Zeph opened his eyes wide with an audible gasp, his breath sharp with fear. He sat up quickly, his heart tattooing a frenetic rhythm against his ribs, then cursed inwardly when tiny pricks of light dotted his vision and dizziness took hold. He dropped back to his prone position and groaned an indecipherable slur of words, his tongue too thick to form them properly.

His head lulled to one side. Soft ribbons of moonlight filtered in through a window. Zeph watched the dust motes float and dance in the silvery beams. Pain ebbed and flowed throughout his limbs, then crested over him in waves. He swallowed. It was too much.

Too much.

A log popped and hissed. His attention slid to the fire inside the hearth, and for a long moment, he watched the flames dance too, craving its warmth. Cold had seeped into his bones, freezing his joints until he thought they might shatter. A whimper broke from his dry-cracked lips.

“I know you’re in pain.” A woman’s voice slid over him like honey, thick and sweet, and eyes like diamonds glanced down at him, shadowed by golden-winged brows. “Where does it hurt?”

Everywhere.

As though she could read his thoughts, she nodded. Her eyes slid from his and said to someone he could not see, “You may heal him.”

No, don’t touch me.

Feminine hands appeared above him from behind his head. He followed them until they came to rest on his bare chest. Warmth suffused him instantly, thawing his bones and melting his pain. Another whimper escaped. He fought to keep silent.

He’d never had anyone touch him with such tenderness before. He’d never known care like this. Not since he was a child.

Heat feathered over him like summer, his limbs loosened, his pain subsided. Lethargy weighed on him until fatigue pulled at his eyelids and he was forced to close them.

“It’s all right,” the honeyed voice said. “It will be all right.”

That was a lie. Zeph would never be all right, though he was too tired to put words to his thoughts. He succumbed to sleep and sometime later he awoke—his mind a muddled mess—lying prone on a hard surface. He stared up at the polygon-shaped ceiling, tracing the lines of the Gothic architecture until they ended in a sharp point.

Confusion stabbed his mind.

“Zeph,” said a male voice, deeply quiet, liked wrapped thunder.

With a jolt, he sat up. Cool, narrowed eyes—eyes that he had always found to be striking for a churlish being—stared back at him. Zeph plopped down again and cursed. “I’m in hell,” he said with a bitter laugh. “Sard it all.”

Of course he was in hell. This would be his punishment, an illusion of Lochlan to taunt him in death. Inside, he thrashed, yet remained perfectly still for anyone viewing him from the outside. He closed his eyes and mumbled, “I am buggered.”

“Most likely.”

Zeph’s eyes snapped open, finding the lout staring down at him. The firelight made Lochlan’s features appear sharper, more angular, like his face was chiseled from stone.

“I do believe I hate you,” Zeph muttered. He couldn’t help his lips from quirking upward when Lochlan snarled. “Don’t take it personally, half-breed. I hate everyone.”

Lochlan answered by continuing to hover over him like a giant insect.

“By God’s bones,” Zeph hissed. “Would you kindly get out of my face?”

Lochlan inched back, but only slightly. Zeph rolled to his side, wincing as he rose to an upright position. He swung his legs over the side of the table and dizziness made him grasp the edges. His head pounded like someone had driven a spike through his skull.

Sard it all.

A heavy scent of incense punctuated the air. His stomach rolled and contracted with a tang of acid on his tongue. He hated the smell of incense. It reminded him of the…

Hesitantly, he raised his eyes. Religious artifacts were thoughtfully placed around the room. The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I’m in the monastery?”

Zeph peered to the right when he saw movement. Searly moved toward him, silent as a cat, wearing an expression that bewildered him, although to be fair, he was bewildered by everything at the moment. Zeph breathed through his nose, trying to steady himself, for the dizziness refused to leave him.

“Yes,” Searly answered. “You are.”

“How did I get here?” Zeph snapped.

“Someone brought you here. A woman with—

When a figure moved to his left, Zeph’s head swung in that direction, and suddenly he couldn’t hear the rest of Searly’s explanation over the thudding pulse in his ears. His lungs nearly collapsed at the sight before him: silver eyes, silver hair. His ears buzzed as memories of her limp in his arms pushed to the fore. He blinked and shook his head, believing she was an illusion. She wasn’t here. None of this was real. None of this was real.

