"I found the source of the smell," Murtagh declared, stomping into the library where they had been camping for the last few days. They had both agreed that it would be too strange to use either of his parents' bedrooms, and the library was easily the nicest room that hadn't been waylaid by the years of neglect. Which was truly fortunate, considering the state of other parts of the house.

"You did?" Hal asked, leaning over the balcony on the second floor.

Murtagh glanced up to where she was and nodded. "Part of the basement is flooded. There's an infestation of mold growing in the old servant quarters."

Hal, who had been making her way back to the ornate spiral staircase beside the fireplace, paused with alarm. "Mold?! How bad is it? Can it be salvaged?"

"I think it'll be fine," he assured. "It'll take more work to repair the full extent of the damage, but I did what I could for now. Hopefully the smell will clear out in a few hours." He looked over and jerked his chin towards the ever-growing stack of books in front of the fireplace. "How about you? Any luck?"

"No, nothing." She came to stand beside him, shaking her head. "Perhaps starting in the library was too big a task. I've sorted nearly two hundred books already, and Morzan collected everything from works on the history of Alagaësia, elves, dwarves, agriculture, dragon lore, you name it. And some in other languages I don't even recognize. I would be impressed if I wasn't actually looking for something of use."

"You're a little impressed," Murtagh said with a knowing smile.

Hal shot him a disbelieving look. "I'm a lot impressed, rider, I just don't want to admit it."

His grin widened and Hal couldn't help but chuckle. With a sigh, Murtagh crossed his arms over his chest. "Although, you do have a point. Perhaps the library is the wrong place to start."

"Then where? This estate is massive, it could take us weeks to comb through every corner. And that's just assuming there aren't any further spells or enchantments that are keeping things hidden from us."

He shook his head, stumped. "I don't know."

Something in the way he avoided her gaze moved her to concern. Hal immediately felt guilty, not meaning to put him on the spot the way she had. Of course, he wouldn't know if Morzan had any information on Shades or her and Thea's strange use of magic. And it had been Hal who had suggested they search the estate for anything — be it information, equipment, or other such materials — that they could use. But sometime between then and now, she wondered if Murtagh had dared to hope.

Before she could suggest a break or anything to take his mind off their current predicament, his expression shifted and he stated in a firm voice, "Morzan's study. He had one on the second floor, no one but my mother was allowed inside. He didn't even have servants come in to clean it. We'll start there. If anything is bound to be of use to us, it'll be in that room."

He turned on his heel, his determination admirable. But Hal lunged forward and grabbed his hand. "That office isn't going anywhere anytime soon. We can search later. Until then, we'll continue to sort through these books here. We have to make room if you were serious about my sketchbooks fitting on these shelves. I doubt you've forgotten just how many I have."

She shot him a coy wink, and his gracious smile in return was truly worthwhile.

Over the next few days, Hal had gotten a bit carried away with the "purification" — her words — process of cleaning up the estate. What had started out as a genuine attempt to make the place somewhat decent if they were going to be camping in it for the foreseeable future, had become a bit of an obsessive hunt for the maddest thing she could find that had been left behind, regardless of whether or not it could be of use.

As Murtagh worked to untangle his father's spells, Hal realized with awe that the place was not as bland and empty as she had been led to believe. Even Murtagh was a bit taken back as shielding spells were taken down, revealing ornately decorated rooms, gold trimmings, ivory walls, and pure silver utensils. Items that could potentially be thieved, assuming someone would have even made it this far to begin with.

In their searches, they found paperwork dating back to Galbatorix's rise and Morzan's ultimate demise. Letters ferried between ranked officials, ledgers balancing the worth of Morzan's estate (Hal had no concept of money, but Murtagh had spit out his tea at the amount), and more. Murtagh pored over these documents as though looking for something. But he must not have been able to find it yet, because much of the material ended up as fodder for the fire.

