Callias didn't wake up.

For two days, Kain watched as the merman slept like the dead. He didn't stir with nightmares, nor did he twitch a finger. The only sign the gods had managed to save him was the slow rise and fall of his blanketed chest.

The task felt like the only thing holding him together. It was as if as long as Callias was breathing, Kain could, too. Afterall, to Melitta, her brother had been her life.

Occasionally, exhaustion would slip Kain's lids shut for the faintest second, before alarm would thrust him awake as he thought that, just maybe, Callias had moved.

It never happened.

Eventually, despite his wishes, Kain was forced back on a cot by Natia's insistent, soft whines. There, he passed out for an unknown length of time. When he woke, only the cotton-stuffed state of his head accompanied by the buzz of energy in his bones told him that the moon had likely drifted high into the sky. Had the entire day passed while he slept?

Soft gemlight illuminated the midnight hours of the infirmary with an almost bewitching glow. His hands sunk into the cot as he pushed himself into a seated position to study his dozing companions. Natia had curled up next to him, her muzzle over the top of the blanket covering his ankles. Mara and Rhode were nowhere in sight.

Callias hadn't moved.

"I think it has something to do with whatever it was the gods' pulled."

The tired, cranky voice drew Kain's gaze to where Isidor leaned against the wall near the infirmary exit, his frame outlined by the night's lingering shadows. Careful not to wake Natia, Kain shifted around on the cot so he could rest his back against the headboard.

"His continued sleep?" Kain asked.

The witch nodded. "The magic they pulled must have exhausted what little energy he had left. Not only is Callias a merfolk far from the ocean, but he brushed death and had gods playing with his soul. Waking will take time."

Kain grimaced. Time was one thing they didn't have in ample supply.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, too?" he asked instead of voicing his thoughts.

Isidor rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

Kain shook his head. He had expected the answer, but still, the lie was outlined clearly through Isidor's oddly gaunt features and darkened, gold tinged eyes. It was a color he typically only saw in witches when they were casting heavy magics.

"You're exhausted."

"I know my body best. I'm fine," Isidor retorted. "Besides, it is a healer's job to watch as the injured recover."

It clicked. Isidor wanted to see Callias wake up before he truly rested. Likely, he had slept during their initial parting--as the boy had been practically dead on his feet--but, since returning had been watching and waiting. There was nothing for Kain to argue if that were the case--he'd tried the exact same thing until Natia had guilted him into sleep.

"Besides, aren't there more important issues to deal with than me?" Isidor continued.

A mix of wariness and anticipation swept through Kain with the question. It simultaneously reinvigorated and eviscerated his seemingly hollow chest. Despite the hour, his heart felt like a festering wound, as if every inch of him had been scraped raw. The image of those final moments encircled his mind like a curse. Even now, his fingers felt sticky, as if despite how many times he'd washed them, they were still caked in warm blood.

Isidor was right, concern could wait.

"What did they find?"

The kid tilted his head back against the wall behind him. "As expected, the attack had to have come from behind the passage. Those on the wall saw no strangers amongst them and there were no holes in the goddess' shield before us."

Gods...there was no making the conversation easier, was there?

"The...blade was blue," Kain commented.

"A common choice when assassinating nobility," Isidor explained as he closed his eyes. Gold seemed to flick irritably around his fingers, illuminating the stress lines wrinkling his face. "At least, that's what the knights were saying."

It made sense. You couldn't revive someone who had been killed with venomblade. Yet, somehow, the realization made the pain in his chest worse.

Didn't this mean Kain had been their intended target? Had Melitta simply been in between them at the wrong moment? There was no point in using such a double-edged tool against one of the merfolk--you couldn't revive a gods' child in the same way you could a human.

The gold around the witch's fingers flared.

"It was meant for her. The guard measured the path out. They wanted to know if the assassin might still be lingering in the chance they missed their target. It is...unlikely The trajectory was off for them to have been aiming for you. And...we think we figured out the why, as well."

Silence fell between them, stretching until Kain felt like he might implode. "Well?"

