Dorian blocks our way.
He’s staring daggers straight at me, and while I don’t blame him for being angry, I also don’t give a shit.
I did what I had to do.
What was right.
I will not let him make me doubt my actions.
“Did you do what I think you just did?” he asks, jaw tight, expression, well, infuriated.
“That depends … What do you think I just did?” I stall. But I also want to hear him say it.
“Damn it, Veda!” he shouts, and the volume and edge of his voice makes me startle. “You let those officers go? They’re the enemy—our only leverage. I can’t believe you’d—”
I take a large step toward him. “Spare their lives? You can’t believe I’d save them from being sacrificed? My Moon, Dorian.” He only stares. “You disappoint me.”
I stride past him and am comforted to feel Imi follow right behind me.
“You disappoint me!” he says to my back. “Lunalette.”
Yes, that last part hurts.
I stop. Turn around and face him.
“You said you tried to stop the Settlings, and I respect that.”
“But?” he asks.
“But … You only chose to let Nico go when you could have released them all. Spared all their lives.”
“I couldn’t do that … You know I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He opens his mouth to answer but knows he doesn’t have one good enough to justify his actions.
Instead, he simply demands, “My keys?”
I throw the keys, and Dorian catches them as if we’d practiced it. Without another word, he then turns and heads in the direction of the prison cells.
Imi and I keep walking toward the main cavern.
She sends a sideways glance my way. “That was … intense. Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. There’s a lot to unpack there, but now isn’t the time.”
“Yeah … I sort of sensed that.” She gently pats me on the back. “Thank you.”
I look over at her. “You saved my life, remember?”
“Yes, well, you just saved my sister’s life.”
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” I ask. Madelina seemed so fragile.
“I know she will. Madelina is much stronger than she appears.”
I nod. “Good. We’ll get you back to her.”
“I know.” Imi’s words sort of fade away as if she’s in deep thought and then she comes back, completely switching gears. “So, what’s the plan, Lunalette?”
I cringe under my skin at the name because it reminds me of Dorian’s horrible tone just now, but I do my best to shrug that off. “Well, I figure it’s about dinnertime, which means most everyone should be in the main cavern.”
“Okay…”
“And now’s as good a time as any for me to make my big entrance.”
“Are you going to tell them what you just did?”
“Definitely.”
AS WE TRAVERSE the Lower, slowly making our way to the main cavern, Imi and I make small talk. She asks questions about the Night, and I answer honestly.
“So, explain this Lunalette thing to me?” Imi asks.
I have to bite my tongue because I’ve been truthful thus far. But I’ve not decided how I want to proceed with that. If I want to expose the Sindaco and his lies or use them as an advantage to do right by the Night. So I give half-truths. Sort of. “It’s just an old story. They believe, based on an ancient legend, that I’m the one who will bring revolution to the Night.”
“And do you believe it?”
“Eh … I have my moments.”
“How are you going to explain me being here?” Imi asks.
“I’ll tell them the truth.”
She looks back ahead. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
As we pass through the main tunnel that leads to the cave inside the Crag, there’s a line of altars. Not Moon altars—those still stand as well—but altars for the Lunalette. For me. I stop in front of one. There are candles dripping wax down the sides and onto the floor. Blessings and trinkets, treats and notes. Anything and everything you could possibly dream up, someone’s left in one form or another. For me, of all people.
“Whoa…,” Imi breathes. “This is about that legend?”
“Yeah.”
“Seems a bit more important than you let on.”
I shrug. “Maybe a little.” That’s when I catch sight of several small glass figurines. Fish, mostly. Stuck along the dried wax on the corner of the table like they’re climbing up the side of a mountain.
Dorian.
And I feel … all mixed up. I’m still so angry with him for lying for the Sindaco about the date of the Night’s invasion on the Coliseum so many Moons ago, for not saving all of the Imperi soldiers, and for—ugh—for just being who he is. Smug, annoying, infuriating, but at the end of the day, inherently good hearted. Loyal.
I don’t mean to, but I take a long, deep breath and then sigh. Imi gives me a look, but I don’t say a word. When I resume walking, I catch the photo they’ve chosen to place on top. It’s one of Poppy and me, but he’s been cut out so it’s only me who stands in front of our home, fishing pole in hand. I pick it up and place it facedown as I pass by.
It’s not right for me to be there without him.
When we reach the entrance for the main cave, I stop, take a deep breath. “Imi, just stay by me.”
“I wouldn’t consider anything else.”
I enter the cave.
Step by slow step, I walk toward the center, where a series of long stalagmites protrude up from the floor. Instantly, all eyes are on me. At first, I can tell not everyone recognizes me. Between being held captive so long and disguising myself to get down here, my appearance has changed quite drastically.
Soon, though, there’s whispering. Murmurs. A child shouts, “Lunalette? Where?” She’s subsequently hushed.
I step up on one flat, thick section of stalagmite that’s been broken off and over time smoothed over. It’s several feet off the ground—the perfect perch. Imi stays on the floor, but directly next to me. She pats my leg as if for support, and I hope she’s the only one who’s sensing my nerves.
