After Vesper unsuccessfully begged her to tell him what herShadowheartis, he summoned Kaida and took her to their spot so they could watch the stars flicker on and into the night.
As they sat there, his mind wandered to his fate in Ellynne. If Emmery got his letters. If she still hated him. When Destonne would call in their bargain. And also where the fuck Nef had gone. She still hadn’t shown her face after their fight and nowthat he’d sat on it for a few days, he knew it was stupid. They could work through it. They just needed to talk.
Vesper glanced at Kyrith beside him. Despite all her teasing, poking fun, and her ability to see right through him, as he gazed at her, he grasped for reasons not to leave.
She fidgeted with her bag, pulled it into her lap, then set it aside. After the third time, Vesper snatched it.
“Hey!” she protested, but it was too late, and he’d already torn into it like a present. Inside lay jars of all colours.
His brows shot up. “What could these fancy paints be for?"
Kyrith’s face fell in her hands. “This was a mistake. Give it back.”
Vesper snatched it out of her grasp. “Absolutely not. Tell merightnow.”
She groaned at her own embarrassment and wormed out of her sleeve. “I was hoping you would paint something for me. Here.”
At her outstretched arm, he bit back a smile. “You want me to paint you? You’ve seen my drawings. Do you really want to subject yourself to that?”
“I thought I could do yours too.” Her shrug was beyond adorable. “Something to remember me by.”
“It’ll wash away,” he said, his brow lifting. “But if you want to forget all this sooner rather than later, I hardly blame you.”
She shoved a detailed brush and a jar of black paint into his hand. “The paint might be enchanted. And itmightlast months.” The corner of her mouth pulled up. “Would you just do as you’re told for once?”
“Doesn’t sound like me,” he said, punctuated by a smirk. “And it sounds like you’ve been planning this.”
She laughed again, and the sound was so bloody dangerous.
“What if I’ve been planning this from the moment we met?” She inched closer and let him take her arm. Her skin was so warm, soft, and—fuck.
His gaze fell to her lips and remained caught there. For a moment, he swore they both leaned toward each other.
“Then you may have struck me speechless again,” he said.
She swallowed. His breath hitched.
And healmostclosed that distance. Almost reached for her face, wove his fingers through that beautiful burgundy hair, tilted her head back, claimed her mouth, and tasted her. Almost gave into those dreams.
But instead, he shook that fucking insane thought from his head, killed the fantasies, and focussed on anything but her blackberry smell and how close she sat, her arm draped over his lap.
He cleared his throat. “So, I can paint whatever I want?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No profanity. And no phallic objects.”
“Well, now I have to come up with a completely new design.”
But he already knew what he wanted to paint. And as he mixed his life and hers onto her arm, he left a piece of him with it, wishing she would come home with him, if only so it didn’t feel like he left a slice of his heart here with her.
As they flew back to Rensburrow, his arm sticky from the dried paint, Vesper fought a grin that threatened to split his face as the air sang in his ears and the moonlight kissed his skin. Despite the loss of Dimitri, the bloodlace that still very much ravaged the lands, and Nef still missing, he held a tiny bit of hope as Kyrith held him tightly, her face pressed into his neck.
They hadn’t talked about the prophecy other than her refusal to comply. He would deal with Ellynne first, then they could discuss her role and if she would take part. Hopefully Zyphira could provide guidance on the next steps.
As they neared the cavern entrance, the hair rose on the nape of his neck, an ominous chill slipping beneath his flesh like a crawling insect. He seized Kyrith’s shoulder and halted them.
It could have been the nip in the wind or the unusual silence, but the presence of death wove into the very air they breathed. Unlike the Graver’s putrid scent of death, this resembled wood rot and black mould.
“Wait,” he murmured. A weight sat on his chest, reminiscent of the Divide’s hold before he slipped between life and death. “Do you feel that?”