Warm hands were sliding up her arms, cupping her face. Dry lips pressed to her forehead, her cheeks, a voice whispering her name breathed against her ear. She rolled to her back and saw Therin standing before her, the golden light glowing all around him. Alongside him was a double image, a superimposed picture of another man. Their frames were identical, but the other man, the image, had a short beard and silver lined the golden curls. The same blue eyes shone from a slightly crinkled face and the smile was a little melancholy and much wiser.

“Therin?” she whispered and reached a hand out to touch his face.

“Embrace the Light,” said the double image of Therin. The older one had a deeper voice, hardened by life.

“What’s…” she tried to speak but her voice fled and she grabbed her throat. The real Therin shimmered and faded, leaving only the older man and Alira saw now he bore the High Lord’s tabard.

“Embrace the Light,” commanded the older Therin and Alira felt herself lighting on fire, unable to breathe, the heat burning away the tether between her and Henry. He sprang from her and the void he left collapsed, ripping an endless hole inside of her. Life poured from her, fell from her mouth as she opened it to speak.

“Alira,” Henry said from beside Therin, the worry in voice enough to keep her grounded. “Don’t do that,” he said and pulled on the tether that bound them.

Hands were on her shoulders, shaking her and she gasped. Her eyes snapped open and Therin stood there, worry and panic on his face etching a deep groove in his forehead.

Another dream.

Your brain works in fascinating ways. Henry drawled and he laughed, slinking into the corner of her mind she kept him in.

“Are you alright?” His hands were icy on her shoulders, even through her shirt. She blinked at him and felt tears fall down her face. “It was a dream.”

It was an interesting dream. Henry said.

“Dinner’s here,” Therin said but he didn’t remove his hands from her until she sat up and shrugged him off. “What was it about? Your dream.”

She shook her head, unwilling to talk about it.

Perhaps I was…unwise to leave your body. Henry admitted. He touched his power to her and she felt the chill fade, the nightmare withering to nothing as he soothed her with his magic.

“You look awful, no offence,” Therin said as he brought her a platter from the vanity. “Your colour has not returned since Henry rejoined your body.”

She set aside the food and stood, her legs stiff, and walked to the vanity to peer in the mirror.

Therin was right. Her face was still bloodless, her lips weren’t numb anymore but they were tinged slightly blue and her eyes looked strange, sunken and dark. She brushed a finger across her face and saw her hand in the mirror. It too was lacking colour and her nails…

I’m just hungry. She told Henry who did not reply. His silence worried her more than if he had argued with her.

She sat and ate, ignoring Therin as she cleaned the bones of the small game bird, mopping up the greasy fat with bread. She felt his eyes on her, amused by how thorough she was with her eating. The potatoes were boiled and slathered in fresh butter. The carrots were roasted and drizzled in honey. She ate everything.

When she had cleared her plate, she replaced it on the vanity, drank a cup of water and looked at herself again.

She remained devoid of colour, her skin pale as death. The dark circles had faded and her eyes seemed, perhaps, slightly less sunken. But she did not look well.

The fire that crackled in the hearth between their beds cast a warm light on her but did not seem to touch the coldness that was starting to settle into her bones. Weary dread threatened her.

She could see Therin in the mirror, watching her with interest as she touched her face and tried to find herself in the image. His hair caught the light of the fire, glittering as he shook it out of his eyes. She watched him watching her and felt her skin prickle, raising gooseflesh along her arms and back.

“What?” she asked as she turned away from the mirror.

“Nothing,” he shrugged but Alira glared at him and he gave her a reluctant half-smile. “I was just trying to see if I could see him in your face. When he was talking through you, your entire face changed. Your body language was different.”

“Because I had receded. I was watching through my eyes as Henry took control.”

Therin shuddered at the idea, his own skin prickling at the horror of it.

“Possession sounds like a nightmare.”

“I’m not possessed.” She said but he smiled.

“You forget I just spoke with the spirit who is indeed possessing you.”

He’s not wrong, really. But he’s got it twisted. Possession means I would have either destroyed your soul or captured it and chained it away. We share a body now. But it’s your body. He added quickly before Alira could say anything in reply.

“We share my body now,” she said to Therin. “I am in control of myself and retain the rights to my soul.”

“For now,” Therin said dismissively and he sounded as though it was only a matter of time before she was no more.

“The point of finding the book and my mother’s soulstones is to make sure I retain the right to my own soul. To stop this…fusion.” Therin didn’t reply, merely shrugged and turned away to prepare for sleep.

He will have to know about Shadesorrow eventually. If you keep him around, he will figure it out. I’m not saying he’s clever, I’m just admitting that he might not be…useless.

Her stomach and her heart full, Alira climbed into her bed and turned on her side, watching Therin as he prayed and prepared for bed. His rituals all seemed to stem from the book he had, reading some passage and then whispering his prayers which caused her skin to buzz and tingle, the holy magic zinging off her witch’s flesh.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Good night, Alira,” Therin said. His back was to her as he shrugged out of his shirt and the scars that lined his skin caught the firelight.

“What happened to your back?” she asked in the quiet.

“Penance,” he replied bluntly and when she didn’t reply he turned and met her eye. “Self-flagellation is one of the options for penance after a misdeed at the monastery.”

“Gods,” she breathed, horrified at the force that it would have taken to leave weals so deep they scarred.

“It was that or let the High Inquisitor administer them.” Mara’s face, cold and wickedly beautiful, flashed in her mind. Twin rivulets of pain chased one another across the monk’s face and Alira felt her stomach twist with guilt. The knowledge of his relationship with the woman burning inside her, she stared at him.

