Find the Aubarios.

Take its heart.

Leave.

Those words hunted every thought. They echoed in my ears. They rang in my bones. But what was that Aubarios? What would I find in it?

I sank deeper in the bathtub, foam rising up to my chin as my muscles loosened in the deliciously hot water. I could still remember how hard blood had pumped in my temples, how breathless I was when I'd merged back into my clone and sauntered my way up to my wing.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache slowly building up. At least Blake didn't sense us, and Ha-ámej kept us as his own secret or else we would have been long since dead.

He knew who I was. All along.

The Prince's son.

A creature of night.

He didn't tell me his real name. He didn't tell me what was that damned Aubarios. He didn't tell me why the name Blake had called him had sounded familiar.

Who are you, Ha-ámej?

I let out a long breath, reaching for the mug on the small table, the contraceptive herbs' smell heavily filling the bathroom. It ran warm down my throat, a bit bitter despite all the sweetener, but it worked nonetheless. The mug drifted back to its place as I reclined my head on the lip of the tub. Fancy, extravagant, luxurious. The ruling family knew taste and elegance, and it showed in the amount of details taken care of in the castle, in the heavily ornamented dining tables left for important dinners, in the way the royals and the wealthiests of the continent dressed.

But it didn't stretch far within Evanor, only gracing the castle and all the buildings falling beneath its wings, the avenue where those filthy rich traders lived, and the Tower, home of the elite guards at their Majesties' service. An eight levels building, the ground one a training center heavily equipped, the second for the fifteenth, fourteenth, and thirteenth sentinels, and the rest split in two halves, one for the men, the other for the women, the penthouse left for Aedis and I, the ceiling magically charmed as in letting us see the sky without being exposed.

The loud howling winds ceased, and I heard the windows I left open for him clicking shut. I knew he'd come through flying, not bothering with the stairs-he'd been doing that for a while now. I didn't rush out of the bath, and instead sank in it even more, a small flick of magic keeping the water hot. Exhaustion seeped in my bones; it had been long since I felt this drained. But the spell I had to keep maintaining cost quite much, and the only thing that gave me a lick of easiness was knowing that when fleeing, Ha-ámej's powers had sealed whatever gaps I had needed to leave to make it out before Blake found out.

Leon entered the bathroom on silent steps, the leathers already most likely finding their way on the shelf. He stood behind me, planting a kiss on my forehead before I heard the muffled thud of all the steel strapped to him over the suit he discarded. So many weapons-just like when I'd first met him.

He gently nudged me to the side, sliding into the water with a groan. My head found its place tucked beneath his chin, a whisper of magic drifting away the foam that tickled my nose as one of his arms fell around my waist, fingers carelessly going up and down. I let out a breath as though a heavy weight had been pushed off my shoulders, staring with half-closed eyes at the idle patterns I drew on his chest, just above his heart.

His free hand flicked my nose before going through my hair, ruffling it, before flicking it again as I lightly pinched him. I pinched him once more, a soft rumble making his chest vibrate, and he tucked me even closer. I found myself holding him tighter-so tight it seemed he'd fade away if I let go-going on about what happened today. All of it: the duties, the prisoners, the dungeons. And he'd listened, even though he knew them all through the bond. Knew what words Ha-ámej had used, what I'd seen afterwards. The nightmare, too.

We fell silent for the few minutes that came next; it had been a while since there had been a serene silence like this one. He shifted slightly, pulling me deeper into his embrace. "Do you really trust him?"

Thin, golden shimmers seeped from my fingers, running over his skin with each movement. ''I think so.'' He knew. And he could have told Blake, could have traded it for his freedom. Perhaps it really had been a fool's mistake, going this deep into his cell, but not a drop of magic sparked to pull me away. My powers had wanted me there with him, had wanted to listen to his fog.

We didn't bother communicating through a bridge here, the rooms warded so heavily against any sort of magic, each day recasting the spell to make sure it remained impeccable. Impenetrable.

"What about the things he gave you?"

"Safe.'' In a pocket within the world, with what very little of Arowcinders remained, and all the secrets I'd stole and didn't risk sending about them to Téors or the castle. "There's still to know what the Aubarios is and finding it."

"You will go through it, finding and breaking it, won't you?"

I hummed in response, the patterns I drew vanishing with a breath. "We can play this game for years, until war breaks. There are no ends, no completed missions. If the Aubarios is truly worthy, and if it is implied in bringing him back, then I will go through it.''

Téors had told us we were Cantelot's last chance, and we worked, we schemed, we plotted in the war rooms, in the dungeons, in lands days away from here. But there was a line I would not allow crossing-not yet, at least. Because there would be no turning back. Yet my cards were running short, too, and I didn't know how long we'd last before being eliminated.

''There is still knowing what it is and where to find it, first.''

"I think I might have a starting point.''

I lifted my head, staring at this still-strange face with arched eyebrows. "You do?"

He winked. "Let's say I've been in the queen's good graces long enough for her to confine in me where the continent's greatest resource of information and spells is.''

I pushed myself up, one hand falling around my husband's neck. "Why haven't I known about this until now?"

