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Her spine straightened as though some invisible hand had pulled a thread through it, her shoulders sharpening while her fingers curled deeper into the blanket at her side.

“That would hurt you just as much as me, darling. You may want to rethink your blackmail tactics.”

The room seemed to contract around me, the walls drawing closer until the air felt too thick to breathe, and all I could hear was the echo of her answers repeating inside my skull.

“You knew,” I seethed through my teeth. “You’ve known since Maraveth’s death and did nothing. I hold no memories of my lives before this, which will make Rythos rather forgiving.”

Cerilla swallowed, her throat working around whatever explanation she might have been trying to hold back. “I was trying to protect my brother.”

A bitter laugh escaped me, quiet and humourless, because the words were almost too cruel to make sense of.

“Protect him?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “He is lying in a bed right now with a rotting heart and skin so cold I fear he is hours from death.”

Pain flashed across her face, deeper this time, too raw to hide before she looked away. “Because of you, Lyra. He was meant to fucking kill you and end it.”

“If you had asked me at Obsidian Court to give my life to save his, I would have.” I held up my left hand, showing his mark of a wave and stars. “He means more to me than my life. Help me die to save him.”

Her silence stretched between us, heavier than anything she could have said. She finally lowered her gaze. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her chin against her hands. “You have my attention, darling.”

I told her my theory—that the throne was dying because I had broken it, that the curses tearing through the kingdoms were wounds left behind by that fracture, and that feeding it my blood might be enough to make everything whole again.

Her expression had gone strangely still as she lifted one hand, curling her fingers through the air.

Magic gathered between them in thin, shimmering black threads before twisting together, folding over themselves until a small leather pouch appeared in her palm.

“Feeding it your soul may appease it long enough for me to save Rythos,” she muttered thoughtfully.

A creeping sense trickled through me that she knew more than she was telling me.

She stood, crossing the distance between us and placed it in my hands. As she closed my fingers around it, dried herbs inside shifted with a faint rustle.

“Dose their drinks with it,” she said. “They will sleep deeply enough that none of them will realise you are gone until it is too late.”

My fingers tightened around the pouch, feeling heavier with the weight of my betrayal.

But there was one more thing I needed from her.

“Unlink my life from Helion’s.” The words scraped their way out of me, quieter than I intended. “Whatever happens to me, I will not let it drag him into death beside me.”

Whatever magic she had weaved between us during our vows had clearly followed us since leaving the Hells. If I slit my throat, it would slit his as well and I refused to save one of my bonded just to kill the other.

A small smile ghosted her lips as she reached into the pocket of her ruined dress and pulled out a vial with a corked top.

“Helion had me make this for the same reason.”

I stared at the vial resting between her fingers, watching the black liquid shimmer with a blue iridescent sheen.

Helion was planning to die.

He had stood beside me with his stupid smiles and filthy remarks while somewhere beneath all that arrogance, he had been arranging a way to save me. To save Rythos, for me.

Anger burned through the ache before it could swallow me.

“Of course he fucking did,” I whispered.

“It will not erase your bond, or stop him from feeling your death, but…” She held the vial towards me. “He will be safe. And Lyra?” Cerilla whispered, her eyes dropping to the pouch in my hand. “Thank you for loving him enough to sacrifice yourself.”

After returning to Rythos’ ship, I’d checked on him immediately, while Helion took over from Aldric at the wheel. I’d found Solas dozing in the chair next to his bed while Rythos wrote in his journal.