Daivad did not move. Or say anything. Because every thought had left his head the moment she fell against his chest. Not that there had been many populating the space within his skull to begin with. He had no idea what to do or what to say, so he just stood there and let her cry quietly against him.

Both Mothers and all the Children of the Moons, she smelled so fucking good.

He would guess she’d bathed in rosewater last, and imagined that if he reached up to touch the bare skin of her shoulder it would be even softer than rose petals. Her pale locks had been woven into shining, smooth braids that wound around the back of her head, so he could clearly see the gentle shell of her ear, almost glowing pink where it was flushed at the tip. Then, the soft slope of her jaw and the tender-looking skin of her neck, leading to her freckled shoulders, curved forward. Into him. Her skin was even brighter, paler under this full moon than it had been under the one that decorated the sky the night he met her.

Could she hear his heart pounding in his chest? Could she feel the hot flush that bloomed through him and made the world around them fuzzy? Did she feel this electricity?

His fingers were an inch from her skin when he caught himself.

The first drop on his cheek startled him, and for a wild moment he wondered how one of her tears had made its way onto his face—but he quickly realized it had begun to rain. Daivad pulled up the hem of his cloak and held it over Nyxabella’s head. Like this, they were essentially wrapped up together in his cloak, in the dark, her scent all around him, her body against—

Get hold of yourself. She’s crying, you pathetic bastard.

But it was easier thought than done, with that skin so close.

After a minute or two, her gentle crying waned to simple sniffling. She straightened, and he expected her to step away, but instead she leaned into him more fully, nuzzling her cheek into his chest and lifting her face enough that he could see the way her tears clumped her pale eyelashes together.

Nyxabella let out a long sigh and said, “Your magic really is beautiful.”

It took him a moment to register her words—he was still stuck on the idea of rose petal skin. Finally, he asked a question he’d wondered a hundred times, “Can you … actually see it?”

She blinked almost sleepily a few times while she decided how to respond. “Yes, but … it’s a seeing from the soul, not the eyes. It can’t be hidden by a closed lid…” He heard the smirk in her voice, “…Or a smelly old rag.”

The little inside joke made his chest feel…

Somewhere far behind him came joyous growling followed by a shrieked, “Fuck you!”

Nyxabella’s eyelashes glistened in what little moonlight made it through the clouds and around his cloak as her eyes shifted lazily, following something he couldn’t see. Daivad said, “Describe it.”

Like she’d been waiting for him to ask, she said, “Yours has this deep, rich blue base, but it’s painted through with bright, shimmering trails of every other color, thousands and thousands of little starbursts and nebulas streaming across it. It’s always so full to bursting—so much Darkness and Chaos, I can’t name what it takes to maintain such masterful control of it. Right now it’s warm and almost tingling. I expected it to push mine out, or at least be annoyed at this,” she gestured toward herself, “little intrusion, but it’s not. Doesn’t seem to mind at all.”

No wonder it had always felt like she was looking into him. She was.

It should please him, that she saw all that in him instead of just the rage. The violence. But instead the words just made her seem so … far away.

“Good boy, Jul—iisgh!” It would seem Julius had finally retrieved his stolen apple.

Daivad said, “Describe yours.”

A sad smile in her voice, she said, “I wouldn’t name it Much, right now.”

“But, normally?”

She made a soft little noise, the distant relative of a chuckle. “Guess.”

That was it—that named the sudden distance he’d felt between them, despite the fact that she was pressed against him.

He would never be able to know what that was like. Never be able to see the magic in everything, the way she did. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to really, truly reach her.

Feeling oddly hollow, he said, “How could I? I’ve got a normal soul—a sightless one.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

She finally pulled away, and it felt like she ripped his skin away with her. Every point along his torso that was suddenly absent of her warmth felt like an open wound. At least she was smiling as she glided over to shelter beneath a tree.

He hated that she could do this to him.

Somewhere off to his left: “Fuck you!” followed by what sounded like Kitten attempting to speak to Julius and only managing growls and the clacking of his teeth.

“What wild thought was big enough to possess you,” Nyxabella gestured from Daivad’s head to his boots, emphasizing his height, “and walk that body all the way to Broken Fucking Earth, Daivad?”

