Erador took one look at Dethil’s ten cards on the table laying face up. Each one had a unique animal with a different colored border, representing an element. Dethil needed four more to complete his Warden Tower set to win—to open Paradise. Whereas Erador needed eleven.

  Dethil tapped his pinky ring on the table. It was decorated with a turquoise-colored stone and symbols were etched on the silver. Candles on the table brightened the nearby bookshelves. Erador wanted to escape to the darkest corner of the library, away from Dethil, who peered through the smoke like an undying flame. The smoky smell with sweet undertones expanded in Erador’s lungs. It fueled his irritation that burned like the end of the rolled brown leef Dethil set in the ashtray.

  Erador clenched his fist under the table and hid his face behind his cards. At least Shade was quiet during his games. He didn’t need another annoyance.

  The impatient tapping from Dethil’s ring changed to a slow nonrhythmic motion. When Erador looked over the cards again, Dethil’s distant gaze shifted to the ceiling, covered in animal paintings, to the center of the waterfall and grass.

  “Do you wonder what it would be like?” Dethil said.

  “What?” Erador said in a mocking tone. “Don’t tell me you mean Paradise?”

  Dethil twisted his pinky ring and turned sideways in his chair. Erador regretted his question. Dethil never seemed interested in Paradise and agreed it couldn’t be real. He thought they had that in common, but maybe Dethil was different. It didn’t help that he lost his mother. Guilt ruptured in Erador’s chest knowing Dethil didn’t trust him enough to tell him.

  “I didn’t mean…” Erador said.

  “It does seem impossible.” Dethil rested his elbow on top of the backrest. “And maybe it’s easier to accept that, but… part of me can’t. The thought of never seeing someone again…” He pressed over his heart, voice cracking, “is the worst feeling.”

  Erador set his cards down. It was hard to imagine having a parent who mattered that much. Dethil caressed the tattoo on his right arm of a coyote with its tail around a sunflower. It laid under a tree surrounded by bushes ripe with fruits. Some of Dethil’s tattoos were a memorial for his mother.

  “If there’s an afterlife, I’m sure she’s there, Deth,” Erador said.

  Nodding, Dethil wiped his nose and went back to touching the coyote. It was his mark, like Erador’s moth, but it had personal meaning that Judgment didn’t see. The tale of ‘The Coyote that Stole the Sun’ was from a Native Harian Nation, and their blood was in Dethil, passed down from his great grandmother. He didn’t appear to have any relation. His skin was white, not reddish-brown like Haven’s, and his short hair was like the color of roasted walnuts, not black. His features were unfitting. His doe-like eyes might’ve came from his mother but his nose was like his father’s.

  “I wonder if finding Paradise is like the tale,” Dethil said. “What if we unleash evil when we open it?”

  Dethil laid his arm on the table. The remainder of the tattoo was hidden under his sleeve and continued up his arm to his shoulder that spread onto his chest. Erador could envision it without looking. Above the greenery around the coyote were animal skeletons wrapped in thorns, and plants that had perished after the coyote stole the sun. When eternal darkness came, monsters, depicted as shadowy creatures on his arm, spawned and overtook the land. It was the result of greed. Maybe tales existed where opening Paradise would lead to repercussions, but Erador didn’t doubt his father hid it from his followers.

  “You make a point,” Erador said, trying to sound understanding, though he didn’t believe any of it.

  Dethil’s orange eyes were glossy in the firelight. “In the tale, the darkness becomes too large it eats the sun.”

  “It’s a tale, Dethil. No one’s eating the sun.”

  Dethil turned back toward the table, and gave a slight nod. “What about the shadows in the realm? We won’t be able to stop them if they come.”

  Erador held his cards tighter. Noticing he was curving the edges, he relaxed. “Where did you... hear that?”

  “In Elsgrith. If we keep accessing the Shadow Realm, they’re afraid it’s going to cause a tear between worlds.”

  “No.” Erador shook his head. “Shadows are the only way to go in and out. Lurkers lose the ability to travel worlds when they become whole.”

  “My mother said her people never went to the Shadow Realm because it’s dangerous. When the shadow separates from a person’s body, it doesn’t get to rest like other souls. It becomes evil.”

  Erador shifted through his cards restlessly trying to pretend he was ready to make a move. He couldn’t bring himself to respond, though Dethil’s eyes judged him. Erador didn’t want to argue. He was relieved when boots tapped across the floor and slid to a halt beside them. Palms pressed against the tabletop. Haven looked to each of them before speaking, seeming to notice the tense air.