Isidor sighed. The magic fell away as he grimaced and rubbed his face.

"There's a rumor," he explained. "Shortly after we arrived she...Melitta collapsed in the garden."

A memory flashed through Kain's mind. It felt like years ago that he'd lingered in the stairwell, eavesdropping on two noblewomen as they talked about how a foreigner had collapsed in the gardens. It hadn't been Mara?

"Natia was with her at the time. She managed to help her up and bring her back to our quarters, but it appears there were witnesses to the event. Given the pretense the two of you chose to don for the nobility during our stay, rumors spread. I don't imagine I need to say what kind."

He didn't.

Kain had made the same assumption about Mara when he had heard the news. No doubt, the nobility had thought Melitta could be pregnant. Every part of him wanted to quit the conversation then. He wanted to hide his head under the sheets until someone could tell him it had all been some sick joke.

Because...if the rumors had reached the assassins and that's why they had decided to target Melitta instead of him--that meant this truly was his fault. She had been killed not only for her connection to him, but because they thought she might be continuing the bloodline they were trying to end.

Unwilling--or rather, unable--to deal with that now, his mind seized onto another part of the conversation. "I never heard about her collapse."

The silent accusation in Kain's words was obvious. Isidor's story, when combined with everything that had happened that night, told him that whatever secret Melitta had been keeping from him, Isidor had been a part of it.

The witch dropped his hand from his face. He didn't open his eyes, however. Nor did he shift his body from the wall.

"She asked me not to tell."

The memory of Melitta's blue veined shoulder burned as Kain's fingers dug into the cot. "Did she ask you not to talk about the poison as well?"

Silence.

It was heavy and damning. Of course she had. The selfless, stubborn person she was, she wouldn't have wanted to worry everyone else. Even the timing was obvious.

"Ever since the wyvern?" he pressed. "That's when she was poisoned, wasn't it?"

Isidor released a quiet, heavy sigh. "I was asked to come along for a reason, Kain."

"Gods--"

The faintest, sharp gasp stole all function from his mind.

Before then, Kain hadn't realized how heavily attuned his sensitive ears had become to Callias' even breathing. For a second, he didn't dare breathe, less it kept him from picking up on another change.

Within that moment, however, Callias was already moving. His leg tented the blankets as he pushed his back to the head of the cot. His hand shoved his hair back from his face, revealing a heavy gaze that searched the room. The tension in Kain's frame must have been obvious, because even Natia shifted her head up as the merman's eyes seemed to sweep over each inch of the infirmary.

"Where is she."

There were no questions or demands in Callias' hoarse voice. Only a flat inflection that lacked even his usual thoughtful cadence. Kain drew in a strangled breath and twisted so he could drop his legs over the side of his cot. Magic sparked along Isidor's fingers, before crawling like strings along the length of his arms.

How were they--no, how was Kain supposed to do this?

It had to be him. He knew it had to be, but by the gods, he had no idea how to even begin the conversation. What did someone even say in this situation?

White-knuckled fingers curled tightly into the cot beneath him as Callias closed his eyes. His chest stilled. "The bond feels...different. Distant. So, I know she isn't here. Where is she?"

"She's..." Kain hesitated. "Someone hid in the passage to attack."

Because of me.

"You both fell at the same time."

She died.

"You've been unconscious for two, possibly three days."

I don't know how to tell you she's gone.

Callias' eyes didn't open. "This is the infirmary."

Kain opened his mouth. Before he could think of anything to say, the sound of cracking glass shocked the air. His eyes snapped to Isidor, but found no source. The witch was taut--magic still dancing across his skin--but, he wasn't breaking anything.

"If she and I collapsed together, she should be here."

There, Kain realized. A thin crack ran along the ceramic side of a pitcher. Water seeped through the thin lines, creating a pool atop a bedside table. He watched--mystified-- as the crack grew alongside the deepening desperation creeping into Callias' atypically heavy voice.

"Where is my sister?"

This was it, then. Kain pushed himself to his feet.

