We spend the days in his room, quietly poring over magic books. Aster dictates notes alternatingly to me and Ollem. I don't understand the theory well to begin with, but as evenings approach and weariness overtakes him, the notes become more and more amorphous. Every night, Ollem or I have to suggest we put up for the day. He used to argue with us. He doesn't anymore.

In my dreams, silver lights chase me, but in the daylight, Vihnzeirre refuses to appear except by the fæn command. In that form, she's never as strong and never gives me what I really want. Sure, I can teleport a book across the room before crashing in bed—but I can't heal Aster, I can't talk to Sean, I can't even see the Retrans, who left the day after the engagement. I wonder if Shava hates me now, if she thinks I'm dishonoring Riszev's memory. They didn't come to see me, though I was sure Shava would demand Riszev's things back. They just left, giving no more thought to the servant who'd spurned them.

We worry for a few days if their army will still come. But true to their word, the castle receives a letter from the northerly Laq'duví that the Retrans arrived, the Kadranian army fleeing toward Riletta's lands at the sight of them. Apparently the Retrans are in pursuit, and the army from southern Agrí is finally marching north to help.

Riszev's people lost their prize and still kept their oath. I wonder if the Morineause would be as honorable in the same situation.

The hole in my chest widens as I stare up at the canopy of my new bed. It's wide, soft, and warm, but for some reason, I have a harder time sleeping here than I ever did in the infirmary. I still haven't unpacked. Servants brought over what little I had, but I just had them set it on the bed, and when they left, I stuck everything underneath again. Nothing felt settled enough to settle in.

Tonight, though, in this place I've refused to make my own, I wonder what I'm waiting on. The war to be over? We broke the siege. Aster's... fate to be known? I'll belong here less, not more, if something happens to him. I am here now. Riszev might not be, and Aster might not be soon, but I am. My eyes blur.

Tossing back the comforter, I rise and drag everything out from under the bed. All my things lie scattered on the floor, and one by one, I pick them up and find them homes. My lab coat I hang in the wardrobe, right alongside my new dresses. My flicker and vials, magnicrystals and hematester all go on the mantle, relics to display of another life. My fingers brush the cover of the dictionary Jacin gave me, and my stomach twists sharply. Part of me wants to hide it away, but instead, I give it the first place on my new bookshelf. Riszev's coat hangs on the rack by the door, her dagger and my hairbrush on the bedside table. The wyrds, I tuck inside my storybook and slip under my pillow before climbing back into bed.

Warmth spreads through my chest. Nothing is settled, but nothing ever is. For now, I have a place. For now, I am safe. For now, I am at home.

Sleep finds me easily. Just like every morning, though, when I wake up, I wonder if Aster has. He keeps telling me I ought to be spending time with the courtiers, cementing my place in the castle, but I decline what few requests I get.

I'd rather spend what time he has left together.

When I arrive at his room in the morning, Ollem lets me in. "He's still asleep, Consort."

I nod, settling onto the couch. "I'll be quiet."

"I'm afraid it might not matter if you weren't. He's not a light sleeper these days." As he shuts the door, almost to himself, he whispers, "Doctor says it won't be long now."

My lungs press in on themselves, and I turn away, searching for something to let me breathe again. Aster's books and notes lie splayed over the tea table. I wonder if these will be the last things we have to remember him by. If the worst happens, I remind myself to add, but still, my lungs catch. I've tried to find a pattern in them, some sense of clear direction, but our search only ever seems to broaden. We're no closer to a solution now than we were a week ago. My hand clutches my necklace, but the cold metal feels flimsy. I drop the charm to readjust the pins in my hair, and my fingers linger over the smooth, solid silver. My heartache deepens like a rift in a quake, but my lungs finally relax, and I force myself to breathe.

Ollem quietly makes small talk, and I join him with all the warmth I can muster. We sit in front of a dying fire, but I think we're both glad not to be sitting in front of it alone. I don't know what he'll do when this is over, but I intend to use what Aster gave me to make sure he does it comfortably.

In the hearth, the fire gutters, and Ollem jumps to revive it.

"Wait!"

Ollem looks over at me quizzically, and I fold my hands to hide their trembling. I swallow to wet my suddenly dry throat. "Leave it, please. I'd like to see—" I force my words to level. "I'd like to see if it lasts on its own."

