That pretense didn’t last long. No, I’d never been very good at lying to myself. Never even bothered trying to tell myself that the only reason I kept Oraya around was because of what she could offer me.
“I thought I could,” I said, finally, not looking away from the dunes. My voice caught in my throat a little. “Thought I could—I don’t know.”
Save her.
Those weren’t the right words. Oraya didn’t need to be saved. She just needed a soul beside her on the dark walk to her own potential. Someone to protect her until she was strong enough to save herself.
I settled on, “I thought I could help her. Keep her safe.”
“You can. You are.”
“I don’t know about that.” I turned. Mische had fallen back into the armchair, her knees drawn up to her chin, her eyes wide and rapt. No one listened quite like Mische.
“I hurt her,” I choked out, “so fucking badly, Mish.”
The wrinkle between Mische’s brows softened.
“You did,” she said softly. “So what are you going to do about it?”
I had thought I’d known the answer to that question. I’d give her everything that had been taken away from her. I’d hand her the power that Vincent had tried to keep away from her her entire life. I’d protect her. Defend her. Arm her.
It felt like the only right thing. And the world didn’t deserve Oraya—but what a magnificent thing she could become.
I wanted to see that. What the hell was the point of any of this if I couldn’t do that? Right this one wrong?
But now, doubt crept into the dark corners of those thoughts.
Maybe I shouldn’t be the one doing any of those things.
I turned back to the window.
“I’m going back to Sivrinaj on my own,” I said. “Oraya shouldn’t travel that fast yet. I’ll have some of Ketura’s men escort you two back later.”
Mische leapt up. “What? You are not heading back there alone, Raihn.”
“Work on her magic with her. You’re better at that than me, anyway. And when Ketura gets here, she can teach her how to disappear her wings.”
“Raihn—”
“I don’t have time to wait, Mische,” I snapped. Then I let out a breath, and said, more gently, “Do this for me, alright? Watch out for her. Like you said. She needs someone.”
Mische’s face softened, though I could still see the conflict in it—torn between letting it go and pressing.
“Alright,” she said at last, though she didn’t sound convinced.
I left as soon as night fell the next day. I said goodbye to Mische, who vocally and emphatically disagreed with my decision to leave early. I shut down the argument fast.
When I went to Oraya’s door, no one answered my knock.
She was in there, of course. Nowhere else for her to go. And anyway, I could smell her. I could always smell Oraya’s blood, the pulse of it. I could hear her in there, too—faint rustling of blankets on the bed.
I knocked again.
Third time, I decided, I’d just let it go.
I knocked one more time, and—
“What?”
Downright vitriolic. I couldn’t help but let a little smile tug at the corner of my mouth. There she is.
I opened the door and peered in. She sat on the bed with a book, cross-legged, her wings slightly unfolded behind her.
I took a careful assessment of her in that split-second—eyes, skin, wings, wounds.
The wounds looked better than they had the night before. Wings looked a bit more relaxed, too. I’d practically ached on her behalf yesterday, just feeling the strain of those muscles. The tension, I was sure, long predated the wings. Oraya was always trying so hard to bear all that armor. I knew she’d been holding those shields up for twenty years.
I was staring. Oraya looked unamused.
“What?” she barked, again.
I smiled at her. “You’re so charming, princess.”
She stared at me.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
She blinked twice, a little too fast. Her face changed, grumpiness shifting to— My brow twitched.
“Look at that face,” I said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried.”
“Why?” she asked, voice tight. “Where are you going?”
“Back to Sivrinaj.”
“Why?”
I gave her a tight smile that was more of a baring of teeth. “Because Rishan nobles are fucking pricks.”
Could practically hear Cairis scolding me for even giving her that much information—information that could be used against me.
Her expression shifted again. Disapproval. Hell, maybe hatred. She tried to tamp it down and failed, of course.
“Oh.”
“Mische is staying here with you, and some of the guards.” I nodded to her wings. “Keep those out for now. Ketura will be here in a few days. She can teach you how to get rid of them. Not hard once you get the hang of it.”
She stared at me, wrinkle between her brows, saying nothing.
“Try to contain your excitement at my departure,” I said flatly.
I glanced at the table. An empty bowl sat there—scraped clean. I couldn’t help feeling some satisfaction at that.
Oraya still said nothing.
I wasn’t quite used to her being so quiet.
“Well, that’s it,” I said. “Take care of yourself. See you in a few weeks.”
I started to close the door, but she said, “Raihn.”
I stopped mid-swing. Peered back in. She had leaned forward slightly, her lips pressed together, as if in protest against whatever thrashed behind them.
“Thank you,” she said. “For fixing my wings.”
My fingers tightened around the door frame.
As if that was something to thank me for. Common decency.
“Like I said, you were made for the sky,” I said. “Would be an injustice to let that be taken away.”
The faintest hint of a smile brushed her mouth, a glimmer of sun through the clouds.
Then it faded as her eyes went distant. I wondered if she was thinking of Vincent.
She blinked that expression away fast.
“Safe travels,” she said flatly, turning back to her book.
I gave her a faint smile. “Thanks.”
I left around midnight that night, armed to the teeth with two of Ketura’s guards with me. Not enough, Vale would’ve said, but I’d rather leave the rest for Oraya and Mische. Both of them were forces to be reckoned with, certainly, but Oraya was injured and Mische… well, it seemed like I saw more burn scars on her arms every time I looked at her.
I looked back one last time before we flew away. Immediately, my eyes floated up—to the second floor of the little cottage, where a set of moon-silver eyes stopped my heart in its tracks, just like they did every damned time.
Oraya leaned against the window frame, arms crossed. When my gaze met hers, she lifted one hand in an almost-wave.
It felt like some kind of small victory.
I waved goodbye to her, and then I was gone.
INTERLUDE
Time is cheap for vampires.
The slave learns this quickly. As a human, he’d felt every passing second—missed opportunities slipping by, as if swept away by an eternally rushing river. Humans mourn time, because it’s the only currency that really matters in a life so short.