Ch. 14

“Silent Memories”

My mind drifts through all the places he may have seen all over the world. “Nathor,” I say, rocking back and forth on my heels, my lavender eyes squinting at the thoughts. “A land of eternal spring and summer. The thought just makes my nose itch.” I wrinkle my nose, and Zanir raises an eyebrow, as if my speaking is somewhat half-amusing to him.

Zanir is still picking at another fish he grabbed, savoring it slowly. “You? In a place like Nathor? I would give a hefty gold coin to see that,” he says, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You are too brooding for that much sunshine, the locals would think you were cursed or something.”

“I am cursed,” I grumble. “With all those trees, flowers, and happiness? I would probably get kicked out the moment my feet touched the ground.”

Zanir smirks, shaking his head. “They’d kick you out for other reasons. Something about your sharpness not blending well with all that sunshine and smiles.” He gestures toward me with a piece of fish. “Nathor is not for someone like you.”

My face scrunches, and I catch a glint in his cerulean eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Zanir rips a piece of the fish and then glances up at the sky, still smirking. “You know exactly what I mean.”

I roll my eyes, letting the warmth of the fire draw me close. “Fine, maybe Nathor isn’t on the top of my list for adventure. But Adros…” My voices quiets. “Adros is home to the Endless Forest — stuff of nightmares.”

That is more of a place for me. I feel the beast stir behind my mental door like he is waking from a long slumber. Which is why it was the first place I went once I made it out.

Zanir’s expression changes, more serious now. “Adros is… complicated.” The normal smirk on his sharp face gone without a trace.

“Complicated? That is an understatement,” I reply, leaning on my heels until my wings have to catch me. “More like the dumping grounds for everything unfit for the other lands.”

Zanir’s lips tighten as if he is recalling something. “Not all creatures in the Endless Forest deserve to be here,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly more guarded. “Powerful beings get thrown here, yes. But some of them are here by choice. The forest isn’t the only holder of secrets.” He flicks a glance at the fire, and for a moment, it feels like the flames are reflecting something darker in his gaze.

I feel a pull to move the conversation in another direction. A wave of chill moving across my skin. “What about the fae lands? Crytho and Naflary? The Grand Library says their borders have been closed longer than the oldest tome the Grand Library has.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as if deciding whether to tell me more or if there is something else racing in his mind. “Never explored within the borders other than at trading ports. Let’s just say most weren’t keen on someone born with at that time, unruly shadows.” He stretches out, the embers of the fire flickering across his face. “Crytho is cold. Ruthless. The dark high fae have no patience for weakness, and their god are just as unforgiving.” He meets my gaze, the fire causing a shadow to move across his sharp features.

I bite my lip, curiosity burning in my chest. “And the light fae?”

“They’ve sealed themselves off for a reason,” he says, the smirk returning to his lips. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if their borders opened again soon”.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Times are changing. Even the high fae gods can’t keep their walls up forever.”

My mind snags on his words, on all the stories that still may be buried within his mind. I want to ask more, to pry those memories out from the depths where he has tucked them away. But Mother slips into my mind, cutting my curiosity with a sword. As I take in a deep inhale, my mind drifts elsewhere, pulling my back to fragmented memories — one I have buried beneath layers of careful silence.

I remember, long ago, sitting in the back of the council chamber, watching as Mother held court. She stood, poised, her every word like the sharpest steel, cutting down even the boldest of the council members. They dared no questions her decisions, her orders. But, as always, my curiosity got the better of me. The firelight flickers in the present, mirroring the torch-lit chamber in my mind.

“What is wrong with the other lands?” I had asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I was too eager to understand.

Mother’s expression tightened, her fingers clenching on the edge of the council table. “This is not a place for your questions, Mihaela. Observe, do not disrupt.”

But I pressed on. “Maybe we could help?”

Mother’s eyes flashed. “Leave, child, now.”

The words were a cold slap, and I scrambled from my seat, my cheeks burning. I had barely touched the door handle when a warm hand settled on my shoulder, and a voice — low, comforting, and achingly familiar, tinged with a hint of something warm and safe — whispered close to my ear. The face in the memory is hazy, a figure shadowed against the bright torches of the chamber.

