Chapter 187

Deep in the palace prison, Finn Harlan sat alone in his cell.

The cell was smallbbarely large enough for a bed, a table, and a chair. The walls were stone, cold and damp. The only light came from a single torch in the corridor outside. The only sound was the drip of water from somewhere in the darkness.

Finn had been here for weeks. He had lost count of the days. They all blurred together one endless stretch of darkness and silence and regret.

He spent most of his time thinking. About his life. About his choices. About the people he had hurt. He thought about Nyra the friendship he had faked, the trust he had betrayed, the pain he had caused. He thought about Jasper, the knife he had driven into his stomach, about the look of shock and betrayal in his eyes. He thought about Soren the man he had helped to destroy, about the sacrifice he had made.

And he thought about Ragnar.

Ragnar, who had loved him. Ragnar, who had trusted him. Ragnar, who had forgiven him even after everything.

I don’t deserve his forgiveness, Finn thought. I don’t deserve anything.

He thought about the day of the execution the day he had expected to die. He had been ready. He had accepted it. He had even welcomed it. But then Nyra had spoken had defended him, had begged for his life and the King had commuted his sentence.

Why? he thought. Why did she save me? After everything I did, after all the pain I caused why would she spare my life?

He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know if he ever would.

The only person who visited him was a guard a silent, stoic man who brought him food and water and empty buckets. The guard never spoke. He never acknowledged Finn’s existence beyond the basic necessities of keeping him alive.

But today, the guard was different.

He paused at the cell door and looked at Finn. His eyes were not unkind.

“You have a letter,” the guard said.

Finn blinked. “A letter?”

“From the Blackfang boy. Ragnar.”

Finn’s blood ran cold. “Ragnar?”

“He asked that it be delivered to you. The King approved it.” The guard slid the letter through the bars. “I’ll give you some time to read it.”

He walked away, leaving Finn alone with the letter.

Finn stared at it for a long moment. His hands were trembling. His heart was pounding. He didn’t know what to expect didn’t know what Ragnar could possibly have to say to him after everything that had happened.

He opened the letter.

Finn,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t know if you’ll care. But I need to say some things, and I need to say them to you.

I loved you. I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. You were my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. You were my partner, my confidant, my best friend. And when I found out what you had done when I learned the truth about who you really were, it broke me. It broke me in ways I didn’t know I could be broken.

I wanted to hate you. I tried to hate you. But I couldn’t. Because even after everything, even after the lies and the betrayal and the pain I still saw the boy I fell in love with. The boy who made me laugh. The boy who held me when I was scared. The boy who promised me we would go on a trip together when everything was over.

I don’t know if that boy ever existed. I don’t know if any of it was real. But I choose to believe it was. I choose to believe that somewhere, deep down, there was a part of you that loved me too.

I forgive you, Finn. Not because you deserve it. Not because what you did was okay. But because I can’t carry this hatred anymore. It’s eating me alive. And I need to let it go.

I hope you find peace. I hope you find redemption. I hope you become the person you could have been, the person I know you can be.

Goodbye, Finn.

—Ragnar

Finn read the letter three times. By the time he finished, the tears were streaming down his face.

He forgives me, Finn thought. After everything, after all the pain I caused he forgives me.

He clutched the letter to his chest and wept.

Three days since Nyra had stepped into the dark pool at the heart of the forest. Three days since the water had closed over her head and swallowed her whole. Three days since anyone had seen or heard from her.

The village was quiet. The usual sounds of daily life the chatter of merchants, the laughter of children, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer had faded into a tense, waiting silence. The people moved through the streets with worried faces, their eyes constantly drifting toward the forest, toward the path that led to the sacred pool.

The Daughter of the Moon had not returned.

Corvin stood at the edge of the village, his whiskey-dark eyes fixed on the treeline. He had not slept in three days. He had not eaten. He had barely moved from this spot, watching, waiting, hoping.

“She’s been in there too long,” he said for the hundredth time.

Ragnar stood beside him, his scarred face pale and drawn. “The seer said the trial takes as long as it takes.”

“The seer also said most who face the Trial of the Heart do not survive.”

Ragnar flinched. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“The truth doesn’t help anyone right now.” Ragnar placed a hand on Corvin’s shoulder. “She’s strong. She’s the strongest person we know. She’ll come back.”

“When? When will she come back?”

Ragnar didn’t have an answer.

Behind them, the others waited. Roderic sat on a low stone wall, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the forest. Marek stood silently, his hands clasped behind his back. Maureen and Jasper sat together on the ground, their hands intertwined, their faces pale with worry.

“She’ll come back,” Maureen whispered. “She has to.”

“She will,” Jasper said, but his voice was uncertain.

The villagers gathered in small groups, whispering among themselves. “The Daughter of the Moon. She will save us. She will come back.”

But the hours passed. And there was no sign of her.

