I’d stared at our interlaced fingers, my eyes dry yet the threat of tears closing my throat.

There was no other option. There was nothing else. There was only the two of us desperately trying to cling to something for the sake of what was, and for the sake of others.

And so I’d agreed to a game of chess after dessert.

It had been silent, tense, for the most part, but as the fire had warmed the sitting room and the wine our bodies, we’d begun to smile. We’d begun to laugh. And when Rorn had bid me good night with a gentle brush of his lips over my cheek, his fingers trailing through my hair over my upper arm, I’d felt it.

I still felt it now—that slight flare of hope in my chest as we trekked the rockier slopes of the downward path, the market now within sight upon the river’s edge.

The bridge was dotted with horses and carts and glowing greenery around the posts and railings. Traders and civilians walked the rock-laden roads beyond that would take them south of the isle via the northern woods. Leaves danced across the curving wood, crunched beneath hooves and boots, and gathered in soggy piles along the river bank.

A smile bloomed, along with a furthering lightness within my chest. Fresh fruit and vegetables, and chicken pie, floated upon the breeze from the small collection of stalls.

We wound between them, Illon plucking an apple from a cart and tossing two coppers to the vendor. The other two guards caught up with me when I stopped to purchase a pie, and eyed our surroundings with keen focus. There was likely little need for them to fret, nor to follow me at all, given the few times danger had managed to come to the towers, or even this close.

But it had still happened, so they were still wary. I was thankful, but also thankful for the privacy they offered by waiting outside once we’d reached the rusted hut with sunflowers dancing either side of the door.

Inside, the overwhelming perfume of Shayleen’s remaining stock engulfed me. I inhaled it deep and skimmed my fingers over a cluster of marigolds. I withdrew my hand when I saw them.

Violas.

The sight of them singed, both my eyes and heart.

Through the door in the back of the small shop entered a female with white-blond hair shorn close to her scalp. “Shayleen,” I said, smiling instantly, even as my chest continued to twinge.

The feeling worsened when she adjusted the babe on her hip, his pudgy fist at his mouth. Blinking over at me, she dropped the pail she’d been holding. “Aster, oh my stars.” Her eyes widened as she made to curtsy. “My apologies, Majesty.”