Mitu

Love is a contract in which one side always pays more. I learned to pay first as a child.

She stood in Darl’s study, watching him pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. His shadow, stretched by the candelabras’ light, slid across the walls — alive and condemned to eternal motion.

“Why?” He turned to her. For a moment, his pupils turned vertical.

She’d barely slept since the note. She’d been trying to come up with a reason to go back. She knew they wouldn’t hold her by force — it would break the fragile truce. But she didn’t doubt they had other ways to make her less needed. Less intact. She didn’t want to find out.

“The book,” she said, forcing her voice steady. “If the Codex of Silent Pages was once confiscated from the Citadel, that’s where we should start looking. You don’t have access to our archives. I do.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve — where the scars hid beneath the fabric. Darl followed the movement and frowned.

There was some truth to it. Not all of it, but enough to sound convincing. In reality, they’d never let her into the restricted sections. Anything concerning the Abyss was forbidden in the Citadel. Especially for her.

The Abyss. She knew almost nothing about it. Only that it was dangerous, that it held ancient creatures that must never be disturbed. And yet, she had seen some of them in the Light’s dungeons.

“Let’s say I agree.” Darl turned sharply to the window. His back was tense. His hands locked behind him. “But you’re still needed here, Azara. What guarantee do I have that if you go there, they’ll let you come back?”

She’d been right. He didn’t say it outright, but his meaning was clear: the Shadows had sunk their roots into her. They had no intention of letting go.

Not a guest. A prisoner.

“You won’t go alone.”

“I didn’t ask for a guard.”

“I’m not offering,” he said flatly. “It’s a condition.”

“Then send Kris with me. He’ll keep watch.”

The Lord’s face flickered unnaturally. He turned to face her fully.

“Absolutely not. He can’t — ”

“I agree.”

Kris stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His face said he’d heard everything.

“It’s about time someone paid that gilded stable a visit.”

Something in the way their glances crossed unsettled her. But Azara’s mind was already elsewhere. She was going home.

As for Kris — he wasn’t a problem. She’d slip away.

“Fine. You’ll accompany her. And don’t even think about setting foot in the capital.”

Kris didn’t wait for him to finish. He turned and walked out, muttering his agreement under his breath.

Azara moved to follow, but Darl stopped her.

“Azara. Take this.”

He stepped to the oak table and pulled out a scrap of red fabric, holding it out to her.

She took it, studying the coal-black threads woven into serpentine patterns. Without thinking, she brought it to her face and inhaled — smoke and that strange freshness. His scent.

“It’s…”

“So you don’t freeze,” he muttered, turning away. “I hear it’s cold in the Citadel.”

Kris, still in the doorway, twitched his jaw but said nothing. He left.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

For you. She nodded quickly, tucked the cloth into her bag, and practically fled into the corridor.

The road to the Citadel led through the Black Forest. They’d been riding for days, barely speaking. The silence was growing heavier. Azara leaned close to her horse’s neck, running her hand over its warm skin, whispering meaningless soothing words. Then she pulled up beside Kris and broke the quiet.

“Tell me. Why did you agree?”

“Always sticking your little freckled nose into things that aren’t your business. Try saying thank you instead.” Kris rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite in his voice.

“Thank you. And… I’m sorry about what I said in the garden. I shouldn’t have.”

She’d been carrying that guilt for a while. Now she finally had the chance to say it.

He waved a hand.

“Forget it. Already did. How was your walk?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement.

She sometimes caught herself thinking that Kris could be handsome — if it weren’t for the perpetual shadow on his face. A fighter’s build, but without the usual warrior’s roughness. He drew you in like a quiet fire — not burning, just reminding you of warmth.

“Not bad. Is he always like that?” She wet her dry lips and tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, trying to sound casual.

Kris snorted.

“Like what?”

“You know… quiet.”

“Ah. That.” He shifted in the saddle. “Look, I’ve known him a long time. But sometimes I feel like I know less about him than I did on day one. He’s like the ruins in this forest — from the outside, you think you understand. Then you step inside, and you fall through the floor.”

