Page 104 of The Ninth Element

I chuckle. “Isn’t it painfully obvious?”

“It should be,” he says, his gaze roaming my face slowly, deliberately, making my pulse quicken. “I seem to recall you making a quick retreat from every winter feast when the dancing commenced.”

My gaze locks onto his at his casual recall of such a seemingly trivial detail. Again. He noticed. He remembered. How does he have such an awareness of me and my past, of things I barely remember myself? We were strangers, separated by age. By gender. By status. We were in the same space only by circumstance.

“You have a remarkably good memory of my past,” I say, the words a breathless accusation.

Zanyar’s gaze holds mine. “I do,” he affirms. And the simple statement is heavy with unspoken meaning.

The question, the one that’s been simmering beneath the surface since the battlements, can no longer be ignored. “Do you make it your business to know this much about every Ahira?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, those intense golden-green eyes searchingmine as if assessing my reaction. Finally, he says, “I can’t say that I do.”

The weight of his words, the unspoken implication behind them, settles between us like a tangible presence. It’s in the air he breathes out. I see it in the sudden stillness of his body. Smell it in the faint, clean scent of his skin, so close to mine. Taste it.

“Then why,” I whisper, “do you know so much aboutme?”

His eyes darken. He inhales deeply, then opens his mouth as if to reveal some hidden truth. I’m terrified of what he might say, and yet, I suddenlyneedto hear it.

“Lord and Lady Lefford,” Lord Palewyne’s voice booms across the ballroom, “the carriage awaits your pleasure.”

Zanyar’s jaw clenches, and he swallows his unspoken words. The music fades, and the spell shatters. In a slow, almost reluctant movement, he releases me, and the warmth of his embrace is replaced by a sudden, jarring chill, leaving behind a promise—or a threat—of a conversation yet to come.

Chapter Thirty-Six

It’s late, well past midnight, when we finally leave Palewyne’s estate, back in our Martysh garb. The opulent world of the ball feels like a distant, surreal dream as we walk down the dark streets toward the stable. Before we departed, Zanyar, in his typical efficient manner, handed the annotated map to Lord Palewyne, instructing him to expect a visitor the next day to collect it.

Mounting our horses in silence, we begin the climb up to Jahanwatch. The full moon transforms the familiar trail into a serene, almost magical path. It should bring a sense of calm, but the silence between Zanyar and me is anything but comforting. Instead, it’s a heavy silence filled with unanswered questions and the lingering echoes of our earlier conversation. Just when I think I can’t endure it any longer, Zanyar finally speaks.

“How about a detour?”

Normally, I’d dismiss such a suggestion out of hand. My focus should be on reaching Jahanwatch and securing our victory as soon as possible. But my persistent curiosity is a stronger pull. And if I’m honest, there’s something about him, about this unexpected detour, that I can’t resist. So, I nod and follow him as he guides his horse down a narrow, overgrown path until we reach a hidden grove on top of a small cliff with a breathtaking overlook.

Shemiran sprawls below us like a living, breathing painting under thevast night sky. The moon looks like a perfect silver coin, hanging suspended above, and casts an ethereal glow that illuminates the river snaking through the city, turning it into a ribbon of liquid light.

We dismount and tie our horses to a gnarled tree and move toward the cliff edge. The cool night air brushes against my skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. I sit at the edge, and Zanyar sits beside me.

It feels as if we’re perched on the edge of the world, suspended between the earth and the sky. Suddenly, a wave of unexpected calm envelops me, bringing a sense of peace I haven’t felt in days. I could stay here forever, lost in this tranquil moment. But I know the peace is fragile—a thin veil over the questions that linger between us.

As if he can hear my inner thoughts, Zanyar breaks the silence without looking at me. “You wanted to know why I came here,” he says, the words not a question, but a prelude to a confession. “The truth is… I came for you.”

Startled by the raw honesty in his voice, I turn to him. His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, and he has a faraway look in his eyes as if he is speaking to something beyond my sight. Here, bathed in moonlight, he doesn’t look like the untouchable Golden Ahira—the fearsome warrior, the legend whispered about in the halls of Firelands. He is simply Zanyar. A young man who has shed his usual defenses.

“I returned to Firelands to offer you a life in Aravan. That’s when I learned you were leaving for these trials. I couldn’t let you go alone without protection, so I petitioned Ahira Emmengar, claiming I could follow his command here. It was a convenient excuse to join the Firelands delegation. But my only goal was to keep you safe during this competition and then, after you returned, to offer you a place by my side in Aramis.”

Sincerity resonates in every word, making it hard for me to hold onto my anger at his presumption that I would lose and return to Firelands.

“Why do you want me in Aramis?” I manage to ask.

At that, Zanyar finally turns to me, and a small, almost shy smile touches his lips. “Arien,” he says softly. His voice is a gentle caress. “Surely, by now, you must know.”

His words make my stomach leap to my throat. I turn away, unable to look at him, and my gaze falls on the glittering lights of Shemiran below. My fingers twist together, and I swallow against the nervous flutter I feel.

The obvious answer dangles between us, unspoken but undeniable.

“I think I do. But it is… bizarre,” I mumble under my breath.

He probably doesn’t understand why I need to hear the words directly from his mouth. Our worlds are so different. He’s accustomed to adoration and effortless connections. He probably assumes it’s easy for me to believe, to accept, to reciprocate. But years of feeling unseen make it hard for me to trust any of this.

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