I sat on the couch surrounded by flowers, staring after Ivorin as an extremely exhausted Keeper rested against me, head on my shoulder.

  “He’s just… leaving us?” I whispered. “What if someone comes in?”

  Syrin shifted slightly against me. “Illusion. Ivorin’s specialty,” he muttered. “Don’t leave the couch.”

  Ivorin had swiped his foot on the ground. I studied the floor. “I don’t see a shimmer anymore.”

  Syrin let out an amused hum. “He’s one of the best. You wouldn’t.”

  “So… can’t he just hide you with an illusion?”

  “He probably will,” Syrin said, breath tickling my neck. “But he can’t come with us. Too suspicious once we get to the bottom floor.”

  “But I need to get the money, so don’t I have to leave the couch?”

  I shifted slightly to see his face. He was still pale, teeth pressed against his bottom lip. His eyes met mine, and he let out a long breath. “Get the money. Then come back.”

  I carefully extracted myself from him, and he collapsed against the couch looking up at me. His fingers tightened briefly against my sleeve, then loosened again. Lights. He couldn’t defend himself at all in a tower full of enemies. Was that little tug as close as he would come to admitting fear?

  “Where are the donations, Syrin?”

  He glanced towards the edge of the room. “Under the glowing bush.”

  “The Pixie’s Hush?”

  His lips quirked up. “Yes.”

  I snuck across the room, trying to stay silent. Sure enough, under the bush, there were dozens of the strange interlocking square coins that the Crithnori used. I loaded the most valuable ones into my bag, leaving some so it didn’t look entirely empty when someone checked. There were also a couple of what looked to be very valuable fey stones. The little carved gems glittered in the bowl. I took a few of those too, shoving them into my satchel.

  When I came back, Syrin wasn’t on the couch, and my heart shot into panic mode. How could he be gone? He couldn’t even move!

  “Trina,” came the soft voice. I looked around desperately, and then a huffed laugh came from the couch. “I’m still here. Illusion, remember?”

  I blushed. Right.

  I took a couple of steps forward, and when I was right next to the couch, Syrin suddenly appeared, lying across it, taking up the entire thing. I frowned.

  He stared up at me for a few moments before seeming to understand the issue. His glow flickered faintly silver. It was dimmer than usual. “I… I can’t…”

  Right. He probably couldn’t lift himself up at all. I squeezed in at the end and shifted his head to my lap, running a hand through his hair. “Have you ever been this tired before?”

  His brows creased. He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments before meeting my eyes. “No.”

  “Are you just always tired with the Light?” I asked softly.

  He shifted slightly, adjusting against my legs. “Not always.”

  He was exhausted, and we had to get him out somehow. Did Ivorin realize we'd have to carry him or need a stretcher or something? I ran my hands down my braid. It was coming undone with all the chaos. Could something as small as that give us away?

  Before I could fix it, Syrin grabbed my hand, still trembling, but he didn’t hold it. Instead, his fingers trailed up my wrist until they settled on the cuff. Both the one he was touching and the one on my other hand warmed, emitting an ethereal golden light.

  “Syrin!” I hated those cuffs, but he was exhausted.

  He didn’t listen. The little string of light between them snapped, but they didn’t disappear, just shifted. Syrin was breathing too hard, but before I could protest again, the glow vanished. They sat heavy against my wrists, almost like a weight before becoming almost as light as air.

  I stared down at my wrists. They just looked like a pair of matching golden bangles. “What did you just do? You’re too tired. You shouldn’t have—“

  “Promised. And not so bad,” he murmured. “Light wanted this one. Still need to monitor the infection, and if we get separated, you can use them to find me. Bring them together, and they’ll glow if you’re moving in the right direction.”

  “That’s…” It would probably be really useful actually, and it was hard to be mad when he’d just removed the cuffs I hated so much. I forced myself to relax.

  His lips twitched into a smile as his eyelids fluttered closed.

  “You want to sleep until Ivorin comes back?”

  He gave the tiniest shake of his head. “Not sure you’ll be able to wake me up for hours. Better to just… stay awake.”

  “Not sure how you’re even managing that.”

  He let out a huff. “The Light is giving me little shocks every minute or so.”

  I stiffened. “Seriously?”

  He just hummed.

  “Did you ask it to do that?”

  “No, but it knows if I sleep, I might die. It has a vested interest in me staying awake.”

