Chapter 166

Lila

The forest closed in around us, a blur of dark trunks and shadowed undergrowth broken by Ronan’s pounding footsteps.

My body jostled with every stride, too limp to resist, my head lolling against the solid weight of his chest.

The air tasted like smoke even here, away from the palace, and each shallow breath scorched my throat raw.

Somewhere behind us, faint but unmistakable, came the distant echo of chaos: the panicked shouts of guards, the clang of bells, the low thunder of some part of it all collapsing in flames. The fire was still raging.

I tried to speak, but the sound caught in my chest and dissolved into a cough. Ronan shifted me higher in his arms, murmuring something low, too soft to catch.

His voice was steady, but his heartbeat thudded hard beneath my ear, betraying the urgency to get us farther away as quickly as possible.

The world swam in and out of focus. Branches reached like skeletal hands to block our path. The sky above was a gray-black smear, the moon a smudged coin behind thick clouds.

I wanted to ask about Emma and Damon. I wanted to beg Ronan to turn back. I wanted to beg him not to leave me, but my lips barely moved.

“Easy,” Ronan muttered when my fingers twitched weakly against his tunic. His breath was ragged, sweat slick along his neck where my fingers pressed. “We’re almost there.”

Almost where? The thought drifted through my mind before dissolving again.

The trees finally broke to reveal a squat building half-swallowed by vines and moss. An old outpost, its stone walls cracked and its roof sagging under years of neglect.

My head lolled to the side as he kicked the warped door open, hinges shrieking in protest. Dust puffed up into the night air, catching the thin glow of his lantern.

Inside it was damp and stale. The scent of mildew clung to everything, but it was shelter; shuttered windows, walls thick enough to muffle sound...

Ronan moved quickly, lowering me onto a cot wedged against the far wall. The mattress sagged, springs creaking under even my slight weight, but it was solid and safer than the palace I’d left behind.

The world tilted sideways when he let go of me. Cold pressed in immediately. I tried to reach for Ronan, but my arm barely lifted.

He knelt beside me, hands already moving with quick efficiency. A canteen tipped against my lips, and cool water slipped past the cracks. It hurt to swallow, but I did.

He wiped the sweat and ash from my face with a cloth that smelled faintly of herbs. His hands, callused soldier’s hands, trembled only once before steadying again.

“Stay with me,” he said, more command than plea, but softer than I’d ever heard him. His eyes flicked over me, checking for injuries; burns, shallow cuts, the fever-heat radiating off my skin.

His mouth pressed into a hard line as he dabbed salve on a scrape at my temple.

I blinked up at him, my vision swimming. His face came in and out of clarity: the rigid jaw, the smudge of soot across his cheek, the furrow carved deep between his brows.

I wanted to ask why he cared so much. I wanted to ask if Damon was safe. My lips shaped the first syllable, but no sound came.

“Don’t,” Ronan cut in, his voice quiet but firm. He must have read the question in my eyes. “Not now. You need to rest.”

I let my head fall back, eyelids heavy. My chest ached with every rise and fall. Somewhere in the fog of my mind, Ruby stirred faintly, but still too weak to answer me.

The cot dipped as Ronan sat beside me. He pulled the thin blanket over my body, tucking it close. For a fleeting second his hand lingered at my shoulder just long enough to steady me against the trembling that I couldn’t seem to stop.

The last thing I heard before sleep dragged me under was his voice, deep and confident: “You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

And then the dark took me.

When I woke, the first thing I felt was the cold. It clung to my skin, seeped into my bones.

My eyelids dragged open, heavy and stinging. The room swam into focus and I took in the cracked plaster on the ceiling above me, a shuttered window leaking a thin beam of moonlight, and the smell of damp earth and mildew clinging to everything.

For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was. The last memory was smoke choking my lungs, Ronan’s arms carrying me through a forest that wouldn’t stop spinning.

I sat up too fast, the movement plunging daggers through my throat. My chest seized with a cough, sharp and tearing, leaving me doubled over, gasping.

The door creaked open. Ronan stepped inside, shoulders filling the narrow frame. He carried a small bundle under one arm with cloth, herbs, and bandages.

His eyes went immediately to me, scanning and assessing, before softening.

“You shouldn’t be up.” His voice was roughened from the same smoke I’d inhaled.

I pressed a trembling hand against my chest, still fighting for breath. “Where…?” My voice cracked on the word.

“An outpost,” he answered. He set the bundle down on the rickety table beside the cot. “Old and abandoned. No one will look for us here, if they look at all.”

I nodded weakly, though the motion sent another dizzy wave through me. My head dropped back against the wall. My lips parted again, but this time the words made it out of me.

“Damon,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Is he…?”

Ronan’s hands, busy unfolding the clothes, stilled. His eyes flicked to mine, dark in the dim room. He took a thick pause, and it tore something jagged inside me.

“Tell me.” My voice broke, desperation sharpening the edges. “Is he alright? Did he—”

“I don’t know.” The answer came low, heavy. His jaw was tight, his tone clipped, but there was something else there too. Regret, guilt, and a heavy dose of sadness.

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping, though it scraped against the rawness in my throat. “You don’t know.” My eyes burned, and this time the sting had nothing to do with the smoke.

Ronan crouched at the edge of the cot, his weight balanced forward, arms resting on his knees. He didn’t reach for me, but his presence loomed steady. “Lila,” he said, softer now. “You have to focus on surviving. Asking about him? It won’t help you right now.”

My chest rose sharply, then fell. Surviving. That word rang hollow when I pictured Damon buried under stone and fire, his body crushed in the ruins, Zane’s howl echoing through a void I couldn’t feel anymore.

I dragged the blanket tighter around me, curling into myself, every part of me trembling. My body was fever-hot, but inside I was ice. “I can’t…” The whisper broke apart as soon as it left my lips.

“You can,” Ronan said firmly, like his voice alone could hold me upright. His eyes, sharp and unrelenting, pinned me in place.

“I’ll draw attention away from here, keep them from searching in the right direction. You stay put. Rest. Do not move from this room until I return.”

My fingers clenched in the fabric at my chest, twisting hard enough to hurt. “And if you don’t come back?”

His mouth tightened. For a second, the warrior’s mask slipped and something raw bled through. Ronan straightened, gathering himself. “I will,” he said simply. It was a promise.

Ronan adjusted the shutters on the window, making sure no light leaked out. He set a knife on the table within my reach before turning back to me. “I won’t be gone long. A couple of days at most. I need to get back and help look for your body.”

He offered a wry smile at that. And then he left, the door shutting with a soft scrape of wood on stone, his boots fading until the silence pressed heavily around me.

I curled tighter on the cot, pulling the blanket over my head, as if that could block out the world around me. My body burned with fever, every nerve raw.

I didn’t know whether to cling to the tentative hope that I was free or let it go so I wasn’t disappointed when I was dragged back to my gilded prison.

Was Damon alive? Was he mourning another ghost already?

I pressed my fist to my mouth, forcing the sobs down. Even alone, utterly hidden, I couldn’t let myself fall apart.

Not when I might need any strength I had left just to survive.