“Zeph,” Elin hedged.

“No,” he said, jumping off the table, ignoring the splintering pain in his side. He backed away from her. “You’re not real.” He squeezed his eyes shut, placed both hands on his head as he rocked and chanted, “You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real.”

Elin knelt before him, taking his hands off his head. “Zeph, I am real. I am alive. And so are you.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not possible. I was there! You died!” He held up his hands to show her he still had the stain of her blood on him. “You died!”

“I’m not dead,” she said quietly.

He detached himself from her and stood. “Look at me!” he shouted, with his hands out. “I still have your blood on me! Look at me! You died!” The room spun around him, a pain shot behind his right eye and he very nearly fell back to his knees. He turned his back to her, unable to look at her. Too much. “I’m hallucinating,” he murmured on wobbly knees, reaching for the table to hold himself up.

“Quiet,” Lochlan hissed. “Elin? Are you all right?”

Zeph turned in time to see Elin’s head snap up, eyebrows drawn tightly together. “I…” Her eyes fell back to her hand. She dropped it to her side. “I’m fine,” she said. Then she moved toward Zeph, her expression now a blank mask. His eyes widened as she neared. When she placed a smooth palm on his chest, they both gasped a startled breath.

Zeph reared back like she’d burned him, stumbling in retreat a few paces, shocked by his sister’s actions. “What are you doing?”

Lochlan dashed toward Elin, and when Zeph saw him reach for her, Zeph roared, “NO! You’ll kill her!”

Zeph lunged for him, but Lochlan saw him coming and shoved him, hard. All the air whooshed out of his lungs when his back slammed into the wall on the far side of the room.

“Don’t,” Lochlan seethed.

“He didn’t know,” Elin said. She twined her fingers through Lochlan’s and pulled him toward the door.

Searly knelt beside Zeph, put a hand on his shoulder. “Lochlan’s curse was broken. He wouldn’t have hurt her.”

Zeph pushed himself up, keeping his back against the wall for balance as the room tilted around him. He stared at their joined hands, unsure what he was seeing. Then he looked down at his body, touching his chest where Lochlan’s hands had shoved him. He shouldn’t be alive. When was the curse broken? And how?

“You think I would ever harm her?” Lochlan seethed. He jabbed his finger in the air at him. “That’s something you would do. Not me.”

For a moment, he let Lochlan’s words drift in the air between them and settle on his skin, the truth as fragile as frost on a spider’s web. Lochlan was right. He had hurt her.

“I—I had died,” Elin entreated, trying to explain. “But Lochlan brought me back. I’m not dead,” she said again. “You’re not hallucinating.”

“How?” Zeph asked, feeling like he might swoon. “How did he bring you back?”

“By the Kiss of Life. He can bring back the dead—with a kiss. He brought you back, just as he did for me.”

God’s teeth, Zeph’s head felt brittle. None of this made sense. He’d never heard of anyone bringing someone back from the dead.

“How?” he questioned again, moving away from everyone, sliding his body along the wall, needing the distance. His head was full of cobwebs, and thinking rationally was proving to be difficult. “Explain it to me.”

When she did not answer, he forced himself to look at her, though she was not looking at him. She was still staring at her hands with blank dispassion, rubbing the tips of her fingers together.

Zeph’s eyes darted toward Lochlan. “Explain!”

“She’s already explained it to you,” Lochlan said. “I have the power to bring back the dead.”

Zeph’s nostrils flared, his fists curled at his sides. The longer he pondered the hows and whys, the more tumultuous he felt.

“Calm,” Searly said. “Lochlan was granted the Kiss of Life. We know only what we were told—that saving Elin was his destiny. It is a gift and a long story. Now, perhaps once you’ve had a chance to recover, we shall talk further. I can imagine it is a lot to take in,” Searly said, sounding so very reasonable.

Zeph opened his mouth to push, to demand to be told more. It didn’t make sense. This was just too…

He remembered what Elin had said. He brought you back, just as he did for me.

“Was I dead?” Zeph asked, his voice a shadow, thin and dark. “Was I dead when someone brought me here?”

Searly nodded.

Zeph’s eyes shot to Lochlan’s. “Did you use your gift to bring me back?”