  I frowned down at him; that still seemed painful, and he’d been through so much today already. I bit my lip, but let it be, just listening for footsteps. We sat in silence, but I could feel him flinch against me every minute or so.

  His eyes were squeezed shut tight, but he obviously wasn’t asleep, just… concentrating. I watched the door, praying for Ivorin to return. Then Syrin almost seized against me, letting out a sharp yelp before he went rigid.

  My heart beat too fast as I stared at the door, grip tightening on Syrin’s sleeve where my hand rested. I didn’t dare move, barely dared breathe.

  Seconds ticked by. No one came. Finally, my pulse slowed, and I looked down at Syrin. His glow was completely silver, like he felt guilty for crying out.

  Wasn’t there another way for the Light to keep him awake? Didn’t it care that it was hurting him? Maybe if I kept him talking, the Light wouldn’t shock him so much. Whispers had to be better than sudden yelps, right?

  “Think Ivorin wants to kill me yet?” I asked.

  Syrin’s eyes cracked open to look up at me again. “For what?”

  I took his hand, tracing my thumb across the back. He didn’t pull away, though his hand still trembled slightly. I smiled and squeezed before moving my thumb again. “For touching his holy keeper nephew?”

  Syrin snorted, grip tightening on mine. “I am not holy.”

  “Really?” I said, tone teasing.

  “I am a civil servant.”

  I giggled. “Right. Of course.”

  He glared, then tugged at my hand. I let him lead, lifting our hands as he shifted them to his chest. If he had more strength, I had no doubt he’d stiffen, maybe even swat me for the teasing. He was getting bolder, but as it was… it felt almost like he was reminding me he had a heartbeat.

  A pang shot through me. Maybe the tease about holiness had hit closer than I thought.

  His fingers tightened again, and his brow crinkled. “But other people might be less… open-minded than my uncle.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “So, they might care if I carry you through the city?”

  He sniffed, his silver eyes streaking through with bronze. “Good luck with that.”

  I smirked. “Mom and I already carried you from the zoo. I am very capable.”

  His glow shifted back to silver, and I flinched. Maybe that one had pushed too far. “Sorry,” I whispered.

  He stared at the ceiling. “Don’t be. You are correct.” The silver deepened. He dropped my hand and tried to shift. I nudged him a little, helping him turn onto his side, so he was looking toward the door and I couldn’t see his face.

  “Syrin,” I said softly. “You may not be able to walk right now, but you just saved my life upstairs. You’re not holy, but you are pretty amazing.”

  “The Light did that.”

  “The Light did not monitor my condition continuously for hours on end,” I said sharply. “That was you. I’m not even sure how you did that.”

  “Anyone would have done it,” he muttered.

  “Uh, no. Lots of people would not have done it. I’ll tell you about my evil manager, Darren, sometime. And honestly? With the amount of effort it took you, even if most people wanted to do it, they probably would have failed. You have a ridiculous amount of self-control.” I ran my hands through his hair again. “Practice makes perfect, I guess.”

  He was silent. For a second, I was worried, but I could still feel him breathing against my leg. Had he fallen asleep?

  “Syrin?”

  “Maybe,” he said, so softly I almost didn’t hear it.

  I rolled my eyes. “Mercy,” I muttered. “You’re ridiculous. Good thing I like you anyway.”

  My fingers traced through the auburn locks at his temple—long enough that I’d seen him brush it aside to keep it out of his eyes. Did he actually like his hair like this, or was it just this long because he’d been on the run for weeks? I’d never really asked. My other hand worked gently at the tense muscles in his shoulder.

  His glow steadied to a warm gold. I paused. Normally, this sort of thing would make people sleepier, right? Maybe I shouldn’t be massaging or—

  Silver started invading the gold, and my breath caught. I tried another light brush. The silver faded, gold blooming again. Was gold good or bad right now? Normally that was calm, and calm meant sleep. I kept my hands still, waiting. Testing.

  “Trina.”

  I froze, but he shifted his head slightly, almost like he was nudging my hand. I started the brushing again.

  “You know,” I whispered, “I’m starting to get used to the red. It’s kind of pretty, actually.”

  Syrin snorted. “Perfect. My enemies can study my pretty hair as they hunt me.”

  I gave him a tiny, playful shove.

  “It’s not as nice as yours, though,” Syrin said quietly.