His nose brushed against mine. "Because I didn't risk disclosing this bit while you were running for your life.''

I hummed again, "Sneaky.''

His eyes seemed to laugh, hand tucking away a strand of hair stuck to my forehead before caressing the side of my face, his calluses soft against my skin. My skin still tingled as his breath warmed it, just like the first time. His forehead pressed against mine, his grip so tight, so careful. I couldn't resist running my fingers through his hair, fisting it, pulling him closer.

"I missed you,'' I whispered in the little distance between us. So much-I missed him so terribly much. There had been times where we'd go days without seeing each other, our schedules rarely leaving us time. But we had to keep changing it, had to keep infiltrating them. I ached for him, seeing him pass by in the halls, barely a stare exchanged, barely a stolen brush of his hand against mine.

His lips brushed the tip of my nose before finding my mouth, the kiss slow and long. I savored every bit of it-of him-knowing it could go hours or days before sharing another moment like this.

His mouth brushed my cheek, my jaw, my neck, his voice making me shiver as he breathed against my skin, "What do you have next?"

"His chambers.'' The hand on my waist kept going up and down, the other finding my nape, massaging it, knowing it always soothed my building headaches. ''Need to be there before dawn breaks.''

Dawn was still a bit more than an hour away to come. It wasn't worth finding whatever place Leon knew about, barely having the time to go through a scrap of the information there.

"We're both on docks after that. We'll heed for this secret place once done.''

He kissed me again. "Sounds good.''

I'd been on duty in front of Blake's chambers so many times I lost count, and I still found it to be utterly useless. He didn't need a guardian going left and right in front of the doors leading to his wing-no one dared a look, save coming near. And the amount of magic reinforcing the place, it might as well end whoever was foolish enough to venture this far in the castle.

But he'd said his words, and I spared myself the troubles of going against them. Ever since the duel with Clair, I'd worked at his side, building an alliance that was rather easier than I thought, as he still saw me his. That didn't change the fact that I was, once again, pacing the hall in front of his rooms, each carved detail, each stroke in the hung paintings etched in my mind.

It would go hours with me standing here, doing absolutely nothing while he slept or worked over what his next move should be. He never once called me in, and for all the times he would be in there before I even arrived.

Unlike today. Barely a few minutes until dawn and not a single trace of him.

I found myself facing the double doors, massive and stretching from ceiling to floor, made of pure Nightbleed carved so precisely I couldn't tell if it was magic or skilled hands that had done the work. The twin handles of heavy gold were plain, long and cylindrical. And still they were more extravagant than the doors leading to my very wing in the Ether Castle.

I made another round of walking, and still not a whisper of his presence. Another, then another. And another. Each time I found myself facing those doors, halting, wondering if they were locked or not.

They were cold beneath my touch. It would be madness to sneak in his room, absolutely-

The doors creaked open and I froze. I knew I would find more useful information inside, rather than staring at the paintings on the walls. And I knew that there was no telling how he'd react, finding me in his rooms.

I waited for another minute, hands still on the handles. Ten-I would count to ten, and sneak in if he didn't show up.

I made another round, listening to the wind, searching to see if he was near. It was useless.

Eight.

I returned to my place in front of the slightly ajar doors.

Nine.

I grabbed the handles, my fingers half-numb.

Ten.

He didn't arrive.

I went in, shutting the doors behind me with a click.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but the rooms were...normal. Tidy, even, not an item out of place. Of course, they were heavily decorated, the chandeliers alone must have needed several dozens of workers to be done.

I didn't linger, instead followed where his scent was strongest into his bedroom, a desk placed in the far end, facing the wall-length window overlooking the capital. There had been many things to go over, books upon books, piled and arranged and sprawled on the desk, scrolls and contracts and maps displayed, several colored pins marking what I supposed where the most important regions.

So many secrets, so many information. But I couldn't bring myself to take my attention away from the high commode at the entrance. The circular item pinned to the wall above it that looked like it was a mirror, but forged from Nightbleed instead of glass. And missing a piece at the bottom right. It emanated powers, so many different shades at once. As though magic had been harvested for centuries and poured in it. Its aura stretched, spreading all around, colorful and dark and bright, a mesh of magic woven with no mortal powers. It moved, too, as though looking for something-perhaps its missing piece.

Beneath it, the surface of the commode was bare, save for the leather bound book resting there. My heart skipped a beat, and the half numbness in my fingers stretched to my entire hands. The brown leather was worn off more than it had been a few months back, but the etchings on the spine were still the same.

Blake's sketchbook. He'd carried it for so much, wherever he went, tucked in one of his pockets. In case inspiration strikes suddenly-that was what he told me when I'd noted it. His aura, his scent, was all over it. And within the aura it emanated, hidden deep, there was still a lick of the First Norm that time hadn't wiped away yet.

A strange feeling spread in my blood as I eyed the rather small book, all the memories I had at the Norm-scarce as they were-breaking free, diving from deep within my mind to the surface. It made me nostalgic. Sick. Mad. And...hurt. All the atrocities, all the deaths-all the lies. It had hurt in a way. Seeing him every day, the four of us talking, walking, dining together, Carter, Mayra, and I so utterly oblivious to who was in our company.