Mouth dry, heart racing, I take a deep breath. Calm myself.
You’re the Lunalette … Be the Lunalette.
I must do this.
Standing tall, I speak to the hundreds of faces honed in on me and me alone.
“I wasn’t sure I’d see you all again.” The emotion that surfaces is real. I suppose, Lunalette or not, I’m still me with the same wants and desires. The same affection for these people I consider family. “I’m so glad to be back here—you have no idea how much.” The cave erupts in applause. Their reaction is so unexpected. Goose bumps cover my arms and go down the back of my neck. Once the crowd dies down, I continue.
I begin with my story about the conditions inside the Imperi Palace prison … How Imi risked her own life to help me escape … That we were nearly caught by the Imperi officer and that she got us out of it by throwing the explosive … How the Night had taken her sister prisoner and were about to execute her in one of the Sindaco’s Settlings …
The reaction is palpable.
The energy in the room shifts.
It’s subtle, but I swear they begin to see: we’re really not so different. When it comes down to it and it means saving family or doing what’s truly right, it might not matter whether you worship the sun or the Moon.
All of our hearts beat the same thump-thump-thump.
It’s slight, but some of them, at least, begin to see themselves in Imi—an Imperi officer.
I force myself to stand taller before jumping into the next part. “The Settlings are wrong,” I say, raising my voice and trying to accent each syllable with all of the anger I feel about what’s happening down here. And I know that by going against the Sindaco, my actions might not be popular.
Some of my family won’t agree.
And I’ll have to be all right with that. I’ll have to try my best to help them come around.
I scan the cave, try to make eye contact with as many Night members as I can. “I understand we want revenge. Remember—my family was killed by the Imperi too. I know revenge and I know vengeance, and I can tell you firsthand that stooping to their level will not ease your pain. It certainly won’t bring back your loved ones.” Someone near the far wall shouts something about consequences. “I know … I agree. There should be consequences for the terror and oppression of the Imperi. But killing their soldiers in cold blood isn’t it. It’s not just.” I take a moment to gaze out over the crowd. They’re tired, battle weary, hungry. “To die in battle is one thing. To be convicted of a crime and handed down a sentence, that’s another thing. But to be executed under the cover of night for simply fighting for what you believe in—whether right or wrong—that’s not just. No one wins that way.”
There’s a bit of arguing. Lots of murmuring. Several members leave the cave.
But most of them stay.
“I’ve released the remaining Imperi prisoners.” Again, they speak out, challenge me. I raise my voice above them. “The Night must show mercy!” It’s at this moment, while making eye contact with both new and familiar faces, that I spot Dorian. He stands front and center, just below where I stand. We make the briefest eye contact, I pause for breath, and then I continue. “If we don’t expose to the people of Bellona who we truly are, that we don’t kill in cold blood … If we start living up to the lies the Imperi has spun, we’re no better than they are.” Dorian glances away. I know him well enough to know when there’s emotion beneath his tough façade, but I can’t be certain what he’s thinking.
And right now isn’t about him or me.
It’s about all of us.
It begins small, but there’s clapping. It catches on and eventually they’re cheering. Well, about sixty percent of them are cheering. Some aren’t sure what to think. A very small group flat-out stare daggers at me.
I’ll take it. For now.
And as I’m surveying the crowd, my fellow Night members, I see the man I’ve both been dying to confront and dreading to face for weeks. The Sindaco. My—I have to swallow hard to even get the thought out—father.
Our eyes meet.
His expression is one of disappointment.
His eyes are heavy and tired. Clothes weathered, he looks as battle weary as everyone else down here, perhaps more so.
But unlike the rest, the Sindaco doesn’t seem very joyful to see I’ve returned. And I can’t say I blame him after the speech I just made.
I’m not so thrilled to see him either.
The Sindaco stands tall, rigid, hands clasped behind his back.
His stare is piercingly uncomfortable.
I can’t help but look away. Avoid his eyes.
But no.
I have to face him. Show him I know his lies. His betrayal.
When I drum up the courage to finally meet his stare, he’s gone.
AS I LEAVE the cave several members of the Night approach me, tell me they’re on my side. At my service. One soldier, Xavier, introduces himself. He’s tall and broad, with black hair and a kind smile. I know him by reputation only, but I never had a chance to do much more than train in the same area once … I’ve seen him in passing a few times. Apparently, according to Dorian and the Sindaco and several stories that I imagine might have evolved into high tales over the years, Xavier has been in and won more battles than anyone. That he’ll do anything to keep his soldiers safe—and has. There’s one story about how he knowingly entered a cave that was set up with explosives to free a couple of Night soldiers who were trapped inside.
Luckily, the guy’s apparently very fast or he wouldn’t be standing before me and those other soldiers would also be dead.