One day, Hal was flipping through the books in Morzan's primary study after Murtagh was successfully able to remove the numerous wards locking them out. He was lounging in the old chair in front of a cherry wood desk, carefully stained and preserved to maintain the richness of the color. He had his fore- and middle-finger pressed to his temple, his eyes going over yet another stack of papers. Hal knew he was combing through Morzan's items, still hopeful that they might find something of use. But with each passing day, they were running out of goods, spending more and more hours making progress on clearing out the estate rather than actually finding any helpful information.

Hal shoved a book on the theory of elven magic back on the shelf where she found it. She yanked off the next item on the shelf, frowning when she saw no titles or attributions on the cover. That wasn't uncommon, but it did make it increasingly difficult to categorize, especially since she didn't have time to read the books cover-to-cover to understand their contents. She flipped to the first page, then the second, and onward, her confusion growing. There was no text at all, not even images had been sketched. Perhaps it was meant to be used as a journal?

Just as Hal put it back on the shelf, she suddenly felt overcome with emotions that did not feel like her own, and yet they were: grief, regret, fear, and desperation. She dropped her hand from the spine of the book and the overwhelming strength of the emotions vanished, leaving her only with what remained of hers. Shaking her head of the strange unease, she moved on to the next book. But every so often, her gaze would wander back to the spine of the not-yet-used journal, drawn to it by something that felt stronger than curiosity.

Hal was growing increasingly frustrated with her own lack of progress when something told her to reach back for the blank book. Like it was calling to her. Despite logic telling her not to, Hal found herself plucking it back off the shelf. And she withheld a sharp inhale of surprise when she flipped open the first page of the book to find words neatly scrawled inside. But it was not just the fact that words had suddenly appeared where they had not been there before. It was what had been inscribed too:

Property of Selena.

Stunned, Hal flipped through the inked in pages, seeing that it was indeed a journal. A diary, in fact. And clearly there had been some kind of basic protection spell on it that had kept Hal from seeing the writings at first. But why reveal itself to her at all? Surely this is something Selena — if Hal were to truly believe this was hers — would want to keep utterly private. And why was it on Morzan's shelves in his study of all places?

"Have you found something?"

She snapped the journal shut in surprise at the sudden question from Murtagh. He was gazing over at her curiously, waiting for her response. And Hal was not inclined to admit that she may have found his dead mother's diary. Especially not after the time he'd spent since they arrived trying to make peace with what he believed was his mother's indifference. Not knowing what lay inside this book, she could not, in good conscious, tell him.

She shook her head, putting the journal back on the shelf. "No, unfortunately not," she answered smoothly, hating herself for the blatant lie. Her first lie, that she could recall, to Murtagh. "But I will keep looking."

"Actually," Murtagh said, setting down the paper in his hand, "I was thinking we call it quits. We've spent hours upon hours these last few days trying to find something of use and have only discovered that Morzan received a shipment of goods twice a month, the contents of which were largely drinks meant to feed the man's alcoholism." He sighed, looking disgusted. "I can't believe I allowed myself to think that even in death my father would be of help to me."

"Surely there must be more here that we're not seeing," Hal said, trying to be optimistic. "I mean, Morzan did have a large staff moving in and out of the house at all times. Should we really have expected him to keep anything of value where anyone could find it?"

Murtagh sighed, then his face went slack with an idea. "Heavens above, Hal, you're brilliant!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Should I be concerned by the tone of surprise?"

He carried on as if he hadn't heard her, sitting up straight. "My father was clever. He would think that his enemies looking for information would assume he would have hidden them. But that was not his way. He made sure he had a secret-keeper. Someone who could do his bidding for him and that he trusted to keep their mouth shut."

Hal's eyes went wide with understanding. "Selena."

Murtagh jumped out of his chair with earnest. "All this time, I've been looking for traps set by my father. What I should have been looking for were traps set by my mother."

Hal's eyes darted nervously back to the diary before she quickly stood up to follow him, curious as to how he knew where to go. When she asked him this, all he said was, "I don't know for certain. I just…I have a hunch."

She didn't question him. They cut quickly down the hallway, entering Selena's bedroom. Murtagh froze for a moment, suddenly stiff with uncertainty. Hal realized then that he had not yet stepped foot in his mother's room until now.