On the fourth day, the seer came to them.

She looked older than ever her ancient face lined with exhaustion, her milky eyes clouded with something that might have been worry. She had been watching the pool for days, never leaving, never sleeping. But even she could not see what was happening within the trial.

“The test is not going well,” she said quietly.

Corvin’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“The Trial of the Heart is the most difficult of the three. It tests not just the mind, not just the body, but the very soul of the one who faces it. Many have entered that pool. Few have emerged.”

“She will emerge,” Ragnar said fiercely. “She has to.”

The seer looked at him, at the desperation in his eyes, at the hope in his voice.

“I hope you are right,” she said. “But hope is not always enough.”

On the fifth day, Corvin was standing at the edge of the village when he saw something.

A figure emerging from the forest.

At first, he thought it was a trick of the light, a shadow, a mirage, a figment of his exhausted imagination. But then the figure moved closer, and he saw the silver hair, the pale face, the familiar shape of her body.

“Nyra,” he breathed.

He ran.

He ran faster than he had ever run in his life, his heart pounding, his lungs burning, his eyes fixed on the figure ahead. The others saw her too Ragnar, Roderic, Marek, Maureen, Jasper and they ran after him, their voices raised in joy and relief.

“Nyra! Nyra!”

She emerged from the trees and stopped at the edge of the clearing. She was soaked her clothes dripping with water, her hair plastered to her face but she was alive. She was standing. She was real.

Corvin reached her first. He threw his arms around her, pulling her close, holding her as if he would never let go.

“You’re alive,” he whispered. “You’re alive. We thought—we thought we lost you.”

She didn’t respond. She just stood there, her body stiff, her arms hanging limp at her sides.

Corvin pulled back and looked at her face. She was smiling, a small, strange smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Nyra? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Her voice was soft too soft. “I passed the test.”

“You passed?” Ragnar appeared beside them, his face split in a grin. “You passed all three tests?”

“Yes.”

“Then Soren—he can come back?”

“Yes.”

The others gathered around, their faces alight with joy. Maureen was crying. Jasper was smiling. Marek nodded slowly, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.

“We knew you could do it,” Roderic said. “We knew you would pass.”

“I told you,” Ragnar said. “I told you she was the strongest person we know.”

Everyone was happy. Everyone was relieved. Everyone was celebrating.

Except Corvin.

He was watching Nyra the way she stood, the way she smiled, the way her eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him.

Something was wrong.

“Nyra,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I’m just tired. I want to rest.”

“Of course. Let me take you to your room.”

She nodded and followed him back to the village. The others followed, still talking excitedly, still celebrating her return. But Corvin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. Something was wrong.

The villagers cheered when they saw her.

“The Daughter of the Moon! She has returned!”

“She passed the tests!”

“She will save us all!”

Nyra smiled at them that same strange, distant smile and nodded. She didn’t speak. She didn’t stop. She just walked through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the door to the inn where she had been staying.

Corvin opened the door for her and led her inside.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Food? Water? A bath?”

“No.” She turned to face him. “I just need to rest.”

“Alright. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

She nodded and closed the door.

Corvin stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, his heart heavy with unease. He wanted to go in. He wanted to make sure she was alright. But she had asked to be alone.

So he turned and walked back outside, where the others were still celebrating.

“She’s resting,” he said. “We should let her be.”

“Is she alright?” Maureen asked. “She seemed… different.”

“She’s just tired. The test was hard.”

“Harder than the others?”

“Probably.”

They accepted his explanation. They went back to celebrating. They were happy, relieved and grateful.

But Corvin was not.

He kept thinking about her eyes the way they had looked at him without really seeing him. The way her smile had seemed practiced rather than real.

Something is wrong, he thought. Something is very wrong.

Inside the room, Nyra stood in the darkness.

She had not lit a candle. She had not opened the curtains. She just stood there, in the middle of the room, her body trembling, her hands clenched into fists.

And then—

Her eyes changed.

The moonlight silver that had always defined her that had marked her as the Daughter of the Moon faded. In its place, a deep, burning red appeared. It was the color of blood. The color of fire. The color of something dark and terrible and utterly, completely wrong.

The energy around her shifted. The silver light that had always radiated from her the power of the Moonblood was gone. In its place, something else flowed through her veins. Something dark. Something cold. Something that had no place in the world of light.

She looked at her hands. They were trembling. They were not her hands. Or rather, they were but they were not the hands she remembered. They were the hands of a stranger. The hands of something else.

What have I become? she thought.

But even as she thought it, a voice whispered in the back of her mind a voice that was not her own. A voice that was dark and seductive and full of terrible promises.

You have become what you were meant to be, the voice said. You have become powerful. You have become strong. You have become the thing that will save them all or destroy them.

Nyra closed her eyes. The tears fell but they were not tears of grief or relief or joy.

They were tears of fear.