  I froze. “Did you just… compliment me?”

  A huff. “Am I not supposed to?”

  “No. Before you just…”

  “I was a little afraid your father might order me drawn and quartered before now,” he said softly.

  I snorted. “But you’re not worried now, where he actually lives?”

  “He has plenty of other things to be angry about at this point,” Syrin said.

  True. Where even was Dad? He’d been headed to Ranabur. It seemed like it had something to do with the tower, so would he come back here?

  Would we even be here if he got back? It had been hours, but so much had already happened: the attack on the Light, the infection.

  I flinched as the darkness in me seemed to shift almost… stretching as I thought about it, but the cold didn’t return. Didn’t rush up. Just… waited.

  “Syrin?” I asked softly.

  He hummed, nudging my hand with his shoulder. I started massaging again.

  “Before you healed me… there was a sort of blue-silver light. I hadn’t seen it before, and the shadow…” My shoulders tightened. That cold feeling, the not knowing what was me and what was shadow. I shoved the memory aside.

  “The shadow what?” Syrin murmured.

  “Well, it wanted me to believe… bad things. About that color.”

  “Like?”

  “Like it was you judging me, or—“

  A laugh rumbled through Syrin.

  “How is that funny?” I asked sharply.

  His glow flickered silver, and the laughter stopped. “It isn’t exactly. It’s just blue-silver is…” He went quiet for a moment, fingers flexing against my tunic. “The Light arguing? Loudly. It often argues, but you might think of it as the Light being… uncomfortable. It doesn’t like when I force it into shapes it hasn’t taken before.“

  “So, when the Light is scared?” I asked.

  “Not exactly. When it’s nervous about new things. Or if I’m shoving power back at it, and it’s… annoyed. The Light isn’t good at knowing how much power is appropriate for a task. In its mind, the more the better. It’s basically a brawler when it needs to be a surgeon. I have to restrain it,” Syrin said with a sigh. “Often.”

  I pursed my lips. “But I’ve seen you restraining it before. Lots of times.”

  He chuckled. “You have. Just lately, the thing I’m restraining is the glow, so you see nothing.”

  I frowned. “But I didn’t see it when you were fighting with the Light just now.”

  Little lines of gold burst through the silver. I couldn’t see his face but was that like… a smile?

  “Was I glowing at all?” he asked softly, but his voice was warm, not accusatory, like he already knew the answer.

  I blinked. Actually… he hadn’t been. There had been tears and shaking, but… no glowing. “I… You’re always glowing, and that was— Why weren’t you glowing?”

  He huffed. “Because the Light wasn’t trying to flow through me. Not withholding exactly, just… focused elsewhere. Even when I demanded it focus on me instead of everyone else. Normally, we can work together, even if we disagree. That… that was all disagreement.”

  His relationship with the Light was different than I thought. I’d assumed it was just power that was hard to control or something, but the way he was talking sounded a lot more like a constant negotiation.

  My fingers continued in his hair, slowly. He’d said it was relational, maybe I just hadn’t connected it. A childlike being feeding him power that he argued with. That was—

  Syrin flinched suddenly, and I flinched with him. “The Light?” I asked.

  He just grunted. Yes, then. I was supposed to be talking. Supposed to be helping. When had his breathing evened out? Heavens, I just wanted to be somewhere that he could sleep, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

  And given what he’d just said… Syrin had been shaking earlier. Crying. That wasn’t just concentration. That was pain. “You said the Light loves you,” I whispered. “But it hurts you.”

  Syrin said nothing.

  Lights, how many times had he collapsed on me now? How many times had I seen him strained? “Often,” I added.

  He flinched before giving the tiniest of shrugs. “It’s not trying to. It just doesn’t understand pain. What it means to have a body.”

  I stiffened. Mercy. He didn’t even think it was a big deal, just accepted that like it was nothing. For a short second, I hated the Light. Maybe it didn’t understand, but it was hurting him. It had to see that, right?

  The door creaked, and I completely froze. Someone stepped in. Not Ivorin, a woman. I tried not to breathe. Syrin’s fingers curled tightly into my tunic, a minuscule sign of distress.

  The woman crossed to one of the flower pots that held something that looked almost like orchids and started muttering with her hands above the petals. Crap. Was she some sort of plant mage that took care of all these flowers? I glanced around. There were so many. If she had to do them all, that could take hours. And Syrin… we had to get him out. The Light would keep shocking him if we stayed here where he couldn’t sleep safely.