He still looks confused, but slowly nods and returns to his seat. I watch the flames with a quiet tension. They smolder for a long, long time, but they never catch a second light. When they die completely, Ollem rakes out the ashes to start another. I look away.

Not long later, he leaves for our lunches. As I wait, I rise and wander to the bookshelf. Pulling the Lexis for the Star Prince off the shelf, I thumb through its pages.

You were supposed to save us, you know. You had something important for us to do.

My throat tightens. As usual, Aster was right. It really is just a book for children. I return it to its shelf.

As it slips into place, a thud sounds in the other room. I whirl. "Aster?"

"Get paper!"

I dash to his door and throw it open. His feet are tangled beneath him as he struggles to push up from the floor. I hurry to pull him up, and his cold fingers dig into my forearm. Frenzy fills his eyes. "I know what I need to do."

"Aster, don't you need to sit—"

"Go get pen and paper." He lets go of my arms, dropping back onto the bed.

"Aster—"

"Now, Leavi!"

The look in his eyes scares me, but I scramble to the front room and snatch up the writing materials. As soon as I'm in the bedroom, he starts dictating to me. "Dimensionalism. Open up one, a portal—not a portal, but a rift; unlock one of the doors in the Void. Use the mekyri mei spell, like Solus, but twist it—we want the ending, to pull without putting something in first. Twist it with the, the—" His hand taps on his leg, teeth clenched. "Stars."

"Aster, what are you talking about?"

He growls. "We're stealing magic from another dimension to heal me." Using the bedpost, he pulls himself to his feet.

"Okay. Just, sit back down. I'll take the notes—"

"I don't know how to explain it. I just know it, Leavi. Right now, I know how to do this."

Terrified he's in some sort of fevered haze, I simply stare at him clinging to the bedpost.

"Please, Leavi. I can't do this without your help."

Hope. Beneath the fear, the pain, the sickness, there's real hope on his face for the first time in a week. Against my better sense, I step forward and slip his arm around my neck. "What do we do?"

"I need somewhere to work—draw a diagram. And my cloak. There's a box under my bed—that too."

I help him into the living room so he can settle on the floor, then shove the dining table out of his way.

"Chalk," he says.

I hurry to pull his cloak off the hook it's hung on for a week. "The chalk's in here, right?"

"Second right pocket."

I dig through and drop it and the cloak by him as I go to retrieve his box. From the other room, he curses. I snag the box and hurry back. "What is it?"

"We need to move." The first lines of a diagram mark the floor, unfinished.

"Where? Why?"

His expression twists. "This place isn't built to contain a spell like this."

I help him to his feet, brow drawn. "Contain it?"

"Grab the things. I need in my Training Room." I glance at him worriedly, but his grim expression brooks no argument. Making it to the door, I leave him leaning there and scoop up the box and cloak. We struggle through the corridors, my arm around his thin waist, his breaths heavy as he gives the occasional direction. He leans against the wall as I fumble in his cloak for the key to his room.

We push into darkness. "Torch," he says. "On the wall. Flint in my cloak."

I settle him to the ground and quickly light it. Immediately, he starts drawing his diagram again. His hand shakes, but his lines are surprisingly smooth. I stand there, each scratch of the chalk ratcheting up my nerves.

"What can I—"

"Hush." The chalk rakes across the stone in elaborate patterns, and I begin to see why he couldn't describe it. Lines wrap and double back on themselves in such a way it somehow makes the flat diagram feel like staring down into a bowl.

"Large crystal. In box." As he writes, his hand flourishes with an energy I haven't seen in days.

I kneel to dig through the box—bags of powder, vials of oil, bars of blackwood, a casting knife. I pull out a pouch of clear stones. "These?"

He glances over, scowling. "It's the size of my hand. No."

I can't have missed something that large. "There's no crystal like that here."

"Yes, there is!"

Desperate, I pull everything out one by one until the box is empty. Shadows cavort as if laughing at us. "It's not here, Aster." I draw his cloak into my lap, searching through its many pockets.

"We need—" He cuts off, and I look over at him startled. His hand is frozen.

"Aster?"

"I dropped it. In here, I fell, after I found—"

"Where, Aster?"

He points across the room, and I scramble up, searching for a clear stone. It's not at the wall of cabinets, and I turn about, scouring the floor.

"Found it!" It's there, a few feet away from the wall, as if it rolled when it fell. I scoop it up, thumb catching on a tiny fracture in its smooth surface. Careful not to smudge his drawing, I hand it to him.