“Yes.”

Zeph scrubbed his hands over his face. “Bloody hell. Why would you do that?”

“They asked me to. If it was up to me, you’d still be dead.”

Beside him, Zeph’s shadow unfurled, hushed as the night, and danced between the flickering light until it stilled, surveying him, waiting to mimic his motions; an immaculate outline of his shape, an echo of his movements. His shadow was a lifetime companion, a silhouette of darkness, and a friend. His only friend.

Zeph kept his back against the wall for balance as the room tilted around him. He forced his eyes to hold Lochlan’s scathing glare. He had only ever brought pain to those he cared about. He didn’t deserve to be here. He would end this now. He dug deep, finding the fight that still lay within him. They should have let him stay dead.

He grinned as he straightened, standing to his full height. “Tell me something, half-breed…this Kiss of Life…you had to kiss me to bring me back? On the lips?” Lochlan’s anger vibrated and hummed like a colony of bees, and Zeph’s grin widened. “Did you like it, darling? Truthfully, I don’t remember it, so for me, it was quite forgettable.” Zeph shrugged. “However, I imagine it will forever haunt your dreams.”

A low, animalistic growl rumbled in Lochlan’s throat.

Zeph smiled brightly, like a blade catching the light of the sun. “Excellent. A boon for me, then. At least something good came from it.”

Lochlan made a move toward him, but Elin pulled on his arm. “He’s trying to anger you. Don’t give him what he wants. Come with me,” she said. “Don’t do this.”

Lochlan’s eyes narrowed into thin slits. Zeph put on a good show of being unaffected, something he was quite good at, even though his own rage coiled within him, readying to strike. He wanted a fight. He wanted Lochlan to take his life. I want to not be here. I don’t deserve a second chance.

Zeph was disappointed when Lochlan turned away and allowed Elin to lead him out into the corridor. Disappointed and angry. He made a final attempt to provoke his nemesis. He was not long for this world, and he would make sure of it one way or another.

“You’re weak,” Zeph hissed. “Fight me!”

Lochlan’s steps faltered, his shoulders lifting, his muscles tightening underneath his cloak. “No,” Lochlan said with surprising calm. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

It wouldn’t. Zeph could barely stand. Even more of a reason to provoke. It would be over quickly. “Fight me!” he bellowed.

“No.”

Zeph could hear the scrape of Lochlan’s teeth as he gritted them together, and Zeph pulled at his hair, furious with the situation. “Why, then? Why did you bring me back?!” When Lochlan did not answer, Zeph picked up the nearest object he could find and slung it across the room, pleased with the crash it made against the stone. “Was it to torture me? Make me stay in a world that only brought me pain?! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!”

Lochlan simply shrugged, still keeping his back to him.

Zeph went for a wooden chair, something he could throw. When he managed to get to it, he needed it to steady his balance.

Sard it all!

Leaning against the wooden frame, the guilt of his sins pressed upon him, like waves swelling and crashing over him. He could barely catch his breath. The fight he had wanted drained out of him and he crumbled to the floor. He knew his sister was watching him, analyzing his every word, trying to make sense of him. He couldn’t look at her. He knew what he would find: hate, sadness, sorrow. He’d had a lifetime of it and he just wanted to be done.

He rubbed the place where Lochlan had shoved him, feeling bruised, and asked the question before he could think better of it.

“How did you break the curse, half-breed?” His voice was a rasp, his head a throbbing, aching thing, and his heart was a useless organ that beat a steady rhythm, robbing him of the one thing he wanted. Death.

Lochlan held Elin’s hand, squeezed it once, and started for the corridor once more.

“I didn’t,” Lochlan said. “You did.”

Arwyn flinched when she heard something crash against the wall. She had taken leave before Zeph had fully come to and stepped into the hallway, where she listened on shaky legs to every harsh and bitter word Zeph spoke.

She knew his reaction would be this way when he realized what had taken place. She could not bear to see it, though she could not bear to venture away too far either, so she dithered outside the communal room, pacing about, afraid to face him. Not because she feared him. She never feared him. But because…

“I suppose that went as well as expected.”

Lochlan’s voice wasn’t loud, though it roared like the inside of a shell. The stale and stagnant air turned frosty with his presence. Arwyn tried not to shudder from the sudden chill.