“What did you do to warrant that kind of punishment?” she breathed. He paused as he moved to turn back to his bed.

“I broke a vow,” he said succinctly and his tone told her he would not be continuing the conversation.

He climbed into bed and turned on his side, facing her. Her eyes were wide, glimmering in the light of the fire. She realised he had moved the screen again, folding it up so it didn’t obscure their view of each other. She watched him for a moment before gathering up the courage to speak again.

“You were only a child, Therin, and children make mistakes,” she said, echoing the words he had spoken to the High Lord. The shocked coldness on his face was enough to make her wish she had not spoken.

“You found Noran’s hidey-hole,” he said and with those words he turned his back to her, the scars of his past shining in the light of the fire.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing she had somehow hurt him, touched something that was not healed.

Let it lie. Henry advised but tears were already pooling on her pillow as she too turned her back to the room and tried to sleep.

Therin’s breathing had slowed to a dull, sleepy rhythm a quarter of an hour later, but Alira could not sleep just yet. She turned back to face the room and let her eyes trace the scars across his skin. She counted fifteen different strokes and who knew how many more were hidden beneath the scars.

Quietly, she got out of bed and crossed the space between their beds to her pack near the vanity. As silently as she could, she took out the two bundles of letters and put them on her bed. Then, trying her best to not let it rattle, she moved the screen between them again and angled it around her bed, dividing the room once more.

Sitting cross legged on her bed, she looked at the two bunches of letters. The one in Therin’s hand had fewer letters than the other, which held letters addressed to either Therin or Noran in the curly script of a woman’s hand. She untied those addressed to Noran and opened the next letter that she had not read yet.

Noran,

Father said you’ve got the pox, likely the one I had when we were little that you never caught. Gods, Noran. I’m scared. Don’t die. Please don’t die.

Father also said that M is nursing you. Everyone assured Father that she’ll not get sick because she’s had the pox already but I’m scared for her, too. She’ll help you feel better, I know it.

All my love,

Your brother,

Therin

The next was dated just days later.

Noran,

I hope you get better soon, I’m worried. Father says you’re still holding on but that pox at your age can be dangerous. I’ll continue to pray to the Light for your recovery.

I met the most interesting group of men yesterday at the inn.

One tells me he’s going to teach me how to use my carving skills to make a very good income. It’s not exactly above board but the money he was talking…It might be worth it, even if it’s not completely right.

Give M my love.

Your brother,

Therin

The next letter was more untidy than the rest had been, written by a weary hand.

Noran,

This has been the worst week of my life but I survived. The work is hard but I’m good at it and the rules aren’t that bad. Most of them can be gotten around. I’ll have my own room if I say the vows and become a monk when I transfer to the monastery. I wonder if there’s a way to avoid taking the celibacy vow. I guess I’ll stay, for now.

Most of the boys here are just waiting for an open position at the monastery. Father’s promised that there will be one for me soon, within the year at least. Maybe six months. Until then, I’ll keep training with the sword masters here at the academy. One of them speaks Dinari and is offering to teach me if I keep up with my drills. Father says I will be required to read more as a monk.

I’ve not gotten any letters from M yet. I hope all is well with her.

Give her my love.

Your brother,

Therin

Interesting. Henry said He trusted his other son with Mara but not Therin.

Suddenly weary, she bundled the letters together again and put them away. Tripping back to her bed, she glanced at Therin, who had rolled onto his ruined back. She noticed how much like his younger self he looked when sleeping. The curve of his mouth hinted at a grin, his eyebrows were relaxed along his forehead, neither thrown up in disbelief or furrowed in disapproval. He sighed in his sleep and she returned to her own bed, willing sleep to take her.

Sleep refused, however, to acquiesce and she tossed and turned for an hour. She could feel her body was tired but her mind would not shut off.

Tell me about Galvyn. She said to Henry finally. He was silent long enough she thought he was ignoring her but as she sighed and turned her back to the room, he replied.

I could tell you where he’s buried.

She stilled at the words, her eyes wide. She traced the lines of the wood grain on the wall before her, blinking back the burning in her eyes.

Where? She finally asked.

A place flashed into her mind but she didn’t recognise it. Then Henry moved the view so she could see better…

The plateau? She gasped silently. Why is he buried there?

Let’s go and I’ll tell you.

I’d rather not have Therin with me when I see my…father’s grave. Alira said, stumbling over the words.

Then ditch him. I’ve been wanting you to do that for some time now, if you recall. Henry’s voice was filled with an excited urgency, lighter than he had been in a while. Alira considered his idea before replying.

I still want his help. I just need to see his resting place alone.

She crept from her bed again and found the tools she was looking for in her pack, taken from Noran’s desk on a whim. She crouched in front of the hearth for the light and uncorked the ink. In her neatest hand she wrote a short note.

Therin,

I need to see where he is buried. I can’t rest until I see it with my own eyes. I will meet you in the Ugly Duckling in a week. I will tell you everything then, I promise.

Alira

She nodded to herself as she let the ink dry and felt a lightness fill her at the excitement of making progress, of any kind, on her own. She had wanted to suggest they go back to the plateau to see what could be left there but this was the excuse she needed to go alone.

You were left to guard his grave, weren’t you? She asked Henry.

I hadn’t thought… She felt his annoyed anger roil around inside her before it cooled and he sighed, deflated. I think so, yes. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.

You were deceived. She comforted him. I know the feeling.