The truth was, there was no good way to do this. There was nothing he could say that would lessen the blow he had to deal. So, he sunk his nails into the thick of his palms and met Callias' eyes.

"It was an assassin. She--" His voice cracked alongside his heart. "The attack was poisoned and focused on her, Callias. She didn't make it."

The pitcher shattered.

Water drenched the table as Callias stared back at him, awareness and refusal intertwining in his eyes. Another cracking noise--this time out of Kain's line of sight--accompanied sudden, jerky movements as Callias threw his blankets back and stumbled to his feet. Kain didn't back away as his collar was grabbed to the echoes of splintering glass.

"I feel her."

Agony drenched every word, alongside impossibly entangled emotion.

Suddenly, they were twisting. The wall was at Kain's back as Callias pushed his free hand into the center of his chest.

"Right here. I can feel it. The bond is heavier, stronger than ever. She can't--Where is she?"

Kain raised a hand, folding it over Callias'. Thickness caked his throat--but he had to continue.

"I don't know what you're feeling--the gods'...they did something to keep you alive. You would have...she's gone, Callias. The gods took her b-body to the temples. I didn't think she'd want to rest here."

For a moment, denial lingered. It ran rampant in Callias' expression. Kain could almost hear his mind running wild, searching for something, anything that might disprove reality.

When he didn't find it, something broke.

It was an invisible, intangible thing. There were no words to describe it. Just, that the moment Callias seemed to realize that Melitta was no longer a part of them, that thing shattered.

The hand fell from his collar as Callias stumbled back. His fingers lingered in the air, before curling into a fist that fell at his side. Walls shuttered into place that Kain couldn't begin to consider how to remove--if he even had a right to.

Then, with hollow eyes, Callias fled.

He ran past Isidor and into the hall, disappearing into distant shadows. Every part of Kain screamed at him that it was his job to follow Callias, to make sure that whatever had broken wasn't vital, but he couldn't.

Instead, he let his trembling legs give in as he sank alongside the wall, eyes lingering on the numerous, shattered potions lining a far cabinet. A multitude of colors doused the old wood, each one feeling pale in comparison to the wildfire wreaking havoc in his gut.

Gods, everything was a mess.

"I'm going to go after him," Isidor said with a sigh. "He's likely headed to the temples to see it for himself and I don't think any of us--him especially--should be outside the palace on our own right now."

Kain nodded as he sank his hand into his hair, settling his temple against the inside of his wrist. A weight seemed to press in on him from all sides, threatening to bust him open like the pitcher. The door clicked amongst retreating footsteps.

His eyes burned.

In the solitary shadows, his mind had too much space to wander. It clung to the images constantly flashing through his thoughts. He could feel her lips. Hear her voice in his ears. See her smile.

Feel the blood on his fingers. The coldness of the blade. The stiffness of her body and the tears.

So many tears. What if he had pressed her about them? What if instead of answering his door, he had pulled Melitta closer and whipped the stains from her cheeks and promised to help her with whatever it was, as long as she told him.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

He couldn't cure nightmare poison. She would have died slower. They would have had to stop, because she wouldn't be able to move any further. Callias would have experienced her death differently, but in the end, they still would have had to hold him together as the world shattered into pieces.

But, gods if every fiber of his being wasn't wishing they could have those few moments more.

Eventually, as seconds turned into minutes and his wrist grew wet, Kain's thoughts grew darker still.

Sorrow twisted into something deeper in his gut. Something that had once been mostly unfamiliar to him, but was slowly growing easier to recognize--anger. A seething anger that threatened to scorch his insides with irreparable heat.

Because, in the end, despite the guilt clogging his veins, this wasn't his fault. It wasn't Isidor's or Mara's. It was the assassins.

Which meant, ultimately, it was Zuher's.

And for the first time in Kain's life, he was almost glad he was a prince. After all, a common sailor would find it difficult to poise their blade at the throat of an emperor.

But, a prince?

It was possible. 

A/N: Would you believe I rewrote this chapter four times, taking out scenes, adding new ones, introducing and removing characters, until it became this? 

Hope you enjoyed!