Arwyn halted her pacing and absently tugged on a cuff sleeve. “I heard. I—”

“Where did Francesca go?” Lochlan questioned, cutting her off. He glowered at her like she was a well of secrets, as if she were someone not to be trusted. She bristled under his accusing glare before she straightened and answered with a proprietary tone.

“I don’t know. I did not see her go.”

The woman, Francesca, had disappeared shortly after Lochlan had brought Zeph back to life, though not before she had asked Arwyn to ease his pain so he could rest. No one had seen her leave. She had simply been there one minute and gone the next.

“This was a mistake,” Lochlan groused, rubbing his hands over his face. “I should never have—”

“No, it wasn’t,” Arwyn said, keeping her voice low. “It wasn’t,” she said again with more insistence, more bite. Her eyes fell to Elin, desperately needing her to agree, but Elin was staring off behind her, toward the room she’d just exited, obviously not part of their conversation. Arwyn’s eyes drifted back to Lochlan’s and asked, “Are you angry with me?”

“Yes!” He scrubbed his hands over his face and leaned against the wall. “No.” Leaning forward, he pressed his palms to his knees. “I’m sorry, Arwyn. I don’t know why I’m taking my frustrations out on you.”

Lochlan’s tone was no longer icy. It was a warm blanket, and the frost in the air dissipated like morning mist.

Arwyn moved toward him with the intent to comfort. She extended her hand, about to lay it gently on his back before she caught herself, suspending her hand in midair, forgetting that until recently, Lochlan had not been allowed to touch or be touched. His curse forbade it, lest dire consequences ensued. For five hundred years it had been so. And though he was now free from his curse, he had not yet had time to get used to the idea of it—touching. Elin was the only person he was comfortable with touching him. Arwyn felt his unease the moment she started his way, felt his pulse thrum faster, felt his panic. “It’s all right,” she said, snatching her hand out of the air, pretending to be none the wiser to his emotions. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I was just…” She sighed. “Desperate.”

Lochlan relaxed and rose from his bent position and a faint, humorless laugh escaped. “I’m trying hard to understand you and Elin. I really am.”

Arwyn’s smile was small, though she managed it nonetheless. “Well, when you have us figured out, mind sharing? Because, presently, I’m having a difficult time of it myself.” She glanced behind her, at Elin, and asked, “Is she well? She seems—”

“Out of sorts?” Lochlan finished.

Arwyn nodded.

Lochlan let out an exasperated breath and shoved off the wall. Taking Elin by the hand, he asked, “What’s wrong? You don’t seem yourself. Ever since—”

“I’m fine.” She swallowed and blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “I just feel rather…odd.”

Arwyn’s brows knitted. “Odd?”

Lochlan tucked Elin underneath the pit of his arm and kissed the top of her head. “I’m worried for you, acushla.”

“I just need some air, I think.” She touched her clammy forehead with trembling fingers. “It’s been a long night.”

“Are you sure that is all?” Arwyn asked, concerned. “You seem more than a little shaken.” Arwyn felt the oddity Elin felt, and like Elin, she couldn’t explain the feeling either. It truly was odd.

“Lochlan just brought my brother back from the dead. Of course I’m shaken. Who wouldn’t be? And I don’t know how to even talk to him. If I should even try. I hate him. I hate him so much.” Her eyes drifted back to the room where she’d left Zeph and said, “Just now, when I looked at him, I remember the boy he used to be.” Her lip trembled. “The vulnerability, I remember how different he was then…before he was taken, and I want so badly to hug him. And then I want to slap him.”

Arwyn understood the sentiment.

“Did I fail him?” Elin asked, her voice wobbling. “Did I?”

Lochlan squeezed her shoulders. “No,” he said softly. “You didn’t fail him. You didn’t know—”

“I know,” Elin said. “Logically, I know. My heart is objecting, however.”

He kissed her head once more and held her tighter. “You’re right; it’s been a long night. Let us try to get some rest. We’ll stay close in case there’s any trouble. There’s nothing you can say to him tonight that will help.”

She lifted her head off his shoulder. “You’re not worried to leave him alone with Searly?”