“Please know,” he says, shaking my hand with both of his cupped around mine. It’s like a hug I didn’t know I needed. “The majority of the Night are behind you.” He lowers his voice slightly. “I’m confident the rest will come around.” And something about it, something about his tone, he’s saying so much more.
“Thank you,” I say. “It means so much.”
I’m about to ask him more when he smiles kindly, lets go of my hand, and I realize he’s passed me a piece of paper. Our eyes meet before he walks away. As inconspicuously as I can, I slide the note into my jacket pocket.
Imi’s been at my side this whole time. While she’s been slightly bombarded with Night members greeting and thanking her, she’s been mostly quiet. But now that the crowd’s dispersing, she leans in, finally says something, and I realize I’ve been on pins and needles to hear what she’s thinking of all of this.
“That was … Wow, Veda.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re a legend down here. How did you learn to speak like that?”
“Um, out of fear, I guess?” I give a small laugh—a mix of relief and nerves.
“What?”
“Did you not see my legs shaking?”
Imi smiles sheepishly. “A little.” She holds her hands up. “But only because I was standing right under you.”
“Don’t listen to her—she’s too humble.” The sweetest voice and one I’ve longed to hear speaks up behind me. I turn and launch myself into Bronwyn.
“Oh, I’ve missed you!” I say into her shoulder, which smells of fresh-baked lemon bread. “I wasn’t sure where you were,” I say.
When I pull away she’s smiling. “I’m always around.” Those crescent moon dimples resting at the corners of her eyes are such a welcome sight. She then looks to Imi. “I hear we have you to thank for bringing her home to us?”
Imi steps forward, shakes Bron’s hand, both lingering a bit longer than I expect. “She saved me by releasing my sister.”
“We saved each other. End of story.” I look between them. “Bronwyn, this is Imi, Imi, Bronwyn.” They share a smile. “Walk to the caves with us, Bron?”
“Sure.”
I plan to set Imi up in the cave nearest to mine: cave number five, which was previously empty.
“It’s not the same, I know, but when I was promoted to officer, I had to give a speech.” Imi laughs to herself. “Madelina knew how nervous I got in front of crowds and gave me a special calming lozenge she claimed she bought under the table from one of the doctor’s apprentices. I don’t know why I believed her—I suppose I really wanted to believe anything that might ease my nerves. Anyway, I ate it.”
“And did it calm you down?” Bronwyn asks.
“Oh yeah … The damn thing was pure, highly concentrated gin!”
“What?” My eyes widen, and I can’t help release a laugh.
“Come to find out, Mads had the candy maker’s apprentice cook it up.” Imi snorts to herself. “Point is, I was still a nervous wreck, and I was only thanking a few people. What you just did … whatever this whole Lunalette thing is … I believe it. Sign me up.”
We all laugh.
“No really.” She slows her pace. “I’m so tired of this war. It’s only just begun, and it’s already made me a fugitive and gotten my sister captured.” She shakes her head. “And released.” She gives me a small smile. “Especially after seeing just a glimpse of all of this.” She motions toward the caves surrounding us. “This is not what I believed the Night to be. Not even close. And, Veda”—she glances my way—“if what you said struck a chord with me, I know it’ll resonate with many more, Dogio and Basso alike.”
“She’s right, Veda,” Bronwyn adds.
“Problem is, Imi, what you’ve seen is unique, and it took you being forced to come here to realize it. Most Bellonians think we’re evil and, I fear, always will.”
“Then you’ll just have to find a way to spread the truth … Lunalette.”
WITH IMI SETTLED in her new cave, Bronwyn getting her fresh clothes and probably several varieties of baked goods, I look toward my own cave. I’m surprised at how much I can’t wait to go in and lie on that woolly mat. But when I arrive at the door, I’m stopped by yet another Lunalette memorial.
And it’s the grandest yet.
My likeness has been painted on the stone wall, the scar over my heart emblazoned with metallic gold paint. There are wilted flowers, pieces of sea glass, tens upon tens of candles atop a sea of melted wax, a handful of star-shaped cookies, and a couple of glass pantera fish.
Footsteps coming down the tunnel break my concentration just as I notice another collection of small glass five-pointed stars. I look up to see it’s Dorian.
He continues walking toward me, and I look back to the altar. Before long, he stops beside me.
“You’ve been missed,” he says, his arm grazing mine so his body heat radiates like sunshine against my shoulder. “By everyone.”
I stifle both my reflex to shiver because he’s suddenly standing so close and the urge I have to lay into him because I’m still angry … So conflicted.
When I set my gaze from the altar to him, he’s staring down at me. My butterflies—or maybe they’re wasps—long dormant, awaken. I quickly look back at the memorial.
“Did you think I was dead?”
“Some did. I mean, we were trying our best to hold out hope—these candles have stayed lit since that first attack—but with each passing day…” His voice breaks, and he swallows the emotion, clears his throat. “But with each day that passed … it seemed less and less likely you’d return.”
“I wasn’t so sure myself.”
When I look over at Dorian, I see he’s watching me from the corner of his eye.
“Come on, Winters.” I motion toward my cave. I can’t avoid him forever.