He sets it in a loop of chalk before him, connected by a channel to the circle he sits in. "Powder."

I drop a bag into his hand, and he fumbles to open the drawstring. His eyes cut over to me. "Leave." Shocked, I freeze instead. The bag opens, and he glances at me again. "I mean it, Leavi. Go!" I take a hesitant step toward the back wall. Skies know I'm not leaving him here alone like this.

He's not paying attention to me anymore, though, eyes studying his diagram. He takes a shaky breath and throws a fistful of green dust into the air. "Mekyri!"

His trembling voice grows in strength as he incants, hands weaving in the air before him. The air buzzes, and a sparking line of pale light grows between his hands. I step back again as blue fire flies off it. Embers catch on his sleeves and burn holes. He calls out, nose bleeding, and shoves his hands forward.

The line of light leaves him and locks in over the crystal. A black maw tears into the middle of the light, revealing the soul-chilling darkness of the anti-world.

In a mesmerizing, terrible way, it's beautiful.

I wrench my gaze away. Aster's hands swirl like a musician plucking strings of air. The buzz in the atmosphere rises and falls like a melody, and a white glow builds in the heart of the crystal, bright and hopeful.

The buzz climbs to a crescendo, Aster incanting underneath it. The light in the crystal wavers, and then grows larger, stronger.

Spidery cracks splinter the crystal's surface. My breath catches. The buzz reaches a fever pitch, and the glow blazes like a fire out of control. Its white light escapes the crystal and burns down the channel toward Aster. The warning I want to shout sticks in my throat. The chalk evaporates everywhere the fire touches, and Aster gestures frantically. The white flames pay him no heed, though, spreading across his diagram like some beast that feeds on chalk. Horror roots me to the ground as the air shrieks, and Aster throws his arms in front of his face.

The rift collapses in on itself, and the crystal explodes.

White light bursts across the room with a spray of sparkling dust. Invigoration washes over me only to drop away, leaving me cold and empty. I gasp. Across the room, Aster collapses, dark blood pouring from his nose.

I scramble to his side. "Aster?"

Weakly, his eyes flicker open. His fingers twitch toward me, and I hasten to take his cold hand. "Leavi..." His voice barely reaches my ears, and I lean closer, grip tightening.

"I'm here." My heart shivers in my chest. "I'm here."

The corner of his lip quivers up. His fingers tighten, just slightly, and hope flutters in my stomach.

Then his hand falls slack.

Eyes closed, he looks at peace for the first time since I've met him. I tremble, fingers brushing against his face. "Aster?"

My vision blurs and twists, turning the world into a fracturing kaleidoscope. "Aster?" I press my ear against his chest, but there is no sound—no hiss of air, no heartbeat. His skeletal frame is hollow, sucked dry of everything that made him warm and real and true. I jerk away.

"No." My voice cracks. "No." After everything he's sacrificed, everything he's lived through, everything he's tried... "This wasn't how it was supposed to end."

A sob wracks my chest, and my tears drop onto his face. They roll over his cheeks and slip away, splashing against the cold stone.

Losing Sean was my fault, but this is the universe's fault. Don't blame him for what he can't control. Bring him back, Vihn. I clutch his bony hand, horrified at its mockery and desperate for something of him to still be there. Don't take him.

She's silent inside, and anger grips me like a fiery hand. "No." My head shakes violently. "No, you're not abandoning me this time. You don't just get to decide when to show up and when to leave. You're going to bring him back." I shove to my feet, hands twisting in the air. "Fæn!"

Silver shoots through me, and my head tips back. Vihn's magic warms me like the hearth and burns me like the blaze. She knows what I want, and she will give it to me. We are not dust motes, random and powerless, blown wherever by the breeze. We are not snakes. We are warriors, wise enough to seek the light, but always, always fighting the darkness. I pour all the strength of my will, all the heartache, all my desperation and determination into one command: Bring him back!

The air pops, and I crumple, the silver disappearing but hope high in my throat.

"Leavi?"

Weakly, I look over, but Aster's body hasn't moved. And that wasn't Aster's voice.

"I never should've left Niv." The words shake, and my blurry eyes lift up.

There, with a dust-covered trench coat, a dozen pockets of chains, and a heavy backpack, trembles a boy who's supposed to be thousands of miles away.

"Sean."