"Where should we look?" she asked, her tone seemingly ignorant of his hesitation.

He looked at her, realization dawning and shook his head of whatever thoughts he had been having. "It's hard to say. Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary or anything difficult to open. Pay attention to your wards — if they start to go off, stand down and let me know."

"Is that how you found all of Morzan's spells?" Hal asked, whipping her head around enraged. "By practically putting yourself in harm's way?"

Murtagh looked at her, then promptly looked towards the furthest corner in the room and said, "I'll start over here."

Adamantly avoiding Hal's glare, he walked away and began to dig through the dresser. Hal rolled her eyes and turned to start with the vanity. But they eventually came up empty, moving on to check other places Selena herself might have frequented within and outside the house, including the gardens, a private office, and, lastly, Murtagh's bedroom up on the fourth floor. But they found nothing, and Murtagh's frustration became palpable.

"We always knew the odds would be against us," Hal began, trying to cushion the blow of his disappointment. "Besides, it was just a small chance that there would be something here that we could use. It was never a guarantee. We'll just have to search elsewhere."

"There's nowhere else for us to search," Murtagh snapped, pacing across what few feet of space he did have. "Morzan had to have something we could use. A book of spells, information on Shades, weapons, anything!" And then he spun towards the wall and punched it, swearing loudly. Hal flinched, her own fist aching at the thought of hitting it as hard. Murtagh didn't even seem to notice as he dropped down on the bed and put his face in his hands. His knuckles were already beginning to bruise, and Hal hoped he hadn't broken anything.

She moved to sit down beside him, gingerly taking his hand in hers. He flinched at the contact, and Hal shook her head at him. "What am I to do with you, rider?"

He sighed, his expression apologetic as he deflated at the tone of her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper."

"It's all right. Besides, it's better you express your emotions than keep them hidden from me. I'd rather know without a doubt that you're angry or upset, rather than you tucking it all away. Although, I would prefer you not hurt yourself in the process."

"It's not broken, at least." He flexed his fingers, grimacing. "Although I admit I could've held back some."

"Some?" She gave him a look and he huffed. She might have been empathetic, but she wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily either. "I know there are some truths that are harder to face than others," she continued, staring down sadly at his hand, "but there may come a time when you will have to handle yourself with composure and patience. You can't always hit the first thing in your line-of-sight."

"I know," he grunted, flexing his knuckles despite the sharp pain it caused him to do so. But he didn't want his fingers to get stiff, and he had little desire to heal them using magic for some reason. "But…I admit that I do not know how. I feel like all my life I've learned to hold back how I feel or express it only using violence. I don't want those to be my only two options anymore."

"Then talk to me, rider," Hal suddenly pleaded. "Let me in. Stop bearing this weight on your own. Whatever it is you're feeling, you can share that with me. You've had to hold back or use violence because you thought you were alone with no other options. I'm an option, Murtagh. But only if you let me be."

He blinked, rather shocked by her outburst. Hal threaded her fingers through his on his non-injured hand, holding the other up to his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere," she reminded him, hoping it would encourage Murtagh to speak openly and honestly. She knew that it would still be some time before he allowed himself to fully let down his guard. Knew that he was still battling the urge to fall back into familiar habits. She didn't mind, because she knew it had nothing to do with his love for her. Scars like the ones they shared did not mend overnight. This mess with Thea had reopened ones they had both dared to hope were already healed. "Just tell me the truth — your truth, Murtagh. And trust me enough, as someone who loves you with all her heart, to listen to you, and hear you, without judgement. Just like you do for me."

Sighing with resignation, Murtagh slowly nodded his head. He took her hand on his cheek and held it tightly, his eyes sharply focused on her face. He licked his lips nervously, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He took several deep breaths, and Hal waited patiently through it all.

Murtagh moved to tuck her hair behind her ear, his fingers stroking her cheek before returning to hold her hand. "You never put your hair up anymore." She blinked, confused. "Ever since Denu died. You haven't put your hair up."