The memories, the secret, silent places hidden between the buildings, under the shades of the centuries-old trees he'd shown me, all the times we'd met there alone when Mayra and Carter had classes. Lies. All of it nothing more than lies. The laughs, the goodnights, the quick kiss he'd planted on my cheek one night that had me giddy and confused and flustered.

I didn't remember my hands trembling as terribly as they did now while reaching for the Book of Astazan. I didn't feel so nervous when I stood with my father, speaking to all of Ardoria. He'd taken such a big piece of me in so little time, had haunted me for months afterwards.

The leather still felt the same against my skin, old and torn at the edges. It smelled like him, like musk and a hint of earthy aroma. The sketchbook looked rougher than it did in my memories, its papers no longer pressed tightly as though he'd flipped through many countless times.

My heart rose to my throat as I opened it, my eyes running over the Norm's maps, several points of view for a same place, detailed sketches of all the secret entrances I even didn't know about. The perfect ways to sneak in and out, the underground ones that stretched to Vemor, the ones leading to my own room. There'd been faces, too, many clean drawings of professors-some of them I knew-and students, and more than a couple of Ramos, detailed and up-closed. But all those were considerably sparse in amount within the hundreds of pages.

I wasn't breathing-I couldn't remember how to as I flipped through pages after pages, eyes running over one, single face. Mine. Close, far, standing, sitting, walking, training, reading, talking, smiling, laughing -

Gods. Some were fast sketches, some were unbelievably detailed it felt like staring at a mirror. Some were colored, some were in charcoal. And the more I stared at them, the more I realized that this face staring back...it looked like the face I would see once back in the castle. It was more mature than what I'd been a bit over half a year back. The eyes voided of naivety, the head held high, the composure fit for the queen I was working to become. The amount of details, the lashes drawn singularly, curved and long, the dimples, not too close nor too far, the bit of hair that always curled around my ears when I would wear it in a ponytail.

More and more came with each page until I stopped, noticing how one page had been torn out. Not missing, because it was in the locked drawer in my room. Because he'd given it to me, when he'd drawn me on spot when I visited him after the assault during the Fire Festival. When I thanked him for saving me.

The book slipped from my grasp, its thud echoing in my head. I had never felt so numb, so confused, so sick. I couldn't even crouch to pick it up without grabbing the edge of the commode for balance. A piece of paper fell out, and for an instance I was mortified I had ripped it until I noticed it was plied, almost out of the pocket on the inner side of the leather. Tucked, hidden. Gingerly, I unfolded it, careful not to ruin it or smudge the-

Gods above.

It took strength not to fall on my knees, to keep standing, and I didn't have enough. This painting, this image...I leaned over the edge of the commode, full weight on my elbows and chest, the paper almost slipping out of my grasp. I couldn't take it without him finding out, which had left me calling upon my magic to create a copy of it, tucking it with the things Ha-ámej had given me. I returned it to its pocket, and let the sketchbook slip from my fingers and onto where it had been.

I didn't push myself off the commode, not trusting my legs, my unbound hair falling over my closed eyes as my head tipped down. The world might have truly been swaying beneath my feet, unsteady just like my breathing. I knew Leon hadn't seen all of this, we'd long since agreed to lock out this bridge when it could be too risky, and I hadn't dared keeping it widely open in here, if ever the magic filling this place could feel it. I wasn't so sure how to tell him, I didn't understand a thing myself.

In. Out. In. Out. Again and again. Breathe.

My eyes remained closed, and for the first of it, I didn't feel the aura of that thing above my head caressing mine. It came in gentle waves, like long and tender fingers brushing through my hair, over my skin, down my cheeks and ears.

It spoke. Not like the sarcophagus. Not like the fog. Not like that burst of darkness in the throne room. It whispered. It sang with many voices, it chanted in many languages, none familiar to my ears. It wasn't aggressive, it wasn't hammering and blazing like the coffin. Gentle, daunting. I observed the aura wrapping around my hand-it never happened before unless I was the one forcing the contact. And the odd thing was that I couldn't feel it against my skin, not like when I touched Ûzan's.

An aura that could be heard and seen. But not felt.

It lifted my hand, bit by bit, unperceivable until I realized it had brought it close to its surface, my body straightening by its own. I wasn't controlling it-it controlled me.

So close. Almost brushing it-

A firm grip pushed my hand back.

The singing had been so loud, so captivating I hadn't heard him enter. Hadn't felt the warm breaths hitting my cheek, blowing past my ear until he whispered, "Don't. It will suck all your powers and memories.''

I blinked, unmoving, waiting to see what he would do. How mad he would be. Blake Armedes didn't let go of my hand immediately, and it took me less than a heartbeat to become conscious of the hand gripping my waist, as though blocking me from leaning closer. Of the muscular body firmly pressed against mine.

Time lingered for a bit too long as we remained like this until at last he liberated me.

"I don't remember you being so reckless, Elayda.''