A pause.

“But if you’re trying to ask whether you like him…”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Sure it isn’t.”

In the distance, the golden spires of the Citadel appeared. A shiver ran down her spine.

The sunlight burned her eyes after the eternal twilight of the Shadows. She walked along the sterile streets, stepping aside for nobles in expensive clothes. Kris stayed behind at a tavern on the outskirts — she had the uneasy feeling that he’d come under some pretense, that he had his own business here.

Compared to Antaris, everything here felt artificial. No colors, no sounds. Just marble, gold, and statues with empty eyes. It all looked so… dead. No — not dead. Preserved. Like the body in the crypt.

At the sanctuary entrance, they stopped her and contemptuously ordered her to remove her dark dress, giving her a thin cloak instead. She walked across the cold stone, catching glimpses of her reflection in the polished floors — a stranger’s face, a stranger’s body. Everything wrong.

The High Keeper sat by a small altar, his wrinkled hands folded on his chest. His icy eyes fixed on her. He beckoned.

She knelt and touched her lips to the rough fabric of his robes, inhaling the scent of age and death. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Just do it. Don’t think. Do it.

“How are you, child? We were beginning to worry.” His voice echoed off the walls — sterile. Flat.

“The Keeper… won’t she be coming?”

He just shook his head. Azara continued:

“I was injured. The Lord offered to help. I found information there about a book. I think it might hold answers about people like me. About the nature of my powers. Finally, we could understand — and use them.”

“Thinking isn’t your concern.”

The old man reached out and ran his fingers through her copper hair. Then he tightened his grip, lifting her chin. She shuddered but swallowed it down. She knew: beneath that decrepit shell was a force that could snap her spine with a single movement.

“You didn’t show them your abilities, did you?”

Flaws.

The skin on her forehead burned with the tension, but she managed to shake her head.

“The book. What’s it called?”

“The Codex of Silent Pag — ”

She didn’t finish. The Keeper half-rose, his face contorting briefly before returning to its practiced calm.

“You must find it first. Remember: the Abyss is our ruin. There’s nothing of the Light in it. As for the book… we’ll destroy it.”

His words hung in the sterile air, drowned only by the cloying scent of incense.

Azara fought down a wave of nausea. She sat frozen.

Destroy. Not the book — me. Erase me. Burn me. There’s nothing of the Light in me.

“If you fail,” he said, trailing a finger lightly across her cheek, “we’ll have to visit them ourselves. I’ve never been to Antaris. I wonder what it’s like there… markets, schools, perhaps. But you’ll manage, won’t you, sunshine?”

She nodded without thinking. And immediately felt sick — as if another blow might tear her heart through her ribs.

Then he raised his hand. Slowly. Almost like a blessing. His fingers touched her crown and traced a heavy, smooth path from her forehead to the back of her head. The gesture people use to pat a trained animal after it obeys.

She bowed, touched her lips to the hem of his robe, stood, and turned toward the door. She had to leave. Get away from the smell of burnt herbs.

“And as for your companion… he’s in our dungeon.”

Azara froze.

“Kristian Marris attacked a nobleman in a tavern. Honestly, I’m surprised he dared show his face in the city after seducing the king’s daughter and running off with her.”

The king’s daughter? She’d never heard that. The name Avalita flashed through her mind.

“He knows where the book might be,” Azara said. “Without him, we won’t find it.”

A lie. But she didn’t want to leave him there. Not for a second.

The Keeper narrowed his eyes.

“Defending the enemy?”

“A tool.”

He smirked and nodded.

“Take him. He’s lucky the guards haven’t reported this to the king yet.”

She bowed again and left — but at the door, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in disgust.

Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath layers of duty, something feral stirred and growled. She slowed her step, afraid to show it.

The stairs to the dungeon seemed endless, reeking of iron and damp. It smelled the same as that place in her childhood — the first time she’d been locked in a dark room.