“No. He can barely stand on his own.” To Arwyn, Lochlan said, “You’ll be here, though, right?”

She waved him off. “Go. I’ll not leave. You have my word.”

He hesitated briefly and then nodded. “Thank you.”

She made a feeble attempt to smile. “Of course.”

Together, he and Elin walked away, leaving Arwyn to her troubled thoughts. She pressed her back against the wall and blew out a nervous breath. She would have to see Zeph now. She had hoped she could put if off a bit longer. Tomorrow, perhaps. But now…

“Bugger me.”

She let her head fall against the wall as she shut her eyes, listening to what was being said on the other side. She heard nothing but quiet. She tried to imagine Zeph when they were last alone together. White hair that fell past his shoulders, swept back and neat; dark, striking brows that shadowed eyes clear as rain; and a jaw sharp as a blade. There was an elegance about Zeph, the way he moved. He didn’t walk across a room. He prowled…like he was always searching for prey. Something she most certainly should not admire, yet she did. She always had.

“We don’t want him here,” a voice said, coming up beside her.

Arwyn’s heart squeezed. Xavier.

Opening her eyes, she said carefully, “I know.”

“Do you? He killed our brother, Thaddeus.” Xavier’s voice was low yet stern. “And now he is in our midst and we are supposed to—what? Forget?”

He gesticulated wildly as he voiced his displeasure—his anger—about Zeph being inside the monastery. She listened with a quietness, a stillness that never wavered, taking in Xavier’s hurt and heartache, anger, and bitterness. In the absence of Thaddeus, he needed to be the voice of his brother monks, most of whom had taken a vow of silence. They had been present the day Zeph had walked into the monastery, killed Thaddeus upon entering the library, and gave a wicked blow to Searly’s head before carting him off, taking him to Shadowland against Searly’s will. And the monks could do nothing about it except watch it happen.

Arwyn knew this. Their sufferings were as much a part of the monastery as stone and mortar was. And knowing Zeph had done this to them fragmented her heart into tiny pieces.

She wiped a tear. She could feel all of Xavier’s emotions. Her father had called it a gift. To her though, it never truly felt like a gift. Most days, it was all she could do to hold herself together. She didn’t just have to deal with her own pain. She had to deal with the pain of the whole world.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me he won’t stay here. Tell me you didn’t demand Lord Lochlan bring him back from the dead to torture us more.”

She reared back as though she’d been struck. “No,” she said. “Never would I do that.”

“Then why?” Xavier implored. “Why?”

How could she make him understand?

“We deserve an explanation. This is our home and we have no say?”

“Of course you do.”

“Then tell me—”

“My family was slain,” Arwyn said softly, so softly in fact that Xavier had to lean in close to hear. His mouth snapped shut when her eyes lifted to his. “Unseelie came into our home and slashed my family’s throats. I listened to the sounds of their wet gurgles while I hid. I understand what it is to watch someone you love be murdered in front of you while you do nothing, afraid to make the tiniest sound for fear they’ll come after you too. I know what it is to listen to someone take their last breath. I know…”

Another tear slipped down her cheek and she angrily wiped it away.

Xavier’s expression softened, and his tone became softer as well. “I am sorry you had to endure that.” He moved closer, put his hands on her shoulders. “But how would you feel if those who killed your family were underneath the same roof as you now? How would you feel knowing that they were steps away from you, standing in your home?”

Arwyn couldn’t stop her heart from racing at the thought, though she also knew she wouldn’t be standing here now, telling Xavier her story, had it gone a different way.

“He saved me,” she murmured.

“Who saved you?”

“Zeph.”

Xavier drew in a sharp breath. “What?”

Arwyn needed room to breathe. She detached herself from Xavier’s hold and folded her arms across her middle. “Zeph found me, hiding underneath the bed. He gestured for me to keep quiet.” She bit down on her lower lip to stay its quivering. “I didn’t know what he would do. I obviously thought the worst. I listened as he stood and left the room. I heard him tell the other Unseelie no one else was in the house. They all left. Sometime later, Zeph came back. He took me to Shadowland and promised to keep me safe.” Her eyes held Xavier’s when she said, “He kept that promise.”

“Arwyn, you were his prisoner.”

“I could have left. I wasn’t imprisoned there.”