She hadn't? She didn't even realize it. She also never realized that Murtagh had noticed how much she wore her hair up to begin with. For some reason, that made her face grow hot, embarrassed and pleased that he had picked up on something so small that she did almost without thought. But just as quickly, her mood plummeted with understanding. Her hair, when up, was a sign of productivity, of work, of focus, and determination. She was always moving, always helping, always finding some way to be of use. The few times she wore it down was during special occasions. But it took serious effort for her to do each day, even if she did it without thinking. And she hadn't even cared enough to make the effort anymore. The fact that she had lost something so integral to her personality and to how others saw her because of her loss spoke more volumes than she had realized.

But Murtagh had.

"I once told myself that I would do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman alive," he continued. "And seeing you struggle as you have breaks my heart. And I don't know how to help you. I don't know what to do or say to make any of this better. I just want to be strong for you. I want you to feel like you can depend on me when you need me. And yet I had forgotten, until now, what it felt like to be so helpless. To watch people I care about suffer because I am not strong enough to protect them."

His words brought tears to her eyes. Not just because of the pain in them, of the ghosts haunting him that he'd thought he'd made peace with. But because he spoke of what was ailing her as well. A deep, unprecedented fear that Denu was just the first. That more bloodshed was to come and she could do nothing to stop it.

"I feel like I failed you," he said, his voice hoarse with shame and quivering with emotion. "I know that's not how you see it," he added quickly, glancing up knowingly, and Hal closed her mouth. "Trust me, I do know that much. But it doesn't change the fact that it's how I feel. I feel like I failed you, and the Tenari. I couldn't protect you when it mattered most. I couldn't protect Denu. I once told myself that I would do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman alive," he repeated. But this time, his voice cracked, along with his shields. He took a sharp inhale before bursting into tears, his face already red. "And the one chance I had to keep that promise, and I've already broken it.

"I'm scared, Halen. I'm so damn scared. So many people…so many people have died because of me: my mother, Tornac —"

"No —"

"Denu —"

"Murtagh!"

He stared at her, tears streaming down his cheeks as his face twisted in anguish. Hal didn't know when she had begun to cry, but her eyes burned. She tried to speak, but her voice got caught and she couldn't find the proper words in time before Murtagh spoke again.

He took a shuddering breath, digging the bottom of his palms into his eyes, rubbing hard to try and stop the incessant flow of tears. "Before now, the only person I ever properly mourned was Tornac. And even then, I was too afraid to process my grief. Too afraid to acknowledge the role I played in his death. Instead, I tracked the Ra'zac, in the hopes of distracting myself. But now, with Denu's death, it's all just coming back up. I didn't expect it to hurt this much, and I've never had to process or handle anything like this before. And it does not feel right, to miss Denu like I do. I didn't even know him a full year. I feel like I have no right to this grief."

"Not that you need my permission, but you're allowed to miss him, Murtagh," Hal said quickly, finding her voice. "He thought of you as family. He loved you and Thorn. That was the kind of man he was. Just because you did not know him as long, does not mean it lessened the impact he had on you. He would not want you to think that."

Murtagh didn't respond, letting her words hang gently between them. "I have lived a life of loss. I became accustomed to losing…until you, Hal." Finally, he raised his head to meet her teary gaze. "Oh, Hal," he said softly, taking her face in his hands. "My Hal." He shook his head, as though dismissing his previous comments. "All of that is nothing compared to the fear I have at the thought of losing you. And it scares me. More than my grief, I feel crippled by this fear. This helplessness. I'm afraid that fate will take you from me too. I thought I'd lost you on Uden," Murtagh said, his voice low. "You should be dead. You were dead. And by a small miracle of unexplained magic, I got you back. I don't want to mess this up. I don't want to imagine a future without you in it. I can't lose you again."