He should have had an answer for that, but he didn’t. Not one he wanted to say aloud, anyway.

“This trip to Toll,” he said instead. “It’ll be your first?”

She nodded.

Daivad opened his mouth, but hesitated. He didn’t want to mention him. Not now. But he had to. “Can you convince him to let you stay behind?”

“I need to go. The weight Aran put on what he’d find there—”

“But when he does find it, he’ll tell you all about it, right?”

“Ah,” she smirked, “but my eyes and ears will pick up far more than his will, even if my soul will be sightless.”

“You can’t see magic with Elleipsium around?”

“No magic to see, with Elleipsium around.”

He could believe she would be far more observant than Richard, and that whatever she observed at Toll could impact all Lushale, maybe Ixhale and beyond as well. Her eyes there could be the difference between another eight years of safety for his village in the trees of Silvax Forest, or a violent, bloody death for all of them before they saw another summer.

But he fucking hated this. What good would it do anyone if she ended up in that fucking pit?

Daivad was careful with the words of his next question. “You know what he’s like when he’s empty of magic?”

Another nod.

“And what he’s like after? When he gets it back?”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, and there was a tiny tinge of something sharp in her scent. But she just nodded again, face calm.

“Toll is … hell, Nyxabella.” Silently, he begged her to balk.

“You have been, then.”

“And I’ll never fucking go back.” He shook his head. “This ‘secret’ of Aran’s—it could just be another trail to set him on, to keep him off mine.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Her behavior—going to Ixhale even after Duxon and Luvatha… There’s no shot she’s just letting you slide. Toll’s on the Ixhalen border—it all seems…” She gestured vaguely. “Either she’s busy with something she names more important than you, or this secret of hers is about you.”

“Don’t go there for me. This is my mess to clean up.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I’m going for Mama B. She’s my mess to clean up.”

Suddenly, he heard her voice far to his left, in a sharp, admonishing tone, “Kitten!”

Daivad jerked, alarmed, but Nyxabella just waved a hand. “It’s Julius. He uses my voice when Kitten has run his patience down.”

His sigh came out in a growl. “You were raised in a circus. And they,” he hooked a thumb toward the squabbling beasts off in the Dark, “are proof you carry it with you wherever you go.”

Her lips pop-ed open and she stared at him, stunned. His belly flipped again, but not in a good way. Shit. He shouldn’t have mentioned the circus. Tears welled in her eyes again and her chin puckered. Shit. Guilt burned up his cheeks—Mother Light, why had he said anything?

In a quiet voice, emotion bubbling off every word, Nyxabella said, “It’s rare I’m given words so sweet.”

He blinked. Why did she never do anything he expected her to?

Kitten loped suddenly back into the grove, tongue lolling, and paused to shake the rain from his patchwork body.

The flapping of wings announced Julius’ arrival, and he opened his mouth to shout in Nyxabella’s voice, “Fuck you, Small Cat!”

A beat of silence as Kitten blinked at Julius, stunned.

Then: “Rrhaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Wailing, Kitten rushed toward Nyxabella.

“Julius!” She hauled the wailing Kitten up into her arms and served Julius a string of sharp sounding words in Xo. His big, bat-like ears flicked back and he ducked his head, shamefaced.

Daivad watched, dumbfounded, as Nyxabella called Julius to her shoulder and seemingly mediated a whole conversation between the two beasts. It took no time at all for both beasts to get over whatever conflict there had been between them, and Julius fluttered up to sing in some human’s voice as he bounced on a branch while Kitten entertained himself by running tight circles around and around the grove.

When Nyxabella once again turned to face him, Daivad felt profoundly odd just going back to the tense topic they’d been discussing before all this. But he knew she couldn’t stay here talking to him forever.

In one last ditch effort, Daivad said, “We could figure it out another way, whatever she’s hiding at Toll.”

“We could,” Nyxabella agreed, her green eyes locked onto him. There was no question in her voice, just weary resignation.

And he sighed with his own weary resignation.

She blinked. Cocked her head. “That’s it?”

The words rumbling in Daivad’s chest, he said, “I hate this decision. I hate it. But it’s yours to make.”

Her pink lips parted with a gentle pop—for once, she was the one surprised.

For a moment, the night went quiet—