My cave is exactly as I left it, down to my small collection of glass figurines left on the ledge and my teakettle and cup on the floor beside my mat. Walking inside, when I reach the mat, I slowly sit, then recline onto my back, and it’s glorious. The most comfort I’ve felt in ages.
As Dorian settles next to me, sitting on the floor, I note two very out-of-place items. First is the handkerchief I received my first night here what feels like a lifetime ago from a small girl, Ruby. The name Lunalette is embroidered across the front, along with the phases of the Moon. I last left it in the Sindaco’s map room, spread out next to the children’s storybook the Sindaco used to make up the entire Lunalette legend. I’d pierced the book with my mother’s atlatl spear. The same spear that now sits sentry to the handkerchief. The message, whatever it is, leaves me seething.
I lift my head up, eyeing Dorian and pointing at the two items laid out without ceremony on the ledge below the glass trinkets. “Did you put those there?”
He follows my eyes. Shakes his head. “No.”
I breathe in and then out my nose. Notice my hands are squeezed into fists. I sit up, and Dorian grabs the quilt, hands it over. “You should probably rest.”
“Later.” I wave him off. “Did you know?” I decide to dive in headfirst. I’m too tired to draw it out any longer.
Slowly, he settles back into the spot where he was sitting. Crisscrosses his legs. “Did I know what?” He says it like there are so many possible things I could be referring to. Because one huge lie apparently isn’t enough down here.
I sigh. “About the Lunalette legend. That the Sindaco made the whole thing up.”
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Like I’ve got mud beetles crawling out my ears. “What? V, what are you—”
I look toward the door, lean in closer to him, and lower my voice. “The night I left, I went to the map room. I had to find proof of the exact day of the attack. I knew he’d lied to me about the date—that you’d lied about it too—”
I pause to give him a chance to speak, but he only holds my stare. I keep talking. “I found the proof I wanted, that the day of the attack was happening not six days later like I’d been told but actually the next morning.” He only nods, expression turning more serious, perhaps a bit guilty. “But that was the least of what I uncovered that night. There was a key in the Sindaco’s desk that opened a hollowed-out book. And inside the book was an old, tattered copy of a children’s story.” He’s leaning in closer, confusion written all over his face like he has absolutely no idea where I’m going with this. “It was the Lunalette story but by another name, with slightly different details.” Now he’s shaking his head. “Dorian—the Sindaco made up the whole thing, I assume, to make his war more popular, to bring people together because isn’t something fated much more glorious than cold-blooded revenge?” I look away and toward the sun and Moon mural. “The legend? The name Lunalette? My scar? It’s all a lie.” I release a shaky breath.
“I … It can’t be…” His eyes are hard, unwavering, as he stares across the short space at me.
“It’s true. I promise you. That spear and handkerchief?” I point at the items across the room. “He left them here for me to find. Some sort of warning or threat or something.”
“What? Why would he…?”
“I left them for him the night I left—I stabbed the spear through the storybook so he’d know that I’d found his big secret.” Our eyes meet. “He even wrote the name Lunalette in the back of the book, left notes in the margins.” I shake my head. “This whole legend is all of his creation. Stolen to fit his narrative. Twisted to meet his needs and work to his advantage.” I look up toward the mural. “I’m nothing but a small step toward his ultimate goal of revenge over Raevald.”
Dorian scoots closer, glances up at the mural as well, and, a bit hesitantly, takes my hand. I accept his hand and squeeze back, his touch so welcome. Because, at the end of the day, I know him. I know he meant no harm. That he was just as mixed up in the Sindaco’s lies and has been betrayed as well.
Mostly, I’ve missed him so.
“Veda…” He looks from the mural and into my eyes. “I need you to know that I had no idea.” Brow furrowed, I swear there’s a bit of water glistening his eyes. “That night I brought you down here, first showed you this mural, explained the legend … I believed it all. Fully. And whether it’s true or all a lie or a little bit of both, I believe in you.” He glances toward the door. “So do they.”
“I know … I just … I’m not sure I believe in myself as Lunalette after so much has happened.”
“Listen … the Sindaco lied … I lied…” His eyes veer to the floor, and he squeezes my hand, lowers his voice. “I’m so, so sorry for that. I should never have lied. I should have trusted you with the truth. I thought I was protecting you … Keeping the Lunalette safe from harm…”
“It was his idea, wasn’t it?”
Dorian gives a slight nod. “But I take full responsibility for it. It should never have happened, and I promise you, it never will again.”
He glances up from the floor and our eyes meet.
“I know,” I say. “And, well, while we’re apologizing … I am sorry I had to tie you up … That I stole your keys…”
He cocks an eyebrow up like, and…?
“Oh no, I am not sorry for releasing the Imperi soldiers.”
