The waiting room was Jasper's personal idea of hell.

He'd ridden to Triad as fast as he could, arriving in the capital by the time the sun set and only pausing to send Alexus a note explaining what had happened and expressing his deepest condolences for his loss. Travelling that much distance in so short a time was a feat usually far beyond a human's reach, but terror had wiped away all pain and limitations. His legs were stiff, numerous scratches raked down him, the riding having torn his thighs to shreds. If he'd bothered to think about anything but Myra during the trip and his hour in the waiting room, he'd have noted his utter exhaustion and burning pain.

He didn't care.

After everything, he didn't think he could bear it if she died now. He would follow her into whatever void came next. It didn't scare him anymore. Not when a life without her was infinitely more dark and all-consuming. His immortality, once a savoured blessing and a representation of the life they'd get to live together, felt like a curse. What was the point of living forever without hearing her wild and barking laugh or seeing joy light up her ocean-blue eyes ever again? What was the point of living if his wife didn't live with him?

Wife. He still marvelled at the word. It still felt strange on his lips and didn't even

begin to describe what was between them. Best friends, Name-Holders, partners,

lovers, anchors, life rafts. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Please, please no.

"Is Myra okay?" He asked one of the nurses, an hour or so since he last interrogated him, knowing how desperate he must appear.

"We think she'll pull through, but...we still don't know what the poison was. We don't have the antidote. If we don't get it into her system soon..." the nurse didn't finish, but Jasper knew how the sentence ended. Despair and panic flared inside him, but he shoved them both down.

The nurse—an elf he noted, glimpsing his sharpened ears—looked down at him sympathetically.

"They didn't think it was Julian," he said carefully. "But they're in the dark about who it might be."

"You know about Julian," Jasper blurted.

"We hear things," the man shrugged. "The others who came to see her suggested someone else—Diaz?" Jasper shivered. The name still brought back memories of that horrible, fateful day when Diaz had stabbed him and tried to kill Myra. It should have been a beautiful moment—the day he told Myra he loved her, the day they'd kissed for the first time—but it was twisted with the memory of the hateful general.

"Can I see Myra yet?" He asked hopefully, but a touch of fear soured his voice.

"I'll consult with the doctors," the nurse replied uncertainly. Jasper nodded, disappointed but understanding. He had quickly learned that 'I'll consult with the doctors' was code for 'she's too fragile to be disturbed.'

He let his thoughts drift to increasingly unpleasant places as he watched the time tick by agonisingly slowly, as though death was counting down the seconds she had left.

The realisation that someone had managed to poison Myra didn't sink in, partly because he hadn't let it, not with his worries for her already occupying his mind.

Suns, the very thought of her dying ripped deep claws into his heart. What was life without her? For two years, his existence—for it had been little more than an existence—had been nothing but an endless abyss of grief, pain and self-hatred. She had pulled him out and held him up whenever he threatened to dive back into that again. If she wasn't there anymore, he knew he'd fall back in.

No, he promised himself. As much as the thought pained him, he knew he

would have to keep going if Myra died. But maybe one day, one day...he would join her again. That was the only thing that kept him strong.

"Jasper?" A valkyrie nurse called, sounding uncertain of what to call him. Most valkyries had been; on one hand, he was the husband of their War Queen, on the other, he was a human with no official title.

"Yes?" He answered, throat dry and cracked from hours of not drinking. Burn it, he hadn't even noticed that before, so complete was his focus on Myra.

The nurse took in red eyes and puffy cheeks, the very things he'd seen in Alexus yesterday. Could it have been yesterday? It felt like eternity had passed since then. Another eternity seemed to pass between his next words.

"You can see her now,"

"Is she going to be okay?" He was pleading with her as though those pleas might summon forth the words he longed to hear.

"She's going to pull through. We don't know how...a few moments ago she was on the edge of death, but...she's recovering." the nurse answered. At those words—those simple, but infinitely precious, words, he collapsed, falling to his knees. He hadn't realised how much fear and despair and pain had curled up inside him until it flooded out, the chains he put on it released. What on earth could he have done without her?

A great weight and tension fell off him like a cloak of iron slipping off his shoulders. She was okay. Myra was going to be okay.

The nurse led him through the hospital corridors. Such sadness lay here, in sharp contrast with the bubbling joy inside him. As he made it to Myra's door, he took a deep breath.

He opened the door to see Myra lying on a hospital bed. Doctors, elfin, human and valkyrian, surrounded her but backed away as he entered.

Jasper sat down beside the bed, careful not to touch or sit on her. Myra rolled her eyes at such caution.

"She almost died," one of the doctors began. "The only reason she didn't is because someone served the antidote with the poison."

"What?" Jasper blurted. "Why would someone..."

"To scare us. To weaken me." Myra shrugged. "The antidote is slow-working. It only started to function when I was on the edge of death. Someone knew exactly how much my war-gift would help. Exactly what sort of care I'd receive. We don't even know what the poison was."

This was just a message. It wasn't even a real attempt at Myra's life. The thought chilled him to the bone.

If these people hadn't given her the antidote for whatever reason of their own...Myra would be dead. He'd come that close to losing her.

She was still trembling, still weak. Multiple buckets sat near the hospital bed. Her skin had gone nearly translucent.

"Who was it?" Jasper asked. "Juli—" He stopped himself just in time.

"We don't know. Not..." Myra gestured for the doctors to leave, and

they reluctantly exited.

"Not Julian." She finished. "Elves don't work this way; they have far better methods of killing someone than poison. Maybe Diaz, but I doubt it. Poison isn't her style either."

"So we have a third enemy?" Jasper asked.

"Possibly." Myra answered. Her fingers started shaking uncontrollably.

"Myra," he said, worry filling his face.

"Don't worry. It happens from time to time. I might be in here for a week or so, Jasp."

"Burning suns," he swore. "Don't you ever do that to me again, Myra. I can face

Julian and Diaz and the witches themselves, just...don't make me do it without

you."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jasp." She promised, holding his hand tightly.

It was then he realised what forever meant, just as he had been about to lose it. How much these centuries—Lysandra's greatest gift to him—meant.

And as the full horror of the day sunk in, Jasper began to cry.