She shook her head, rebuking the notion with her very being. "Then we don't allow it. I will not allow the gods or fate or Thea to tear us apart. Not when I know in my gut and my heart and my soul that I have waited my entire life for you…"

Hal didn't mean to get so emotional, but much of what he was saying spoke to her fears and heartaches as well. She knew this had been what she was afraid of. The raw fear that was currently gripping her chest, reminding her of all she had lost up until now, and all that she stood to lose if she made a mistake.

She took a shuddering breath before pressing forward. "I'm scared too," she admitted, so that he would know he was not alone. Murtagh's eyes widened in surprise and relief, then closed against another wave of grief, as if it were hitting him all over again.

"But things are different for us this time," Hal continued. "We have each other now. You and I are undoubtedly better together. When Amon said we bring out the best in each other, I felt that in my very bones, rider. But we cannot regress into bad habits. We have to be able to lean on each other. If you feel like I am carrying more weight than you would like, just know that I do not mind, because I know that when the time comes, you would do the same for me. So, talk to me or at least tell me you don't want to talk. I just need to know that you're going to be okay. I need you to know that you're going to be okay, too."

He nodded after a while, sniffling. She knew it would not be immediate, his instinct to come to her when he felt overwhelmed by his emotions. But she would say it again and again until it stuck.

Which reminded her…

She leaned forward, drawing his gaze as she gave him a pointed look. "I know there are sins in your past that you are not proud of. I know that there's nothing I can do or say to make that guilt go away. But under no circumstance are you to believe that what happened to your mother, or even Tornac, was ever your fault. They both made their choices. You have no responsibility to your mother. She alone chose to lay with Morzan and do his bidding, and she alone will carry that guilt and shame. And Tornac…if he is anything like the man you have told me about, he did not feel regret in helping you to escape. He knew the risks, and he still chose you and your happiness over his own. That, Murtagh, is the kind of love you deserve. Even if it does not alleviate the pain of his loss."

He stared at her through red-rimmed eyes. "How can you be so sure? How can you know I'm worth such risks?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, Murtagh. I honestly don't." She quickly wiped her cheeks and shot him a dazzling smile. "All I do know is that even in times of darkness, you have been my unwavering light. My greatest joy. I would do anything in my power to make you happy because I know beyond any doubt that you are worth it to me. And I would make the same choice if I were in Tornac's position. I love you, Murtagh. Fiercely and forever."

Murtagh watched her as she spoke, his eyes enraptured with awe and gratefulness and grief and longing. He felt possibly every emotion he could be made to feel — his chest achingly tight as though it were struggling to contain such sentiments — after weeks of keeping it all locked away. Slowly then, he closed the distance between them. Hal watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, shutting them just as she felt his lips on hers. At first, he was stiff with hesitation, cautious as if wanting to make sure this was okay. And it was okay. Because with just a light gesture, he already said more than what he ever could with just words.

As he leaned back to give her space once more, she reached out and cupped the back of his neck, pulling his face back towards her. She deepened the kiss, his mouth hot against hers. Hal could feel the subtle shift in his demeanor, enough to make her sigh with relief and longing. He pulled her closer and Hal easily obliged, wrapping her arms around his neck as she climbed into his lap. He gripped her tightly, like he was merely holding on to her as though she might disappear otherwise.

Quietly but assuredly, he whispered her name. Not iet dunei or Hal. Halen. Breathlessly and desperately, wanton and fevered. Hal felt her body thrum with need, realizing then she had not felt his touch in quite some time. And in this moment, she didn't just want it. She craved it. Desperately.

She whispered his name back, feeling the way he shivered when she did. There was a feeling of urgency in his movements, how his lips trailed desperately down her neck, his teeth biting down on her breasts through her top, earning him a surprise and delighted little laugh. The mood in the room lifted considerably, Hal lifting his chin so that she could kiss him again, her fingers running through his hair. Murtagh turned them over, lying Hal back on the bed at an angle, his lips fastened to hers as his hands rushed to yank the material of her skirt up until it was situated around her hips.