Dorian gives a light laugh. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” Then his expression turns serious. “It was the right thing to do, V. And you were right—I would have tried to stop you. It’s why you’re the Lunalette.” I sigh. “No, truly. Forget stories and legends and lies … You’ve always been destined to be all the Lunalette represents. Call it what you want, it’s who you are. It’s in here—” His touch is so light it barely registers, but Dorian places his hand over my heart, just at my scar.
“Thank you,” is all I say.
Then, when he realizes I’m staring down at his hand, he quickly pulls away.
And I sort of wish he hadn’t.
But it’s best we don’t go down that road again.
In an attempt to avoid all that, to maybe calm our nerves—my nerves—I awkwardly request he make some tea. “Bronwyn’s moonroot tea?” is all I say.
“Yeah … Okay…” I can tell it’s not quite what he was expecting. “I think she actually left some here for you.”
“What?”
“She was worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep after all you’ve been through.”
“Well, as usual, she’s probably right.”
Dorian stands, walks a few steps over to the wooden tree stump, pulls a paper-wrapped wad from a box next to the kettle, and then pours the contents—leafy confetti—onto the table. He then fills the kettle with water from his canteen. Lights the small oil-lit cooker and places the kettle over the flame.
“You know…,” he starts, waiting for the tea to boil, “I’ve wondered. Especially after you arrived and small things wouldn’t quite add up.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing major. A slip of phrase here … A more than necessary push of information there … Moments that on their own would be nothing, but when all strung together … I can see it now.”
“See what?”
“The lies. His lies. And now, after the Settlings, Nico escaping…” But his sentence falls off when he stops to pour the tea. He comes back over with two small cups in hand. Dorian hands me one and then gingerly takes a sip from his own.
It’s hot so I only inhale the steam wafting off the top of the cup.
Bronwyn’s famous moonroot.
It’s earthy, a tiny bit metallic, mostly clear with a slight blue tint to it, and just a hint of sweetness. It’s a natural relaxant and, as tea and not a highly concentrated tincture, is no worse than a small glass of a light spirit. Though I’d wager moonroot does better at keeping your wits about you. But like a light spirit, it’s possible to have too much of a good thing.
“You were saying … the Settlings and Nico?” I take a small drink of my tea and instantly my shoulders begin to relax as a lovely sense of calm washes over me.
“The Sindaco was insistent on the executions. And, I’ll admit, I was on board at first too. But after talking with Nico”—he playfully glares at me—“he can be a real pain in the ass, you know.”
“You’re one to talk.”
He makes to place his hand over his heart, like I’ve broken it with my comment. “Always so brutal, V.” We share a laugh and, without a beat, we’re back to being Veda and Dorian … friends, fellow Night soldiers … He’s always been my support down here, and I’ve truly missed him and his sassy, playful nature. That smile of his that lifts his cheekbones and flashes his teeth. The way he rakes his fingers through his hair like he’s doing right now.
Dorian notices I’m watching him. And while he knows I notice him noticing, he ignores it but also, I can tell, he likes it. And, if I’m being honest, moonroot aside, in this moment, after so much between us, I like that he likes it.
“Well,” he continues, “after Nico got in my head, I pleaded and reasoned all I could with the Sindaco over what a horrible idea the Settlings were. But he was determined. Completely irrational and so hard set on it. Said that for your capture, your near-execution, we had to act. Retaliate. That it was imperative we send a clear signal to the Imperi and the High Regent that such actions wouldn’t be tolerated…” His words trail off, jaw clenched.
“But…?”
“But … I tried to stop it, V. I was too late.” He shakes his head, jaw flexed.
There’s a long pause of silence that stretches between us before he continues.
He leans closer. “That book you found … It told the exact same story as the Lunalette legend?”
“Yes. Except it was called The Solvrana.”
Fully serious now, he swears. “I can’t believe he’d do such a thing. Lie—no, more than lie—he betrayed his people. Those he’s sworn to protect. For years. If it’s true that he took the story from some other place and made it his own, put you in the middle of it to rally a war, that’s treason. The worst sort of dishonesty, and he knows the Night won’t tolerate it. Even from their Sindaco.” Dorian looks straight into my eyes.
“I don’t plan to expose him,” I say, before he gets too far ahead of my plan.
“What?”
“If he thinks I’m going to expose him, it’s over. No … I’ve got to play along, but my own way. On my own terms.” When I glance down I see my hands are trembling. “Hey.” I take another sip of tea and see I’ve nearly drained half the cup. “How did you try to stop the Settlings anyway?”
“I took a risk,” he says. “Luckily it worked out and I’m still breathing, sitting here with you right now. Unfortunately, as you know, I was too late. The Sindaco changed the schedule without consulting me.”
I lean forward. “But what did you do?”
He looks away but there’s satisfaction, definite pride gracing his expression. “I spiked his drink with a couple drops of the same concentrated moonroot we’d planned to give Nico…” He finds my eyes, sighs. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It really does.” He’s right. I was a different person then. Maybe he was too. And Nico.
“Anyway, the Sindaco passed out right after the ceremony, caused a real scene. My plan was for him to go down before the executions so we’d have to postpone, but it all got mixed up, everything happened so fast.” I only stare, my eyes wide, jaw slack. “Then—”
“There’s more?”
