Page 159 of The Last Guardian

Lyra reached for my bedside table and, as expected, grabbed the book. She gently ran her fingers over the green cover. “I don’t think you heard the story while you were sleeping,” she said in a soft voice, watching me with brimming with tears. “Would you like me to read it to you again?”

My heart filled with waves of warmth as I gave her a nod. I rested my head on her shoulder, listening to her story.

I thanked the fates, the gods, the stars, or whatever force had brought her into my life, here, with me. My heart swelled with love and gratitude. To be able to love, to care, and to share it with people who felt the same way.

Who would cry over you if you ever get sad, sick, or injured, and who would love you no matter how you see yourself in the mirror? What a beautiful thing it was to have so much to lose after all.

THE PAST FEW days had been challenging. As a child, I never liked being forced to spend long periods in bed because of illness. Every time it happened, I had to find a way to occupy myself, whether by exploring the gardens, reading in the library, or helping the maids in the kitchen.

On particularly restless days, I’d even manage to sneak out of the palace and make my way to Lyra’s house, with reproaches from her mother for having walked all that way in whatever state I was in.

Each time, she’d let me stay.

But right now, I didn’t have a choice. I needed to tolerate the discomfort of being in bed, and it wasn’t due to external pressure. No, it was just the agony of my injuries.

And I needed to get better before Myrh—tomorrow, we would reach the island.

Solasta was right: the wounds were deep.

For two whole days, I required assistance moving between the bedroom and the bathroom, with either Lyra or the healer helping me. After two days of rest, I was finally able to move around on my own.

It was pleasant, even though the pain was still there once the potion wore off. At least I could freshen up and take care of myself.

Dorian and Lyra came as much as possible to keep me company. But today, Nef arrived first, bringing me breakfast, just like when I had first boarded the ship many weeks ago. The tray was piled high with delicious treats: assorted fruits, plenty of bread, pancakes, and even a chocolate cake and hot chocolate.

“It’s so good!” I moaned, savoring every bite. “I haven’t eaten chocolate since I left Lorath.”

Nefeli giggled, nibbling at a strawberry, pushing back her long black hair that cascaded over her dark leather. “As my hiltra used to say, a full belly is the joy of walking,” Nefeli said mischievously, making me smile.

“What’s a hiltra?” I asked.

“Hiltra,” Nef repeated, rolling her R for pronunciation. “It’s ‘grandmother’ in the old tongue. We use the common language to speak, as you’ve already noticed, but we still use the old language to call our relatives. Traditions and all that…”

I repeated the name, trying hard to roll the R, but I only managed to make Nef laugh. No wonder Zaid was so amused the few times I’d said their words.

“And what do you call the other members of the family?”

“Tissah for the mother, yheri for the father, kuh’ri and suh’ra for brother and sister. Dreki for the grandfather. Zherg or zherga for uncle or aunt. And that’s all.” Nefeli bit into another piece of fruit. “Oh, and of course, ashae,” she added with a mischievous smile, “for your special one.”

“What does it mean?” I asked, licking the chocolate on my fingers.

“It depends,” Nef murmured, her eyes flickering with something dark and playful. “If it’s just for asking them to do the laundry or cook dinner, it’s harmless. Like saying, ‘my dream,’ ‘my heart,’ ‘my love.’ But on certain… wilder, hotter nights…”

“What? What does it mean then?”

She raised her eyebrow. “Mine.” Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You don’t say this word lightly. In our tradition, this word is quite an aphrodisiac. Mostly for men.”

I gave her a flat look and went back to my cake, trying to change the subject. “So, how are things going around here?”

Nefeli sighed, pulling back in her chair. “Since the attack, the sea has been calm. Unfortunately, we lost a few members. It always sucks,” Nef replied, avoiding my gaze. I could see her eyes welling up with tears, even though she wasn’t looking at me. Lyra told me Sam had been injured that night. One of the Dead Nymphs had bitten him in the neck. He’d been lucky enough not to have the poison injected in his veins because Nefeli had killed the monster in time. Now, he was getting better.

“I saw you that night,” I whispered, trying to erase the emotion welling up in her gaze, “using your power.”

Nefeli’s face shifted entirely—the warm smile always playing on her lips was gone. The tears that always threatened to fall on her cheeks were gone. The woman, the most alive of all, had not a single emotion crossing her face. Her blue eyes—so bright and sparkling usually—turned off. Nefeli swallowed, her chest rising and falling, “Silvershade,” she whispered, as if it were a plague.

I looked at her, but… nothing.

Nefeli looked in the void and spoke in a cold, dark tone. “It’s the worst thing someone could wield.”