She kept walking, but her mind was trapped in a single memory. The first time her power had shown itself.

A little girl at dinner, saying out loud: There’s no good or evil. They’re just two sides of the same coin.

Varit — a curly-haired boy — ran and told the elders. Their punishment: the black room. Alone. Crying in the dark.

Then something moved in the ceiling corner. At first, just a scratching sound. Then it descended — leg by leg, each joint clicking. When it unfolded, she saw it: a huge, wiry thing with chitinous pincers, watching her with two pairs of bottomless eyes. Its body slick with slime.

She screamed. Beat the locked door. Begged.

Behind it, Varit and the other orphans laughed.

Finally, she crawled into the corner, covered her head, and decided: If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.

Then it touched her.

The flat, warm surface of its claw.

She looked up. It wasn’t attacking. It seemed to be trying to comfort her. Trembling, she reached out and touched its furry face.

The door burst open. Varit stood there.

“Why so quiet, little beast?”

She didn’t have time to react. The thing lunged — tore his face open. A Keeper appeared. It turned toward him.

“Stop! Don’t touch him!”

It obeyed. And paid with its life.

Azara blinked, shaking off the vision. The creature hadn’t meant any harm. It was only protecting her.

Just as she was now — going to protect Kris. Even though she barely understood why.

“Here to stare? Or are you going to help?”

Kris sat on the stone floor, pressing a bloody rag to his lip. His face was bruised and scraped — but his knuckles were clean.

“Did they beat you?”

“Welcomed me. Reminded me who I am.”

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

The walls were closing in. Her mind was swimming.

She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Shadows writhed in the corners — or was it the Abyss pulsing in time with her heart? A low, insistent call rose inside her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and dug her nails into her palm. Kris asked nothing. Just nodded toward the exit.

“Let’s hurry.”

On the road back, she finally let herself breathe.

“You didn’t tell me Avalita is the king’s daughter. That would have been useful to know before we started trying to save her.”

“Did you ask?” He looked away.

“No one in the Citadel even knows the king had a daughter.”

“Has,” he corrected. “Not had. Has. He disowned her like a leper. Smolder could have taken her back. Sent an army. Burned our borders. But no. He just crossed her out like a mistake in a scroll. Honor, to him, isn’t saving his daughter. It’s saving face. And now she’s there, in that crypt. Neither alive nor dead.”

“Why did you love her?” Azara asked. “Because she gave up her people for you? Because she sacrificed herself? For what, exactly?”

“Azara… you don’t love someone for a reason.” He paused. “Avalita is my Zalimema.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“There’s this flower,” he said, not looking at her. “It grows in the mountains, where ice turns to lava. They say it blooms only once every few thousand years — on the night when the three moons align. Silver petals with crimson veins, like blood running through them. And at its center, light trapped like crystal.”

He was quiet for a moment, running a hand over his face.

“Many hunt for that flower. But when you get close — when you reach out, when you breathe its scent — you die in agony. The petals release a poison with no antidote. It stops your heart. And you feel everything. Right up to the last second. How your body betrays you. How your lungs stop. How the world shrinks to one question: why did I come so close?”

His silver eyes burned. She caught her breath.

“I breathed that poison,” he said. “And I don’t regret it. Because she’s worth dying for.”

Is that even possible?

She looked at him — bruised, broken, still fighting for the right to exist. Something stirred inside her. The same feeling she’d had when the creature touched her hand. In the black room. And on the clearing.

“I’ll help you,” she said. Surprising even herself.

“You’re… serious?”

Instead of answering, she reached out and squeezed his trembling fingers. He squeezed back.

“This is strange.”

“What is?”

“They let me in without questions. Without checks. Like they were expecting me. That’s not how they work.”

Azara frowned, remembering her own cold audience.

“And they let me out too easily. Maybe because I was the one who asked.”

“Could be. Maybe her daddy finally came to his senses.” Kris laughed — but it sounded forced.