He shrugs. “Then, when everyone was in the Crag waiting on news of the Sindaco’s sudden illness, I broke Nico out, helped him escape.”
I drop my cup, and it clanks several times against the stone floor before settling on its side in a small puddle. So he drugged the Sindaco and then helped Nico escape.
“I … You did a good thing, Dorian.”
“Not enough, I’m afraid … You’re right, V, I should have let them all out. I was scared. Selfish. I was already so concerned about the fallout of releasing Nico that I couldn’t imagine going against the Sindaco any further.”
Dorian scuffs his hair, fidgets irritatedly at the laces on his boots. “Plus, we had a common goal of finding you. And, well, I owed the guy. He very well might’ve been next, and he didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. He can do more good up there.”
Wait. “You owed him?”
Dorian rolls his neck from side to side so it cracks like gravel under boots. He forces his shoulders to soften and his expression is intense, zero Dorian pretense present. Meanwhile, my stomach is roiling from a mixture of moonroot and anxiety over what the hell he’s about to tell me. “The day of the attack…” He pauses for breath, and, I swear, you could hear a pin drop the room is so quiet. “The day of the attack I was one of the first to arrive at the Coliseum. We were to find and save you, but not if it meant jeopardizing the mission. It was mission first, Lunalette next.” I raise my eyebrows. I understand, but it’s not my favorite thing to hear at the moment. “When I arrived, we cleared the Imperi guards and made our way toward the top of the Coliseum. My first view of the arena floor was of Nico hovering over you, an executioner standing by. I didn’t have a clear angle on the executioner—I’d have risked hitting you—but with Nico’s back to me, it was the perfect shot. And I took it.” He shakes his head as I process the words he just let slip from his lips. “You’ve gotta understand, from where I stood, there was no doubt he was standing by as you were about to be killed. And when he put the canvas over your head? That was it.”
“And then?”
“Well, when we couldn’t get to you, we took him prisoner.” He shrugs. “You know how the rest played out.”
“And you eventually set him free. Because you owed him that much.”
He nods. “Yes, I mean, I didn’t really want to,” he plays, then grows somber again. “But aside from owing him, it was our best chance to find and save you. Yet here you are. We should have known you didn’t need saving.”
“Well, I did, you guys were just too late.” I glance away, pick up the kettle, and empty the last of the tea into my cup. Drink half of it down without hesitation. Dorian only stares, eyes wide. “It’s been a long day,” I say, and, without thinking twice, I drink the rest.
“That’s an understatement,” he says, casually lying back onto the floor, arms folded underneath his head.
The tea is so quick to do its magic and instantly washes over my nerves. Body leaden, the moonroot allowing me to physically and mentally let go of the past two weeks, I melt onto the wool mat right next to Dorian. Shifting to my side, using the crook of my elbow for a pillow, I face him.
He does the same, so our noses are a mere six inches or so apart.
Again, he pushes my short hair out of my eyes. “I like it,” he says.
“I didn’t cut it for you.”
He chuckles lightly, and his breath is sweet—all moonroot and honey—when it brushes my face. Too quickly, though, seriousness takes over his expression. “Hey, V?”
“Yeah?” My eyes are so heavy but I really, really want to hear what he’s going to ask me.
“I’m sorry about Nico, about shooting him.” I try to nod but am pretty sure only my eyebrows are moving. “I tried to do right by him, though, to mitigate things. He’s not all bad and, well, we have something pretty important linking us—” His sentence is clipped off with a hard swallow that makes my eyes snap open.
I know he’s referring to me, but I don’t dare acknowledge it for fear it’ll open a whole trove of emotions between us. “I’m not angry with you, Dorian,” I say simply, lifting my arm, patting him on the side, the place where his stomach dips into his hips. “I might have been … before.” I shake my head lazily. “But not now. Not after how things have changed.” I sigh deeply, nearly drifting off. “Stay here with me? Just for tonight?”
“I…”
“Please? I’ve been alone in a cell for two weeks; I can’t bear another night of it.”
“Of course.” He runs his thumb in that place between my eyebrows, urging my already half-open eyes closed. “Go to sleep, V,” he whispers light as a breeze.
“It’s a…,” I speak through a deep yawn. “… it’s a different world now.”
“Shh…” is the last sound I register, followed by a light blanket being spread over me. I’m also coherent enough to note how pleasantly beautiful it is that the warmth of Dorian’s body remains close by.
HUNCHED UNDER A quickly dimming lantern, I squint to see through the shadows and haze, furiously putting ink to paper. I’m not sure what made me bolt out of a deep, moonroot-infused sleep and crawl over to the stump in the middle of the night. Yet here I am.
My Dearest Nico,
I miss you more than—
No.
