The wind stirred the flames in the hearth. Shadows danced over my bare legs as I stood facing the open window. Behind me, Therin Malvine was silent.
He hadn't moved since the words left his mouth.
"Why do I remember you dying?"
He wasn't supposed to say it. I wasn't supposed to answer.
And yet here we were, in the witching hour, with time bent like a blade between us.
"I didn't dream it," he murmured again, mostly to himself. "I saw it. I remember it."
I turned slowly to face him.
He stood in the center of the room, hood back, dark hair tousled by wind, his black coat damp at the shoulders. The fire painted gold on the edges of his cheekbones. He looked tired in a way I hadn't seen before. Not weary. Not hunted.
Haunted.
"You're remembering echoes," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Echoes don't bleed."
"No. But neither do ghosts."
He stepped forward, slowly. "You're not a ghost."
"Then what am I?"
He didn't answer. I didn't expect him to.
I walked back toward the fire, velvet robe trailing behind me, slightly open at the thigh. I let it. The night was too full of tension for modesty.
"I came through that gallery door two hours ago," I said, "and left a man who once slit my throat so breathless he forgot to follow."
Therin's eyes tracked my movement.
"I kissed him," I continued. "I let him touch me. Take me. And I made him believe he still had power."
"Didn't he?" Therin asked, quietly.
I stopped.
"No."
He looked skeptical. "You're bleeding his scent. Your lips are swollen. Your voice is hoarse."
"I let him think he won."
Therin studied me carefully. "And what if he decides to take more next time?"
"He won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
His tone shifted. "Because you think you're smarter than him?"
I met his gaze, voice level. "Because I'm not in love with him anymore."
That silenced him.
He shifted his weight. His arms dropped to his sides.
I could feel the pulse of questions behind his eyes.
"I remember the blood," he said at last. "You were wearing a white veil. The marble was red by the time you hit the ground."
"I was three months pregnant," I said.
His head snapped up.
"I didn't know," I continued. "Not then. Not until the healer counted the two hearts that had stopped beating."
He was pale now.
"And now?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
He looked at my robe. The way my hand rested lightly, protectively, over my stomach.
His voice came out as a whisper. "You're still—"
"Don't say it."
Therin took a breath. "You came back with the child?"
I nodded once. "This time, I know."
A pause.
"You know Caelum can't find out."
"I'll kill him before he does."
"You might have to."
His voice didn't shake. Neither did mine.
"That's why I need you," I said.
His mouth tightened. "You think I'm your ally now?"
"No," I said. "I think you're trying to decide if guilt is heavier than loyalty."
Therin crossed to the fire, staring into the embers. He stayed there for a long time, silent.
Then, without looking at me: "What do you want from me?"
"Eyes. Ears. Routes."
"And in return?"
I walked to the table and picked up a dagger from my writing desk. The ceremonial kind—silver hilt, serpent etching, not meant to be used.
I threw it.
It struck the wall an inch from his shoulder.
Therin didn't flinch.
"In return," I said, "you get to live in the new world I build from his ashes."
He finally turned.
"You think you can win against him?"
"I already did once."
"And you still died."
"I won't make the same mistake twice."
He stepped closer now, slow, deliberate.
"I served Caelum since we were boys. I know his darkness. I know what he's capable of."
"Then you know I'm the only one who can stop him."
"Why now?"
"Because the Empire doesn't know yet."
"Know what?"
I leaned in, close enough to feel his breath.
"That their god bleeds. That their emperor can be seduced. Tricked. Broken."
Therin's jaw clenched.
"You're playing with wildfire."
"I am the wildfire."
He reached out and touched a strand of hair that had fallen across my collarbone. His fingers didn't shake—but something in his gaze did.
"You are not the same woman I remember."
"I buried her."
"And what rose in her place?"
I smiled faintly. "That depends. Do you plan to help me or betray me?"
He hesitated.
"I plan to survive," he said.
"Then you'd better choose well."
We stared at each other for a long moment.
Then he stepped back and bowed—low, slow, deliberate.
"Lady Elowen," he said. "You have your spymaster."
When he turned to leave, I stopped him.
"One more thing."
He looked over his shoulder.
"If I die again," I said, "don't just watch this time."
Therin's expression twisted for the first time that night.
"I won't," he said. "And if I do… make sure I'm next."
He vanished through the window, cloak fluttering behind him.
I stared into the darkness long after he was gone.
The door creaked open behind me, barely audible.
I didn't turn.
"Lira," I said.
She hesitated in the doorway.
"I know I told you not to return tonight," I continued. "But I assume you disobeyed me."
"I heard voices, my Lady," she said. "You were speaking to someone."
"I speak to ghosts often. Doesn't mean they answer."
She stepped into the room, eyes flicking to the window.
"I saw no one."
"You weren't supposed to."
She was quiet a moment, then asked, "Was it him? The Emperor?"
"No. He would've come through the door."
"And if he had?"
I looked at her now.
"If he had, I would've kissed him again."
Lira stiffened. "But why—"
"And then I'd slip the poison into his wine the moment he stopped watching my mouth."
Her lips parted.
"You'd… kill him?"
"No," I said. "Not yet."
I walked back toward the bed, past the fire, past the dagger still lodged in the wall.
I stopped before the mirror and met my own gaze again.
"I want him to know me first," I said.
Lira's voice was almost a whisper. "He already knows you."
"No," I replied. "He only knows the woman who died for him."
And I turned away.