Page 120 of The Shattered Rite
She tried to step forward on her own. Failed. The pain roared back, sharp and unforgiving.
Silas caught her before she hit the floor, arms steady beneath hers. "Gods," he muttered, easing her to the bench. His voice sounded strained. "Eliryn… you should’ve said something sooner."
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He knelt, dipping the cloth in warm water. His hands, usually so steady, hesitated just for a moment before touching her skin.
"I thought you might not come back," he said finally. His voice was quieter than before. "Guards can’t see anything when you’re inside the trial. We just wait. Wondering."
She watched the way the firelight caught his profile, how carefully he wrung out the cloth, how his hands shook slightly.
She didn’t speak until the cloth touched her feet. The burn of it pulled the words from her like a confession.
"I barely made it." Her voice cracked. "Vaeronth… he helped me through. I can barely see anything clearly anymore. I would’ve died without him."
His hands stilled.
"You’re… blind?"
"Almost." She let out a breath. "I’m losing what little clarity I have left. I can feel the dark closing in."
Silas said nothing at first. The silence wasn’t empty. It felt like him holding something carefully between his teeth.
Then, finally: "You didn’t falter."
She blinked. Looked down at him, not understanding.
"When you walked in just now," he continued. "Even in pain. Even like this. You still reacted like a warrior. Like you could do it on your own."
Her throat tightened. She didn’t feel like a warrior. Not with blood drying on her heels. Not with exhaustion pressing into her bones.
Then softer, almost too soft to catch: "I’m glad you made it back."
Her heart faltered. Something shifted inside her.
Before she could stop herself, her fingers found his. Rested there. Just for a moment. The warmth of him seeped into her skin like something she hadn’t realized she was cold enough to crave.
"So am I," she whispered.
They stayed like that. In the hush of firelight. In the silence between orders and battles and trials. Just two people, scraped raw by a cruel world, holding something fragile between them without naming it.
When she finally pulled her hand back, she didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
Silas helped her into the thick sleepshirt the room provided. His hands moved carefully, respectfully, but she caught the hesitation in his breath when his fingers brushed her skin. Felt the quiet awareness settle between them like fog.
He eased her down onto the low bed, where furs waited to swallow her whole. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but she didn’t know if it was exhaustion or the unfamiliar ache of safety.
Silas crouched beside her, his voice barely audible now. "You should sleep."
Her voice came without her permission, low and uncertain. “Will you stay?”
Silas didn’t answer right away.
In the quiet, Eliryn forced a dry, self-deprecating smile. “I’m not ready to be alone with my thoughts just yet.”
That made him pause. His gaze flicked to her—not pitying, not startled. Just soft. Honest.
Then, quietly: “I’ll stay.”