  “Times up, Dethil,” she said. “You’re on duty.”

  Dethil nodded and rose from his chair, leaving his hand of cards on the table face up; a sign he didn’t want to continue this game later, not something he usually did. Erador’s lips dipped, but when Haven stared too long, he shifted his emotions.

  Erador gave a high whistle as Dethil left. “That was quite a game.”

  “You’re still playing Warden Tower?” Haven said, rolling her eyes. “It’s been eight hours.”

  Erador locked his hands behind his head. “It’s been that long?”

  “Yes. That’s when my shift started.”

  She plopped into the chair diagonal from him and kneaded her temples. Strands of black hair had come loose from her two braids. He wanted to raise her frown. She looked great, but telling her that would only earn him frustration. The elated feelings in his stomach were shut down when he didn’t know what to say.

  “Head aching again?” Erador said.

  Haven squinted at the candle holder on the table and shut her eyes. “It’s too bright.”

  “I can blow it out.”

  Shade split from the shadow, but Erador ignored his protests.

  “It’s fine.”

  Haven let her hands fall in her lap, and leaned back in her chair. Red spots were splattered across her brown jacket. His stomach dropped as Judgment’s wet cough echoed in his head.

  He furrowed his brow. “Rough day?”

  “I don’t think you want to hear.”

  Erador got up and massaged her shoulders. A hum of approval rumbled in her throat.

  “I can tell you how my day went,” he said.

  “Please, don’t,” Haven said, raising her hand. “I can already gather. You won a few, lost a few, and Dethil was cheating.”

  Erador chuckled. “You got that right.”

  “Well, my day wasn’t fun.” Haven nudged Erador off and sat up. “Lord Judgment wasn’t eating, he has two new sores, and he coughed up more blood than he has in a long time.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Erador moved to his chair and dropped in it. “Is he...”

  “Sescina helped him. He’s better… for now.”

  Erador let out a slow breath. Though Judgment was better, the burden he bared didn’t ease from his shoulders. Sometimes, it was hard to numb himself when his father was suffering.

  Haven placed a gentle hand on his knee. “I’m sorry.” Her eyebrows drew in. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “But he was improving.”

  “Now, he’s getting worse.” Erador leaned his elbow on the table. He cut the deck in half and shifted through the cards. The multi-colored border with the number ‘14’ on the corner caught his attention. Using his thumb, he pushed it up, revealing a bird with red, yellow, and black feathers standing on four legs. A strong, able bodied creature—this wasn’t his father anymore. He was less than a level 1 card. Too weak to be a warden and too weak to lead the Paradins. Erador tossed the deck down. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t waste time expecting a cure.”

  Haven frowned. “You don’t believe it’s real?”

  Erador’s gaze flicked up to her. “Of all the people who have a regeneration element, only this princess has healing blood? Even the Raven doesn’t have it. My father has done nothing but suffer for this. As much as I don’t...” His face dropped and he buried his head in his arm to hide the pain. “He would be better off dead.”

  “Even with a possible cure?”

  “It’s been twenty years, Haven.” Erador slammed his fist down. “How is that worth it? Who would want to hold onto life when they’re suffering that long?”

  Haven lifted her shoulders. “He believes this might be it.”

  “No, he’s afraid to die.” Erador got up. “He’s not in his right mind.”

  “Erador.” The chair scrapped as Haven stood. “That princess is impure. Why would Odinaty protect her?”

  “Because she has a regeneration element and she’s a princess!” Erador swept a pile of cards onto the floor. “Her healing blood is a rumor.”

  Haven shuffled toward him, rolling up her sleeve. “I don’t know about that.”

  “What?” Erador raised a brow. “You actually believe it?

  She picked a card from the table. “I think it’s worth trying. Yuni said she can get the spell.”

  “That witch isn’t here to help him. She’s…”

  “She’s what?”

  “Nothing.”

  Haven set the card down and looked at him in in disappointment but she didn’t press. She wouldn’t believe Yuni was here to hurt them.

  Erador picked up a card and tapped it on the table. “I wonder what that brooch is.”

  “The flame?” Haven shifted. “It could be a spirit,” she said quietly as if hoping Erador wouldn’t hear.

  She paused and looked him over as if waiting for him to respond back negatively. He couldn’t blame her when he shut those ideas down but he didn’t have the energy. For once he was glad he didn’t when Haven sat closer and relaxed her shoulders.

