Damien rolled over to his side. Father and Mother did everything they could, while he and Quinn had been sequestered in a room at the far end of the castle. Messages were sent to House Vivek and Rafel in hopes for a cure. Fires burned both day and night as those who succumbed to the illness passed on and their bodies were burned. There were moments when he wondered where the Light was in all of this.

Why didn’t the Light save them?

Damien squeezed his eyes shut. Others might think his faith was strong, but he still had doubts and fears. He would have given everything to save those around him. So why didn’t the Light?

Then Father and Mother fell ill. He left his room to be with them, but his presence did nothing. Then Quinn—

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Why was I the only one left alive?

Quinn went from a robust youth to a skeleton within days as the fever ate away his body. Father and Mother passed on with hardly a whisper. Then Quinn followed them, leaving him all alone, the last of House Maris.

Damien’s heart beat faster, and his entire body tensed. He clenched his hands and brought his knees up. The pain hurt so bad he wished he could pull his heart out of his chest.

“You want to save everyone, my son.”

His father’s words came back to him.

“You have a big heart. And it hurts to see the pain in this world. But that’s not a weakness. It is your hidden strength. Never forget that.”

His father was wrong. It was both his strength and his weakness. He couldn’t let go of his crippling grief, even two years later. He didn’t know how. What good was having a heart if it was chained by sorrow?

Damien fell into a restless sleep filled with moans and feverish dreams. He was kneeling again at Quinn’s bed, watching his brother succumb.

I don’t want to be alone.

He couldn’t tell if that was Quinn speaking or himself.

I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be alone. . . .

His bed moved.

Damien woke up but remained still. He glanced to his right without moving his head, peering into the darkness through a slit in his eyes.

A small figure lay down near him—above the furs—and let out a quiet sigh. Moments later, warm fingers felt along his arm, then stopped at his wrist and wrapped around the narrowest part.

What in the . . . Selene?

He could make out the head now, barely, hair as black as night. What was she doing here? Even as he thought that, a strange peace settled across him like a warm blanket, loosening his tight muscles and causing his eyelids to grow heavy. His mind focused on the warm spot where her fingers connected with his skin. His breathing leveled out, and his heart no longer hurt.

Sleep took him under. His mind wandered along pleasanter dreams: searching for shells along the beach with Quinn, reading at Baris Abbey on a rainy afternoon, watching the sunrise with his father as they practiced their water-raising gift together.