“Never stop asking questions, Mihaela,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm.” It is how you find the answers others don’t want you to know.”

I looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but he had already stepped back into the shadows, leaving me alone in the doorway, my mind alight with questions I didn’t yet know how to ask.

The memory fades, dissolving back into the crackling warmth of the fire and the steady night. The whispers, the unseen voice lingers in my mind, echoing with that elusive permission to keep questioning. It is a strange comfort against the backdrop of all the questions Zanir leaves unanswered.

I glance over to see Zanir is nearly finished with the last fish now, his attention entirely on Halfy. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and their eyes meet, sharing a look I recognize all too well. Halfy licks his chops, his sharp fangs gleaming in the firelight, and I feel something prick at the edges of my mind. Zanir thinks for a moment before tossing the last piece of fish toward Halfy, as if they’ve developed some secret language. As if he is trying to bond with my beast.

A surge of irritation bubbles up within me, and I silently reach out to Halfy down our bond, letting my voice cut through the smoky air of his mind. We don’t like him, remember? We are bound. Not him. I warn Halfy. The thought carries a possessive edge, a reminder to Halfy of OUR history, OUR loyalty. A warmth of familiarity flickers back in response, settling me, even as he snaps up the fish with ease.

But as I watch chew contentedly, a slight annoyance lingers. My eyes narrow as Halfy devours the last of the fish Zanir tossed his way, satisfaction shining in his eyes. I can’t shake the feeling that something precious, something meant only for me, has been breached. Zanir must sense it too, because he lets out a chuckle, a deep, genuine laugh that echoes into the night. The sound is warm and rich, almost… too familiar.

“Appeasing the beast may be in my favor,” he says, the laughter still in his voice, and I feel something twist in my stomach, uninvited and uncomfortable.

Going to chalk it up to not eating in what feels like days. I’m regretting not eating that stupid moth, but only ever so slightly. I will try to sneak off later and find something to soothe the growing hunger in my belly and to replace some of the life force that was drained from me. Because if I don’t, my mental door may swing open irrespective of the door’s lock status.

The moon is tucked away behind the tallest peak of the mountains. Casting more shadows far and wide, as the world becomes ten times darker other than the glow from our small crackling fire. We should rest. Dawn is only a few hours away. If we are to tread through the valley of the two Zis mountain peaks, we must do it during sunlight hours and not with unrested bodies.

“You should rest while you can. I will take the first shift.” I hear Halfy grumble below me, but I know he is exhausted from the night we have had so far. “And Halfy, too,” I say just to charm my beast, knowing that even if he was crippled, he would not rest until we were back within the castle walls until I was behind those walls again.

Zanir is as close to the fire as mortally possible once more. He twists his body, looking at me, and his eyes linger there for a moment. The flame in his eyes is gone, the light gone, and somehow his cerulean eyes look blank…almost hollow, as if they are lost and fighting to come back. 

“I didn’t realize how much of my past life I had forgotten,” he whispers, his gaze unfocused, almost as if he is sifting through memories that only half-belong to his past life. After a brief pause, he adds, “I guess I owe you more than I can say, but don’t let it get to your head, little bat.”

Why did I even ask? I shouldn’t care about his stories or his past. At least, I can tell myself I shouldn’t, though it takes more effort with each movement of my thoughts in my skull. The castle, Mother, taught me better than this — to stay silent and let the world reveal with each itself in fragments, and not to crave what I was never meant to know.

The fire’s warmth lingers close, but beyond it, shadows stretch long and thin across the forest floor, merging the dark edges of the trees. A faint breeze rustles the undergrowth, carrying a scent crisp with damp earth and something wilder — something unwelcoming. I glance at Halfy, sensing his unease too, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the firelight, his ear twitching. For a brief second, I feel eyes in the shadows, lingering, watching us from beyond the protection of the firelight. I shove the thought away.

Just another night under the stars…