Page 119 of The Shattered Rite
To himself.
To the war inside his own ribs.
He straightened slowly.
If he lied, his father would know.
If he told the truth… she wouldn’t live through the week.
The stairs rose ahead of him like a sentence.
Each step he took was either a promise.
Or a betrayal.
And he didn’t know which one he wanted more.
Not anymore.
The ring pulsed faintly, as if it already knew.
And somewhere beneath the steel of his will, something darker stirred.
Something that whispered:
She’s not yours to save.
But gods, you wish you could.
Chapter 18: The Weight of Surviving
"After the scream, the silence. After the fall, the breath. Survival is not always loud."—Unknown soldier, Requiems of the First Trial
Eliryn didn’t feel the pain until the silence settled in.
ntil the heat of adrenaline bled off her skin and her steps slowed. The ache seeped in—first dull, then sharp—crawling from heels to knees. The blood had stopped, but not before leaving a trail: faint red prints on pale stone.
She couldn’t even place the moment Silas appeared. One heartbeat there was only the echoing hall; the next his arm was under hers. Pain had sanded the edges off time and taken the minutes with it.
Silas said nothing at first. He let her lean, one arm strong and steady beneath hers, guiding with the kind of gentlenessmen usually forgot how to wield. Warmth threaded through his sleeve to hers, as steady as his breath. He was careful.
At the final turn toward her door, he eased his hold without letting go, matching her pace like it was a language he’d learned on purpose.
He glanced at her sideways. "You’re limping harder."
"I’m fine," she lied, though her voice cracked.
Silas didn’t argue. But when they reached her door and she sagged against it, breath shaking, he stepped closer. Close enough she caught the faint scent of leather and cedar clinging to him, warm and familiar in a way that caught her off guard.
"Let me help you inside," he said softly. "If that’s all right."
She hesitated. She should’ve said no. Should’ve told him she didn’t need help. But her legs trembled, her vision blurred, and for once, pride lost the fight.
She nodded.
The door shifted open like it recognized her will, and Silas guided her through gently. Inside, the room responded instantly: the hearth leapt to life, casting a golden glow across the stone. A warm basin of water sat at the base of her padded bench, beside a folded set of thick, comfortable clothes and a bowl of darkberries and honeyed root.
The door closed behind them with a whisper.