“Then why did you stay?”

“And go where? Where would I have gone?”

“Arwyn—”

“No. I know who he is to you—a monster, and rightly so. That is not who he is to me.” Xavier started to speak but she held up her palm, cutting him off. “I was alone with Zeph in his keep for years. He had every opportunity to harm me if he had wanted. I won’t get into the particulars of what I came to know of Zeph while in his company. However, know this…there is good in him. I’ve seen it. Small flickers of light. There is good in him. He is—”

“He is a lost cause,” Xavier said between gritted teeth. “You were lucky he never harmed you. You’d do well to stay away from him.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because he isn’t a lost cause, Xavier. He’s just—lost.”

An audible scoff escaped Xavier’s lips, and the veins in his temple began to bulge. He lowered his hands to his hips and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, shaking his head like she was a dimwitted child.

All right, she thought. If she was going to make him understand, she would need to speak his language. “Wasn’t Saint Paul once a murderer?” Arwyn asked.

Xavier’s head snapped up. “What?”

Arwyn tilted her head. She had read and studied a plethora of things while at the monastery, sacred texts included. Saint Paul’s story had given her hope. “Paul was a murderer, was he not? Before his redemption?”

Xavier’s head nodded a fraction, as if he hated to admit it.

Her eyes dropped to the cross that hung around Xavier’s neck. “Why do you suppose your Lord allowed Paul to become so wicked before saving him?”

Xavier rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and she waited for him to answer.

“Well?” she prompted.

“To encourage those who think they are too sinful to have hope,” a voice behind her said, but Arwyn wasn’t surprised by the interruption. She had felt Searly’s presence in the doorway. And behind him—she’d felt Zeph’s.

Searly went on, his eyes on Xavier, “To put our Lord’s perfect patience on display. To show that anyone can triumph over wickedness. To prove that no one is a lost cause.”

She counted the seconds before anyone spoke. Fifteen had passed.

“I believe that is the answer you were seeking, Arwyn,” Searly said, tilting his head toward her, a smile on his lips. “It was also a lesson I needed to be reminded of. Thank you.”

Something passed between them then. Something warm and tender. And her spirits were raised. She had felt so badly for what she had done to him before. She had been desperate, and though she wasn’t proud of the way she had manipulated her friend, she couldn’t be entirely sorry, either. She did what she had to do.

“Yes,” she said. “You are welcome.”

A quiet fell over the four of them, weighted and full of discomfort. No one knew quite what to say. She stared at the floor, the walls, the ceiling. When Arwyn gathered the nerve to glance at Zeph, she found him watching her. She quickly looked away, thankful for the shadowed corridor, for a blush stole over the crest of her cheeks. It was never her intention for him to hear her defend him like some love-struck fool, but the timing was what it was, and nothing could be done for it now.

“I will be along in a while to speak to you and the others, Xavier,” Searly said, breaking the silence. “Get some rest. We will talk it all out when we’ve all managed a bit of sleep. Yes?”

“Of course, brother.”

Xavier did not look Zeph’s way, nor did he spare Arwyn a glance. Arwyn tried not to think of the conflicting emotions that warred in Xavier’s soul. Like the rest of them, it would be a struggle to sort them out and know which ones to act on.

“I’ll take you to the infirmary, Zeph. You can clean up and rest there if you like. I’ll have some soup brought to you as well.”

But Zeph did not move. He simply stared—at Arwyn. Arwyn pretended to be otherwise distracted, brushing off invisible lint from her sleeves.

“Zeph?” Searly prompted. “This way.”

When Zeph failed to move or even speak, Arwyn forced herself to look at him again, allowing herself to truly take in his condition. For a moment, she struggled for breath. He appeared so frail, like one strong wind could blow him away. Her heart lurched.

When Francesca had first brought him in and placed him on the table, Arwyn had seen how he was. But he was alive now. She expected him to be the same as before.

He was not the same. Not at all.

Francesca had not allowed her to heal him fully. She had said, “Let him feel the consequences of his actions, child. We only need to ease his suffering, not end it. When he wakes, let him feel pain so he will know that he is alive.”