  “My people believe a person has more than one spirit.” She pulled an orbid crystal on a chain from under her shirt. It wasn't the typical cloudy color. It glowed a pale yellow as if it had some of her element inside. “We wear this to trap our element spirit when we die, so it won't possess the living. It needs time to rest before it can be passed on.”

  “You think she has a trapped spirit?”

  Haven raised her shoulders. “Our spirits don't look like a flame. Maybe she uses the brooch for something or just likes the look of it.”

  That’s what Erador wanted to believe. Yuni dressed like appearances mattered to her. Maybe the flame represented rank or status among witches but Erador still questioned it and everything Yuni said.

  Erador couldn’t blame Haven for being hopeful after Lucrethia had been struggling for so long but Yuni would be their end. He moved toward a shelf, acting as if he was interested in the books to avoid Haven’s hopeful stare. It’s all he saw on the followers’ faces since the rumor of a princess with healing blood reached Lucrethia. Everyone believed Judgment would have his rebirth. Erador knew better. His father wouldn’t be well again. He couldn’t be saved.

  He couldn’t share his theories about that witch. No one would believe him.

  Erador crossed his arms. He tensed as Haven’s hands slid around his middle and her head rested against his back. Her fingers dragged over the moth and sunflower. Goosebumps sprung on his arms and he had to draw in a hard breath. He wished she would stop teasing him. When she did things like this, he wasn’t sure how to feel about her.

  “Remember when you got your mark?” Haven whispered.

  Erador swallowed hard, letting his head drop. He fought the urge to push her away and hide the mark he didn’t want. “That was embarrassing.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “I cried... like a baby.”

  Haven popped her head around him. “You were scared and I know why.” She traced the round scars on his wrist. “This. What hurt you?”

  The high-pitched wails echoed in his head. Slen’s face twitched in his mind. Erador ripped away. “It was an accident. From a blade.”

  “No it wasn’t.” She moved around him and touched the marks on his tense jaw. “It’s here too.”

  “I got cut there too.”

  Haven leaned on her toes. “Was it... your father?”

  “No.” Erador’s gaze aimlessly moved across the book spins. “Why are you asking?”

  “These were there when you got your mark.” Haven placed her palm on his chest. “It still hurts you.”

  Erador rubbed his lips. “Is this why you stayed? To bother me about my scars?”

  “No. I—”

  “Bring up my father’s ailments? Tell me how bad he’s doing?”

  Haven dropped her arms. “You asked... and what do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t need to be reminded constantly of his condition. Did you think that’s why I play cards?” He picked a book from the shelf and shook it. “Why I read?”

  “You think I don’t want to escape this?” Haven said, lifting her arms.

  Erador gave her a hard stare. “Then why are you here?”

  “You know why I’m here, Erador. Why we’re all here. I vowed to be a Paradin and protect Lord Judgment.”

  “Most of them abandoned him.”

  She smiled weakly. “I haven’t.”

  His heart thumped at her caring gaze. The dark circles made her appear tired, but her eyes shined like polished gold. Erador bit his lower lip and reached in his pocket, twirling the candy in his sweaty hand. How stupid of him? She’d been here this whole time, after New Akthelia, after Judgment’s rapid aging, and with the town falling apart.

  “Thank you, Haven... for being here.”

  “I want to.” Haven rubbed his arm. “Lord Judgment has done so much for all of us. We’re family.”

  Erador broke eye contact. “Family.” He let go of the candy and fixed his collar. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “I... talked to Miraline.”

  Haven’s face lit with curiosity. “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t take it well.”

  “Really?” Haven let out a snort of laughter. “I wish I saw it. Good thing it’s over.” She patted his shoulder.

  Lips tucked in, Erador nodded. He shifted his weight onto one leg. His mind focused on the candy. Give it to her. It’s candy. It didn’t mean anything. His palms stayed glued to his thigh, and his mind pulsed with Shade encouraging him to act. Erador cursed him mentally and he stopped.

  Yawning, Haven slipped her hands in her jacket pockets. “I should get to bed.”

  The word good night wouldn’t leave his lips as Haven left. He leaned his arm against the shelf and hit his head on the books. Cursing, Erador kicked at the cards and slipped on one, catching himself on the table. He let himself drop to the floor. The cards were scattered like his emotions. He collected them into a pile, hoping to take his mind off Haven.