Chapter 24

  I didn’t jolt awake, drenched in sweat. Not this time. Not anymore.

  That part of me had burned out long ago—scorched by the repetition of a dream I had relived a thousand times.

  So instead, I remained still. Lying motionless on my back, eyes open, fixed on the wooden beams of the ceiling above. Unblinking. Unmoving.

  There was nothing more interesting in the room to look at anyway.

  Simon, whose tale of the fall of Neros I couldn’t trust as far as I could throw him, was snoring lightly in his corner.

  Vin, still probably furious about my abrupt exit last night and the fact that I—of all things—a so-called paladin, was hunting down a man for a bounty.

  And then there was Maira.

  Maira, whose calm, elegant voice could transform into a death sentence in under a second if she activated her meditation trance. I had no doubt that the moment she sensed danger, a blade would find my throat before I even had the chance to speak.

  We were a perfect team.

  A symphony of lies, trauma, and now mutual suspicion.

  The Four Great Saviors of the North.

  I considered waking Maira—pretending I was interested in one of her lectures on sacrificial rituals, maybe even letting her explain some obscure ancient rite to lull my thoughts back into order. But no. I decided against it. So I waited.

  Waited for the others to stir. Waited for the silence to break.

  And in that silence, the thoughts returned.

  Uninvited, unwanted, unstoppable.

  Markus.

  I saw him again, that smug, detestable grin stretched across his face. I could picture it with perfect clarity. His voice rang in my ears, oozing with condescension and false dignity as he defended his war-criminal parents.

  How proudly he had dismissed their crimes.

  How easily he had laughed in Vin’s face, as if her brother’s death had been nothing more than a footnote in a glorious military campaign.

  That same cold fury rose in me again—thick and suffocating.

  It climbed my throat like black tar.

  It pressed against the walls of my mind until there was no room left for reason.

  I imagined the swing of my blade—just one, clean strike.

  And the cursed bloodline of House Varnedor would end.

  One thrust, and a part of my sacred oath would be fulfilled.

  It would be justice.

  No... it would be revenge. And revenge tasted better than justice ever had.

  Then—

  A voice.

  It was not mine. It belonged to none of the others.

  But it rang out inside my skull, crystalline and undeniable, like a shard of ice driven into my brain:

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "KILL HIM!"

  The scream was so sudden, so piercing, that it shattered through the walls of my mind like a hammer through glass.

  And only then did I jolt upright.

  Soaked in sweat. Gasping for breath. Heart pounding like a war drum inside my chest.

  This time...

  I had woken up.

  -

  The day before the final confrontation was quiet.

  Unnervingly quiet.

  The kind of stillness that hangs in the air like the silence before a storm—not peaceful, not calming, just… empty.

  The trap was ready.

  We had pried enough information out of the Crytomancers to understand their twisted plan. And every one of us knew what part they had to play when the moment came.

  That morning, over breakfast, I had kept mostly to myself.

  Not because I was tired. Not because I had nothing to say.

  But because I had already resigned myself to the truth:

  When this was over, when the Crytomancers were either dead or imprisoned, this little team of misfits would dissolve.

  Scattered like ashes in the northern wind.

  No teary farewells. No heroic vows to stay together. Just… gone.

  So I sat at the bar near midday, nursing a beer—yes, I know, alcohol before noon, shame on me—and staring into the amber liquid like it might offer me some kind of clarity.

  Vin sat nearby, quietly eating vegetable soup. The smell was simple, earthy, oddly comforting.

  She hadn't looked at me once since we sat down. But I’d made a decision.

  I owed her something. I cleared my throat softly, turning toward her without lifting my eyes.

  “It’s… I’m sorry,” I began, my voice low. “About last night. About how I left. I shouldn't have walked away like that. It was… inappropriate.”

  To my surprise, she didn’t scoff, or remain silent, or punish me with cold disdain. She simply waved her hand with a soft chuckle, as if brushing away a bad memory.

  “No big deal,” she said casually, taking another spoonful of her soup. Her tone was light, but her eyes were warm.

  She swallowed, then glanced sideways at me, the corners of her lips twitching into something faintly apologetic.

  “And about the bounty,” she added, her voice quiet but steady, “about your informant… I’ve been thinking. That doesn’t make you a bad paladin.”

  Oh, but it does, I wanted to say. It absolutely does.

  But before I could speak, before I could offer some hollow self-condemnation, she did something unexpected.

  She reached across the space between us and laid her hand gently on mine. Her skin was warm. Calloused. Real.

  “It just makes you different,” she said softly, looking up at me with eyes that carried more than just forgiveness.

  There was understanding in them. Compassion.

  And something else.

  A smile spread across her face—soft, gentle, unmistakably sincere.

  Not a grin. Not a smirk. A real smile.

  And then she said it. “And I like you for that.”

  Oh no.

  I hadn’t come here to start a romance. And I certainly didn’t intend to write one down now. But I couldn’t just disappoint her—not like that. Not after everything. And not while I sat here, scribbling every damned detail for the Archivists, trying to make sense of the past. Still, I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t let things get too close before tomorrow evening. Any deeper connection would only complicate things, morally and emotionally. Then again, walking away after growing closer would make it even worse. But I had made up my mind. I’d say goodbye and vanish into the snows of Thulegard. That had been the plan. And plans, I reminded myself, existed to be followed.

  So I looked at her, trying to gauge the right words. Eventually, I settled for something simple. “And I think you’re beautiful,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t entirely selfless either. Maybe I just didn’t want her to feel rejected. Maybe I didn’t want to carry more guilt than necessary.

  She blushed. Not dramatically, but enough for it to be real. Her fingers paused over her spoon. Then, with a small, shy smile, she whispered, “Thank you,” and returned her attention to the steaming bowl in front of her.

  I let the moment settle before speaking again. “Want to spend the rest of the day just... talking?” I asked. “Nothing about traps or Crytomancers or world-ending rituals. Just you and me. Like when we played that card game of Simon’s—remember that?”

  She laughed quietly, the sound soft and nostalgic. “You mean the game that already collapsed in chaos after the first round?” Her eyes sparkled with the memory. I remembered too well. Maira had told the story about her voodoo doll, I wanted to stab her and in the end Simon had only just calmed us all down.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Maybe we can borrow it again. Starting with a other theme this time.”

  “Gladly,” Vin replied, her voice lighter than it had been in days.

  I still didn’t fully understand her mood swings—how she could shift from rage to this sudden warmth. From grief to something like affection. But then, maybe I was just the same. Pretending to carry my burdens in silence while building walls around my thoughts.

  And then she surprised me again. Without a word, she leaned closer, kissed me softly on the cheek, and walked away—heading over to Simon and Maira, who were still absorbed in magical theory and quiet debate. It wasn’t a flirtatious kiss. It wasn’t a bold move. It was gentle, simple, but it echoed louder than anything she could’ve said.

  I remained seated, eyes forward, fingers brushing the spot where her lips had touched my skin. I didn’t smile. I didn’t look after her.

  But I knew, without a doubt, that the hours leading up to the Crytomancers’ arrival were going to be far more complicated than I’d ever expected.