Arwyn did as Francesca bid, though she had wanted to argue. Truthfully, it was one of the reasons she had removed herself from the room when Zeph woke. She would have wanted to heal him completely. Even now, her hands trembled with the desire to do so. She was a healer, after all. It wasn’t like her ability to feel others’ emotions—or transfer emotions to others, as she had done to Searly. This was something she actually loved about herself.

She fought the sting of tears as she looked at him, holding her tongue, afraid to utter a sound. His hair was a bedraggled mess. He swayed on his feet, wobbled with each intake of breath and shuddered with each release.

But his eyes never wavered from hers.

Where does it hurt?

“Zeph?” Searly prompted once more. “If you will follow me, please?”

“You look well,” Zeph said, surprising her. His eyes lowered, traveled the length of her torso and back up. “Different.”

She fought the urge to fidget, her spine stiffening. “You look terrible,” she said, frowning.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You always know just what to say.”

“Yes, well, I believe in honesty. Something you’ve always struggled with.”

He did not flinch, nor did he look away. “I’ve struggled with many things, darling,” he said, his voice trembling defiantly. His expression closed off then, giving away nothing of what he was feeling. Even the pain she had seen in his eyes was now hidden from her. “Do me a favor, luv. Stop trying to save me. I am not a saint, nor will I ever be one.”

“I’m not asking you to be a saint, Zeph.”

“You’re asking for me to be something. Aren’t you? Something I can never be.”

“Go with Searly,” Arwyn said. She focused on the wall behind Zeph’s head, no longer able to look at him. She was breaking inside and desperate to be alone, so she could shatter quietly. “Please go.” When Zeph refused to move, she picked up her skirts and said, “Fine. I’ll go. Searly, please see he gets to the infirmary. Wouldn’t want Zeph passing out in the halls.”

She was a few steps away when Zeph called, “Your worry for my well-being is touching.”

She stopped, turned, and bustled over to him. He grinned when she got in his face, but his eyes gave away his insecurities.

“You were given a second chance, you stubborn ox! I’m not trying to save you! No one can do that. You must save yourself. I will not coddle you. I will not make excuses for you. But I will fight for you when you’re too tired to fight. I will be there for you. I will challenge you. Because I know there is good in there somewhere. And you know it too! You’re just too damn scared to try! I never thought I’d say this to you, Zeph, but you’re a coward!”

Zeph’s features turned to stone and her blood began to boil.

She laughed, but there was no joy. “Why do I do this to myself?” She picked up her skirts once more and made to leave.

“Why?” Zeph asked quietly.

She paused. “Why what?”

“Why would you fight for me?”

She closed her eyes, grateful her back was to him, for she couldn’t stop the quiver of her chin. She had to swallow several times before she could speak. This. This was why she kept trying. He was vulnerable as an orphan, deposited in a world full of hate.

“Because,” she whispered, “you won’t fight for yourself.”

“There is simply nothing to fight for, Arwyn.” His tone was no longer confrontational. “You value truth, honesty,” he said. “I’m giving it to you now.” She turned to face him. He extended his arms out to the side, as though he was offering a glimpse of himself to her. “Don’t you see? I am everything Xavier said I was. And I agree with him. You’d do well to stay away from me.”

She took a step forward, and then another, and another, until she had closed the gap between them. She startled him when she pressed her palm to his chest. He fought the flutter of his eyes as he refused to close them.

“Where does it hurt?”

A strangled sound escaped his dry lips. She knew the effect she was having on him. She felt it. Warmth absconded over him like drops of sunshine, heating his muscles, clearing his mind, easing his pain.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked again, wanting him, needing him to say it.

He covered her hand with his and repositioned it over his heart. “Here,” he said. “Is this something you can heal? Can you mend broken hearts, Arwyn? Because if you can, I’ll let you have a go at it.”

She wanted to sob. “I’ll try. If you’ll let me, I’ll certainly try.”

He closed his eyes, and a single tear slid down his cheek. A moment later, Zeph pulled away.

To Searly, he said, “Please lead the way if the offer for a bath and rest is still on the table.”

Searly simply nodded, and on legs that barely seemed solid enough to hold his weight, Zeph followed. They traveled down long, darkened corridors, past statues of those who came before him, men and women better than he could ever hope to be, and all the while, a shadow, a long, thin echo of Zeph, trailed closely behind.