I crumple up the paper. Toss it on the ground. Such idiotic words from the Lunalette of the Night writing to the Heir of all Bellona. Now is not the time to dredge up old feelings. Now is not the time for casual banter. For swooning over long-lost love. It’s a time for action. For a plan. For …
I raise my finger toward Dorian, to let him know I’ve got the perfect words. He’s fast asleep. Snoring.
It’s fine. I don’t need his approval.
Heir Denali,
I am writing to you as Lunalette, Warrior of the Night—
Moon no.
Come on, Veda. It’s Nico. Your Nico.
But things have definitely changed.
Though, Warrior of the Night?
Stupid moonroot.
I dip my pen in the ink, leave a trail of black teardrops along the top of the paper.
Dear Nico,
I saw you the other day—did you see me? You were so strong, so confident as you marched up to the palace. Oh how I wish I could have run into your arms. Alas, I was sneaking out of the prison and, as you’ll recall if you did recognize me, in disguise.
Not a good disguise, mind you. But the best we could come up with in very little time and next to no resources. We were nearly caught, but the escape was a success. I’m now safe and sound in the Lower, but inexplicably sad because, somehow, our paths didn’t cross.
I hope you’re well. I miss you dearly and wish this wasn’t the only way for me to contact you.
But here we are.
As for me, I returned to less than ideal conditions. I’m both horrified and hopeful that before too long, you and I will be inheriting this war. And it will be up to us to either continue the fighting or come up with a better solution.
Surely—surely—we can do better.
Sincerely,
Yours in leadership,
Ad astra,
Veda Adeline
All right. I can’t help dredge.
But it’s the dialogue that’s important.
I’ll pen a fresh copy free of errors in the morning. See if we can somehow get it delivered.
My eyes find Dorian across the small cave. Sweet, strong, brave Dorian …
I leave the paper on the stump.
Crawl back to the mat.
Curl into a ball in front of him.
I decide, someplace before sleep takes me, that I won’t send the letter.
It’s too soon. I should write several more drafts before I’m sure.
Don’t be so impulsive, Veda.
Wait … Listen … Right, Poppy?
I AWAKEN WITH a start to see a somewhat blurry Dorian leaving my cave.
Of course I follow. I’m still enveloped in blue-tinted moonroot warmth and, yes, I’m probably walking a lot more slowly than I think I am, but I know what I’m doing.
I’m following Dorian into his cave.
I’ve only seen his cave a number of times and always from the doorway. He’s oddly private about his personal space, which, of all things, makes him more intriguing. He’s always got this level of mystery surrounding him.
It’s annoying but at the same time undeniably alluring.
When I reach his door, I peek in to find he’s changing his shirt.
“Oh!” I say. Stupidly. Audibly. And then launch myself flat against the wall outside his cave. I’m about to bolt straight back to my cave when, not a foot away, I hear, “V?”
I step into the doorway. “Hey,” I say, like it’s completely normal for me to be strolling by his room in the middle of the night when a minute ago I was asleep on my floor.
“What are you doing?” he asks, brow furrowed, chest unsettlingly bare because his tunic isn’t buttoned. Not one bit. Not one single button. And I’m staring and then I’m blushing.
“I … Uh…” Instantly, I look down at my own shirt, begin fiddling with a rogue piece of string, try to thread it back through the button it belongs to because this is the only thing I am focused on right now. I must thread this button. “I just had to ask you something.” It’s literally all I can think of, and I wonder if I’ve lost all control of the words that leave my mouth.
“Do you want to come in?” he asks, his voice several levels of confused.
No. No you do not want to come in! “Sure,” I say, and stroll right inside. Briefly, I glance at Dorian, check if he’s buttoned his stupid tunic yet.
Nope. Still wide open.
I swallow.
He’s smiling. At me, I’m sure. Actually, I know he is because he hands me a canteen full of water. “Drink?”
“Thanks.” Suddenly parched, I throw back several long sips. He motions for me to sit down on the wool mat, and I do. The setup is similar to my cave: wool mat, mural, wooden stump, and a privacy area with a curtain. But it’s not nearly as stark as I always imagined it. There are a couple of decorative clay pots filled with different types of greenery. Upon the stump is a wooden bowl full of apples. And all along the ledges hanging from the stone walls are glass trinkets and underground gems. But something catches my eye and sends my stomach afloat and sets a family of wasps abuzz in my gut.
On the highest ledge, surrounded by rose quartz—presumably from that cave he took me to my last night here—is the original photo of me and Poppy. It’s the one they used for the Lunalette memorials, except Poppy isn’t cut out of this one. I can’t look away and soon, Dorian follows my eyes.
Now he’s the one clearing his throat and trying to hide how his cheeks have warmed.
“That’s nothing,” he says.
“Nothing?”
Dorian sits down next to me. “Well, not nothing, but…” He shakes his head, sighs a sad sigh. “What can I say, I missed you and worried about you every minute you were gone. And, yes, I put your photo up there. I looked at it every day. And I thought about how you were probably thinking about Nico.”
“Dorian…”
“No, it’s fine. I get it. You have a past, a connection I’ll never be able to compete with.”
