmured. Her gaze stayed locked on her hand in Elara’s as she tried to pull fact away from emotion, events away from memory.
“When he… injected me,” she said, something small and breakable leaking into her voice,
“it was overwhelming. It was difficult to focus, or feel in control of myself.” She’d felt like she was floating – like she was
drowning. She remembered how the ground seemed to shift from under her, how she’d had to fight to try and keep her magic under control as it’d surged to meet this new threat.
“It was in conjunction with some sort of psychic magic he had. It was like he took up too much space in my body.” He hadn’t just sent his thoughts to her – he’d echoed through her very blood, traveling down her veins.
Suddenly Amaya was desperate to have her magic back. It was still quiet in her blood, drained from the day’s events. But she wanted to feel it dance under her skin, wanted to feel the overwhelming chill of it – it was dangerous, but it was
hers. She wanted it to take up so much space in her body that there was no room for anything or anyone else.
Amaya forced herself to take in a slow breath, her expression still carefully blank.
“It grew stronger after he fed.”“I see,” Eris murmured, nodding slowly as the weight of the information settled over her. Her gaze shifted back to Amaya’s forearm, and the faintest sigh slipped past her lips.
“The pain in your arm... I can ease it,” she said, her brows knitting in concern.
“But I—” she hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she looked up at Amaya again.
“I don’t know if I can dispel this on my own. What’s been done to you… it’s unlike anything I’ve dealt with before. And without Aelios, I...” She stopped herself, shaking her head as she cut herself off from going into a rant of excuses and concerns. None of it would help. Amaya didn’t need her doubt—she needed solutions.
Eris shifted her gaze to Flynn, who reluctantly tore his attention from Amaya to meet her eyes.
“I believe Priestess Tingara may be our best hope,” she continued.
“She’s already demonstrated her skill, as you know...” Her voice softened as her thoughts lingered on the memory of the boy Tia had saved. That act alone had demanded immense power. Combined, they could be a force to reckon with.
With a deep breath, Eris centered herself, and channeled magic into her palms. Moving her hands slowly downward with featherlight pressure, a faint golden shimmer flowed over Amaya’s skin, seeping into her arm and radiating outward like sunlight. The magic entered, eagerly searching for something to mend or heal. What if would find, if anything at all, Eris was unsure. At the very least, it provided a soothing effect—a calming balm that dulled the sharp edges of pain and provided a sense of warmth.
As the light dimmed, Eris withdrew her hands slowly. These days, the expense of her magic felt as if a piece of her always faded with it, slow to return and leaving a sudden hollowness in her chest where it had normally overflowed.
“This will only last for a few hours.” she admitted softly,
“but it should help you rest and regain some strength.”Rising to her feet, Eris dusted off her dress and coat, the orbs of light still following her every movement. Her eyes briefly landed on the shoes lined neatly by the bed—Flynn and Amaya’s—before returning to Prince’s face.
“I’ll return with the Priestess as soon as I can.” Flynn gave her a small nod of approval, and Eris glanced down at Amaya one last time, offering a faint, reassuring smile.
“Rest, Your Highness. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” Her voice held a note of confidence, despite the nerves buzzing inside her chest.
Without waiting for a reply, she inclined her head respectfully and turned, her light trailing after her as she slipped out the door.
Elara’s thoughts followed after Eris like whispered prayers, a subdued hope threading through her consciousness that the priestess would be found with haste. Though Eris’s voice had carried the measured cadence of reassurance, she had not missed the faint tremor beneath the words—the unspoken burden of uncertainty cloaked by the practiced serenity of a skilled healer.
Lowering her eyes, she found her own hands still lightly entwined with Amaya’s. The tension that had held her fingers in a near-constant vice finally relented, though a nearly imperceptible tremor remained in its wake, betraying the storm of doubt roiling within her. Her breath caught for a moment as a flicker of insecurity took root. She had dabbled in healing magic, yes—enough to close shallow wounds or dull the sharp edges of pain—but the intricacies required now were far beyond her grasp, weren’t they? Was Amaya truly going to be alright? Would this priestess truly be able to help them?
Elara’s throat constricted as fragments of memory surged unbidden to the forefront of her mind: her mother’s gentle hands enveloping hers, guiding her faltering attempts at channelling the intricate art of healing. She could still recall the incandescent glow flickering tentatively in her palms as her mother’s voice—soft yet imbued with unwavering authority—echoed in her ears.
“Magic, especially this kind, is the art of balance, Elara,” she had said, her tone a harmony of admonition and encouragement.
