Kyros Valen's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

Kyros walked the mill road with the dragon still warm against his ribs. The seal had bought one night. He counted hours and did not like the sum. By dawn the woman in the green shawl would wake in her own bed, remember his face, remember the small thing curled in his coat, and walk straight to the baker with her mouth full of it. One night was not silence. One night was a delay. He stopped at the crooked fence past the tavern and thought it through. Threats had failed. A knife would hang him. Another seal would need another favor, and he already owed one he could not name. He needed the woman to wake and not want to speak. He needed her to wake grateful. He turned back toward the palace grounds. He found the witch at the kitchen garden gate, silver hair loose under her hood, a lantern hooked on a nail. She was pressing a chalk mark into the post. She did not look up. "Twice in one night," Luna said. "You're generous with my time." "The seal wears off at dawn." "It does." "I need her to wake and think she dreamed a kind thing. Not a monster." Luna finished the mark. She wiped chalk on her sleeve. "You want me to change what she remembers." "I want her to remember a gift." She looked at him then. Her eyes went to his coat and stayed a beat. "A gift from who." "A stranger. Not me. Someone she'll invent." Luna reached into her sleeve and drew out a stem wrapped in cloth. She unfolded it on her palm. A blue rose, the petals dusted with fine glitter that caught the lantern like wet salt. It did not wilt in her hand. "Put this on her table before the seal breaks," Luna said. "She'll wake, see it, and fill in the rest herself. People do." "What does it cost." "The favor you already owe. I'm adding to the account, not opening a new one." He took the rose. The stem was cool. The petals did not shed. "Luna." "Go." He ran the tavern road again, cut behind the well, found the blue shutter. The lane was empty. He worked the latch with the tip of his knife and slipped inside. The woman lay slumped against the table where she had fallen, breath slow. He set the rose in front of her hands, close enough that she would see it before anything else. He stepped back into the lane and pulled the door shut. He walked to the mill in gray light. The dragon shifted against his coat. The rumor was not buried; it was rewritten. By breakfast the woman would tell the baker a stranger left her flowers. She would not name him. She would not lead anyone here. He owed Luna twice now, and the sanctuary was still his.