Page 162 of The Trials of Ophelia

“You, too,” I demanded.

“I’ll try.” The promise in his voice was so sincere, even those two words had my heart inflating in my chest.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Tolek

I slept.

For the first time in memory, I slept soundly for four hours. For most, that wasn’t much. For me, it was everything. Because the woman sleeping beside me who was my everything made it happen. She’d listened to my fears over recent weeks, reminded me of the facts stacked against them, and did not turn away or cast judgment.

I was not naive enough to think I had escaped nightmares forever—healing did not happen overnight—but as I strolled through the war camp to meet Cypherion and Malakai, I felt the best I had in a while.

They were huddled around a fire when I found them, smoke coiling into the violet sky. The winter sun had already set, sucking out the bit of warmth we were awarded in the southern mountains.

“Fucking Spirits.” I rubbed my hands down my arms. “It’s colder than an Angel’s heart here. How have you been surviving?” I raised a brow at Mali, his cloak open as if worn for formality, not necessity.

“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “I got used to it.”

“Hopefully we won’t have to,” I added to Cypherion. Even as I said it, though, I couldn’t ignore the way Malakai’s cheeks were fuller than before. The lift of his shoulders where they’d once drooped under the weight of his scars.

“I won’t have a chance to.” Cyph kept his narrowed eyes on the fire.

“Are you upset to be going?” Malakai asked. He swung open the pack at his feet and removed three bottles, uncorking each. I wasn’t a fan of ale, but I took it regardless. Something about Mali extending this to us, about the three of us gathered around a fire on a cold night, simply discussing our lives, was soothing.

“Not upset to be going,” CK grumbled. He sipped his drink and dragged a hand across his mouth as he framed an answer. “I’m going because it’s orders from our Revered.”

“Try again,” I said.

Cypherion raised an auburn brow, but Malakai and I watched quietly until he started fidgeting from the attention. “All right, I’m curious. Does that make you happy?”

“Curious about what?” I asked with a playful lilt.

“Curious about what the fuck is happening to her,” he grumbled.

“And why is that?” Malakai mimicked my tone.

“No,” Cyph argued, gesturing to Mali with his ale. “Nope, you don’t get to question me. At least Tol wears his damn heart on his sleeve.” He shifted the bottle to me. “I have to answer his questions.”

“You’ve barely answered any of my questions in months,” I challenged.

“And if I ignore you, I’m sure as Spirits ignoring him.”

“Fair enough.” Malakai laughed and ran a hand through his hair, a small smile on his lips. Damn was it good to see.

“How’s Mila?” I asked.

That smile fell. “She’s…okay.” He blew out a breath. “No, she’s not. She will be okay, though.” I’ll make sure of it, he left unsaid.

His fingers tightened around the neck of his bottle, eyes squinting at the fire. All mirth of a moment ago was gone. Something had shifted. He’d been protective after the cave in, but the dark gleam in his eye was new.

“Is there anything we can do?” Cypherion offered.

“No.” Malakai shook his head. “It’s her story to tell and hers to ask for help with. She’s survived hell, though.” He grimaced, and his hand swept across the scar on his jaw. “She’s strong.”

“You have a type, then.” I smirked around the mouth of my bottle.

Malakai narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sharing this time.”

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