“Too much, and you risk causing harm instead of mending. Too little…and your effort is a whisper lost to the wind.”Her fingers tightened reflexively around Amaya’s hand, the slight pressure grounding her even as her thumb brushed against the princess’s knuckles in a gesture that spoke of both reassurance and a need for stability. Those early lessons had been straightforward, the stakes confined to withering flora or the sting of a scraped knee. But as the years unfolded, the royal court’s exacting tutelage had reshaped magic into a meticulous discipline, stripping it of its instinctual essence and transforming it into an exact science.
“Healing is not simply the mending of flesh,” her tutors had intoned with unwavering severity.
“It is the restoration of the whole. Intent without precision is not merely ineffectual—it is dangerous.”And yet, what purpose did all those years of meticulous training serve now, when her mastery felt woefully inadequate against the malevolent tendrils of blight-born…
magic? Her mother’s axiom of balance intertwined with the court’s unrelenting insistence on perfection, forming a tangled knot of doubt that pressed heavily against her chest. If Eris could not act, would Elara’s skill suffice in the face of such insidious corruption? Could she dare to wield her magic, knowing failure might deepen the wounds she sought to heal?
The weight of those doubts settled over her like a smothering shadow. But as her gaze lingered on Amaya’s pallid, drawn visage, Elara inhaled slowly, forcing air into her lungs, steadying the trembling edges of her thoughts. The Princess needed her—
needed her to anchor herself, to push through the turmoil and remain steadfast. The maelstrom of uncertainty would have to wait, silenced for now by the unassailable truth that Amaya’s wellbeing came above all else.
Whatever doubts lingered in her heart, they would
not be allowed to interfere.
Dread tightened its grip around Flynn's heart as he watched the Sage leave, but he tried his best to ignore it. If Eris was uncertain about helping Amaya, what hope did they really have? He stifled a sigh as his thoughts drifted to the Priestess and his prior conversation with her. Hopefully she would still be willing to aid them. Exhaling slowly, he drew his attention back to Amaya, rising from where he sat and moving to fill the vacant space Eris had left behind. Her pale eyes flicked up to him at the movement.
"Any better?" His gaze lingered on her arm for a moment, trying to find any subtle signs of relief, before shifting back to her face. Briefly, he glanced toward Elara, hoping to gauge her thoughts and see how she was holding up, but found his focus quickly returning to Amaya once more, her well-being consuming him entirely.
Flynn’s question broke through Elara’s thoughts then, and her eyes flicked to him as he moved to Amaya’s side. The tension in his features was unmistakable, a reflection of the same worry that had twisted in her chest a mere moment ago.
Elara adjusted her posture, sitting straighter as she met Flynn’s gaze. “
The warmth seemed to ease her, at least,” she offered softly, her thumb brushing lightly across the back of Amaya’s hand in an absent, soothing gesture as she looked at her friend.
"
What’s important now is remaining calm,” she added, addressing both Flynn and Amaya. “
And keeping her strength up until the priestess arrives.”
Amaya’s nerves took new shape, morphing into sharp irritation.
“Her strength,” Amaya cut in, pulling her hand back from Elara’s,
“is fine.” Her magic twitched to life inside her – it still slumbered, buried deep beneath her bones, but its stirring loosened the coils around her heart, if only a bit. And then just like that, her anger cooled into chilling regret. She felt the loss of Elara’s hand against hers, her steady presence and soft skin. Amaya closed her eyes, her empty hand curling closed in her lap.
“I’m sorry,” Her voice was soft. Opening her eyes, she looked back to Elara.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, another apology in her gaze. Amaya looked back down at her hand and tried to take in a slow breath.
Emotions swam under her skin, knocking against each other and growing tangled as she tried to maintain control. It had been easier in front of the sage – she was little more than a stranger. But now she sat in her bed, with Elara’s care, and Flynn’s
nearness, and her emotions swelled like the tide, threatening to drown her.
“This is all unnecessary.” She said it like that simple statement would put all of this to rest – though even Amaya wasn’t sure what she was referring to. Her emotions? Their concern? The call for the Priestess (yet
another stranger that Amaya would have to weather)? Amaya was tired of being looked at, and worried over, and
cared for. She hated seeing that concerned, scared look in their eyes, and knowing she’d put it there.
“The magic has faded,” she said, forcing herself to meet Elara’s eyes. She tried to look steady and composed – even though she knew Elara had always been able to see through her.
“The wound will heal.” She hesitated a moment before turning to look at Flynn. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She’d always found his expressiveness so… frustrating. Infuriating, really. But now, as she met his gaze, finding something so raw and fragile in his eyes…
It nearly took her breath away.
“I survived.” The reminder drifted between them, soft as a hand on his cheek. Then Amaya pulled back into herself. She broke her gaze, looking for something unimportant – she found the small glow of candlelight on the far wall of her bedroom. Her hands drew together in her lap, her fingers grazing the scab of her entry wound.
“I’m not so breakable that we need to waste magic on something my body will do on its own.”
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