“No,” Helen said. “But you had no one who needed you after the deaths of your girls. Or so you thought. And Kattea is correct. If we—Gilbert and I—were not created to be as free-ranging as you and your kind, we live. We breathe, in a fashion. And we know loneliness and even despair when our lives become devoid of purpose. I do not know what has happened in Ravellon. I do not know why Gilbert chose the long sleep—if indeed he so chose.
“But he said himself that he had not expected to wake again. And yet, he did. His Nightshade is not your Nightshade, but the memories remain—for Gilbert. And memories are precious, Kaylin, for ones such as us. But they are not fully sustaining, in the end.
“Kattea understood that Gilbert was alone. She herself was alone, and if those states are not materially the same, there is enough overlap. Kattea was not, is not, wrong.” She released Kaylin’s shoulder, which was good, because her arm was now numb.
“Kattea—” The familiar, silent until now, bit Kaylin’s ear. She turned to glare at him. “You don’t understand!”
Squawk.
Kattea ran back, threw her arms around Kaylin and hugged her ferociously. “He came back for me,” she whispered. She was trembling, yes. And afraid. But beneath both of these things there was another truth. “He came back.”
Kaylin returned the girl’s hug.
The small dragon warbled at Kattea, leaning down until their noses touched. He then exhaled. Kaylin had no time to move, no time to eject him, no time to shove her hand between the girl’s face and the small dragon’s breath. She tried, anyway.
Kattea, however, did not seem to be harmed by the silver mist she inhaled. Kaylin watched in shock—in anger—as scintillating particles of color blanketed in gray disappeared into the girl’s mouth and nose; she watched in horror as they emerged, slowly, in the very normal brown of her eyes.
She turned to Kaylin, and her eyes widened; the fear left her face because there was no room for anything but wonder. She spun and stared at Helen, her eyes widening farther. Whatever she saw when she looked at Helen delighted her, and Helen returned her smile.
She turned, last, to Gilbert, who waited, his knuckles white where his hands gripped the bars of a door that was no longer locked. Her smile reasserted itself, but it was wider, brighter.
She walked toward the cell door and struggled to open it. Kaylin moved forward, but Helen lifted an arm and Kaylin froze. “You want what’s best for Kattea.”
“Kattea’s a child.”
“You were a child when you made the decision to flee to Barren.”
“It’s not the same, Helen.”
“No, it is not. Kattea’s death might well have been yours, but her life from the moment of its prevention has not. You think to prevent her from making a mistake, and that is commendable. But Kattea is not you, and her life, not yours. In this, she has the right to choose. She is not a babe-in-arms. She is not a child who can barely walk, and stumbles constantly. She is not, you will say, adult. But she understands what is happening.
“Respect her choice.”
Kaylin swallowed the rest of the words. Kattea was walking into the unknown, yes—but she saw a home, a family of a kind, in the multiple veils of the darkness that were Gilbert. There was no certainty that she’d survive—but there was no certainty that she wouldn’t, either.
“Gilbert,” she said.
Gilbert’s third eye—the middle one—rose to meet Kaylin’s; the other two were focused on Kattea as if nothing else in the universe existed.
“You’d better keep her safe. You’d better keep her happy.”
Gilbert smiled. “That is a threat, yes?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
Kattea had finally managed to pull the door open. Gilbert released the bars; he could not cross the threshold.
“No,” Helen said quietly. “He can’t. In truth, it is not quite safe for him to be here at all. He can only be here because—”
“Because Kattea is,” Gilbert said. “And because I promised.” He knelt, in form and shape very much the man Kaylin had first met. He opened his arms.
Kattea ran into them.
Kaylin had watched Gilbert carry Kattea as if she were weightless—and she probably was, to Gilbert. He lifted her now as if she were precious. “Thank you, Helen. Thank you, Chosen. I do not think you will see us again.”
“Where—where will you go?” Kaylin asked.
Gilbert smiled. “Home, I think.”
She would have asked him where home was, but the Shadows he cast grew thicker, darker; they rose above his shoulders like the arch of wings, and like wings they snapped open; when they folded, they folded gently around Kattea, until Kattea could no longer be seen.
She could be heard: she was giggling. “That tickles, Gilbert.”
“Apologies.” It was the last thing he said before he dissipated, taking Kattea with him.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from CAST IN FLAME by Michelle Sagara.
“The impressively detailed setting and the book’s spirited heroine are sure to charm romance readers, as well as fantasy fans who like some mystery with their magic.”
—Publishers Weekly on Cast in Secret
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