  The woman moved on to a new bush. A minute passed. Syrin jerked against me again. This time I could almost feel it, like the Light shoving him. Holding still like this, the silence, had to be making it worse.

  The pressure built again. That gradient inside me pressed, then vanished all at once as Syrin suddenly flinched.

  Wrong. That was wrong. Was this the infection? Why was I feeling the Light at all? Syrin wasn’t regulating me anymore. He’d just trapped it. Right? That’s what it felt like. So why did I feel the pressure?

  Another minute. Two more flowers. The pressure kept building until even I felt uncomfortable. I had to stop it, but I didn’t know how—

  Syrin flinched hard, foot bumping the couch, breath hitching. I didn’t even dare breathe as the woman turned, staring toward the couch.

  After a long, awful moment, she turned back to her work.

  I moved my hand slowly along Syrin’s side in irregular patterns, anything to keep him awake. Anything to keep that pressure back and keep the Light’s shocks at bay.

  The woman moved closer, and I wanted to scream. Could nothing go right today?

  My fingers tightened on Syrin’s tunic. I was all he had. Ivorin said if they found him, they’d likely kill him. Maybe the Light would react if we were desperate, but I didn’t trust the Light. Not really.

  The door opened again. I tensed, but it was Ivorin who strode in, scanning the room. The woman looked up at him. He inclined his head. “Kaldia, would you mind giving me a minute? It’s been a… difficult day. I just wish to pay my respects to my sister.”

  She nodded, expression gentle. “I can do one of the other rooms and come back.”

  “I’d be extremely grateful.”

  Ivorin wandered over to a patch of purple flowers, while Kaldia padded out. As soon as she was out of the room, I released my breath. Ivorin, though, waited five more seconds before shifting his demeanor. Maybe that was smart.

  But he didn’t come toward us. Instead, he stepped back out into the hall. My hand clenched tightly on Syrin’s arm. Then Ivorin returned moments later, pushing a wheeled chair.

  Thank the gods.

  Ivorin brought the chair around the couch and set the brakes with a practiced motion. He looked down at Syrin, grimacing for a moment before his expression smoothed again. “A stretcher is too difficult to maneuver without someone noticing.” He glanced between us before his eyes settled firmly on Syrin. “Can you sit?”

  Syrin swallowed. His glow wavered, then steadied into a thin line of silver. “I can—” He stopped himself, breath hitching once. “I can sit.”

  “We don’t have much time,” he said, gentle but firm. “Slow is fine. Quiet is better.”

  I slid across the couch, pushing his shoulder up under my leg and helping him upright. He trembled slightly but didn’t fall. After a moment, the shaking stopped. A faint glow emanated from Syrin’s collar, and a little vine of light snaked up his spine and into his hair. The brace he’d mentioned, perhaps?

  I slid one arm behind his shoulders and braced the other against the couch. Ivorin took the other side, efficient and unobtrusive, giving Syrin something solid to lean into without making a show of it. Syrin’s fingers tightened briefly in my sleeve, just enough to say now, and we moved together.

  It wasn’t graceful. His weight sagged halfway through, and for a terrifying second I thought he’d slip, but he found the seat with a quiet exhale, shoulders slumping as the chair took him. Relief loosened something in my chest I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, reflexively.

  “No,” I said, at the same time Ivorin said, “Sitting is a victory.”

  I knelt to fix the footrests, hands steady despite the tremor in my legs. Syrin watched the door, jaw tight, but when I straightened, his eyes were on me, expression strained and his glow silver threaded with white.

  Ivorin draped a cloak over his shoulders. “Head down. Hood up once you are out of the tower,” he said. “Leave the rest to me.”

  Then Ivorin looked to me. “Trina, you push. Try not to brush up against anyone; it disturbs the illusion.” He touched my shoulder lightly, and when I looked down, I was wearing the same sort of uniform I’d seen on Mom earlier, only the sash on this one was orange.

  I shot Ivorin a questioning look.

  “Healer’s assistant uniform. You’ll be easy to ignore. We’re headed to the ground floor. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Syrin has a burn on his left side. Most of the stretchers are in use, hence the chair. Got it?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Follow me.”

  I set my hands on the chair’s carved wooden handles, and the brakes released with a soft click.

  We were moving.

  Callie's Heroes by