“It’s not a competition.” But he won’t look back at me. “Dorian … I missed you too. So much.” His profile is perfect—like a statue—bone structure chiseled, hair messy but also somehow not, neck long and where it meets his chest there’s a perfect dip. I’m not sure if it’s the moonroot or what, but my fingertips find his neck. “I thought of you often. Worried whether you were all right. Wished I could see you…”
My hands wander down to his chest. “Be with you…”
When I reach the divot right at his collarbone, run my finger back and forth over it, he sucks in a deep breath. “Veda…” He glances over at me, eyes firm, but quickly losing some battle it appears he’s waging.
Bringing my hand down to find his, he clasps my fingers and I rest my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for the glass blessings at the Lunalette memorials … For hanging that photo—the full photo. I’m so happy to be back. I’m happy to be right here, in this moment, with you.”
He gazes down at me. “I’m happy you’re here too.”
“Are you, though?” I glance up at him. “You seem … conflicted.”
“You have no idea,” he breathes, gazing down at me, eyes no longer firm but very much wanting.
“I know more about that than I think you realize.” I lean up, place my lips against his because I want to.
I want to be held.
To be kissed.
To feel the warmth of his body against mine.
And, by his reaction, in this moment, he wants those same things.
For one gloriously blurry hour, I kiss Dorian on the floor of his cave. I memorize the warmth of his lips. The gentleness of his touch. I get to finally feel the ridges of his chest and the muscles that ripple down his stomach.
He holds me close to him and runs his fingers through my hair, pushing it away from my eyes.
I watch as the glow of the lamplight casts through the many glass trinkets on the shelves and cascades different-colored shimmers across the ceiling.
It’s perfectly lovely—the shimmering and the kissing. Mostly the kissing.
Eventually, Dorian and I wander back to my cave, share yet another cup of tea, talk late into the night, and then fall back asleep.
What feels like hours later, I’m awakened by an unsettling dream. Apparently moonroot doesn’t guarantee a full night’s restful sleep.
The image I thankfully tore myself awake from was of Nico being tortured underneath the light of the full moon. The executioner—Dorian—just thrust his sword into Nico’s heart and the sound … the horrible, painful, gut-twisting sound Nico made … The gurgling … The wrenching … The …
I lean to the side and immediately get to taste a teapot’s worth of moonroot. Again. But it’s not nearly as fun the second time. It isn’t until I’m cleaning it up, washing my mouth and face with fresh water, that I remember Dorian should be here. But he’s not.
When I look at my hourglass, I see it’s late. Apparently, moonroot does aid in sleep because it’s almost noon.
It’s safe to assume Dorian either had duty, something came up, or he regretted admitting so much to me last night and left hoping I wouldn’t remember or at least think it a dream.
I stop. Take a look around the room. More and more details of last night come bounding back accompanied by a slicing headache that cuts its way right between my eyes.
Definitely not a dream.
Glancing down at the empty teapot, the two cups, pen and ink and paper all strewn about, it’s as if we had a small, albeit rowdy, celebration here last night. But it’s when I spot several crumpled pieces of paper on the ground, that another, more distressing yet just as hazy memory surfaces.
No …
My eyes dart from corner to corner searching the cave. Where the hell is it?
“No, no, no…” He didn’t … I pick up the wool mat, shake out my clothes. He wouldn’t …
I scour the small space.
The letter I wrote Nico? It’s not here. And only one other person’s been in this cave.
I’m sure Dorian’s only messing with me. He wouldn’t find a way to get it to Nico, would he?
I sit, well, stumble more like it, onto the stump that serves as a chair or table, depending.
Resting my head in my hands, massaging my temples, when I look up to see the Sindaco’s “gift.” The spear and handkerchief. But before I can think too much on it, come up with a plan of how in the world I’m going to face him—because I must face him eventually—I notice a piece of paper tacked on the nail just inside my cave door that definitely wasn’t there last night.
Assuming it’s a note from Dorian, I’m disappointed to find it’s the furthest from it.
It’s a summons. I’m to meet with the Sindaco upon waking.
Of course, he didn’t write it or deliver it.
Of course, he expects me to jump right to it. Fall at his feet. Beg for forgiveness because he’s the mighty Sindaco and, somehow, because of that title he knows what’s best.
Instead, I take my time.
Yes, maybe I’m stalling, but I also need to have my wits about me.
After a bit of thought and a lot of fresh water, I get dressed, put on my jacket, pick up the spear and shove the handkerchief in my pocket. But when I do I find another piece of paper. And it doesn’t occur to me what it is until I open it and the memory comes rushing back.
The note Xavier passed me when he introduced himself in the cave. I’d completely forgotten about it with everything that happened last night.
I uncrumple it, open it up. In small messy scrawl, it says: I have a contact in the palace. Nico is safe.
Oh, thank the Moon.
And that small piece of news is all I need to face the Sindaco.
I’LL HAVE TO deal with Dorian and the letter to Nico later.
Right now, a private conversation with the Sindaco is long overdue.