As he got to his knees, Hal was flushed and panting as she watched him. Both of their faces were still tear-stained, their hearts still heavy. Yet, something about this moment felt necessary. Felt right. It wasn't like that moment in Sam's hut, when she had needed to feel something beyond the nothingness that had begun to consume her. She realized afterwards how much her grief had driven her actions then. This felt like proper intimacy. Not driven by their loss, not driven by their fears. But driven by the vulnerability they had shared, the desire to express it in actions as well as words.

Not to mention that it certainly wouldn't hurt to feel good about something, even if just for a few minutes.

She didn't speak, just slowly opened her legs for him, spreading them as wide as she could comfortably go. He looked away to stare between her legs, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip. "Heavens, Hal," he breathed. He lifted his hand, his thumb brushing over her center. Hal released a whimper, her body unraveling with anticipation alone. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are? Because you are stunning."

Her face burned pleasantly. He watched her carefully, and she clamped her lips together to try and hide her embarrassed smile. But she nodded to show that she heard him. His expression softened. "I love you. And I am in love with you. And I have waited my entire life for you, too."

He lowered his gaze back between her legs, his hands gently nudging her open just a bit further as he moved closer. "So beautiful," he muttered, this time more to himself. Hal's eyes fluttered close at the first touch, his lips easing her into the experience. Gripping her thighs, he scooted her a bit closer, and Hal gasped in surprise before crying out when he placed his mouth on her completely. And as her voice began to echo off the walls, she was grateful that no one else existed in that house to hear it but them.

…

The next few days unfolded like something out of a dream. She felt as close to Murtagh as she had before, catching his eye across a room, his hand easily finding the small of her back, her shoulder, or her cheek. When they walked to visit Thorn, he held her hand, and, to help pass the time, she would sit between his legs and read from a storybook he said had been his favorite as a small boy. She didn't realize how much she had missed this, but it was impossible to pretend that she would want things any other way.

Without the daily schedule set by their chores on the island, they found themselves rather listless. Oh, they managed to find things to keep themselves occupied in productive ways. There was enough work to be done on the manor alone to occupy a lifetime. But Hal found herself enjoying that the most. Murtagh would relay what memories he could recall of how the day-to-day house had been run as they rolled up their sleeves and set about trying to clean the place up. They tore down curtains that made rooms and even entire hallways feel dark, welcoming the winter light when it was present. They brought furniture that was no good down to a spare room on the first floor that Murtagh mentioned had been a music room, although he couldn't recall ever hearing a single instrument come from it.

The more of the house that was revealed to her, the more Hal found herself falling for its wandering corridors, spiral staircases, and massive fireplaces. She found it so different from her homes on Uden and Illium, excessive to the point of grotesque in some places even. Half of the Tenari village could probably fit within its walls. She had lost track of the total number of rooms somewhere around 200, with five levels in all. And yet…something about this place was leaving an impression on her.

Maybe it was simply denial, a fearful refusal to accept a future less than ideal. But Hal could feel herself growing attached to this once troubling manor. The way their laughter and voices reverberated off the high ceilings began to feel inviting, not empty. Watching Murtagh gleefully destroy and discard pieces that reminded him of a painful childhood while he discussed his own vision for the estate was just as delightful and calming. Ever since their conversation, she could see a small change in him. A light that made it difficult to look away. And even more than when they were on Illium, here, she could easily discern the sound and weight of his footsteps. At times, it could be so quiet that it was impossible not to hear such things. The thrum of his heartbeat, the barest of breaths. It felt more intimate, more consuming. And she loved every second of it.

"Look what I found in a hidden compartment of Morzan's room today," Murtagh announced boastfully.

Hal looked up from her book and snorted with amusement. "I was beginning to wonder if the staff made off with all those shipments of alcohol Morzan apparently received. Glad to know they left something behind for us."

"Aye. But we're in luck. I recognize this label: it's a very fine port wine. Some of the best on the mainland. I think you'll like it."

"Well dinner's almost ready, so we'll try it then. No point getting drunk on an empty stomach."

The wine turned out to be the perfect treat. Although it burned going down, it left a rich and pleasant aftertaste the Hal didn't mind. And after the second cup, the drink went down with ease.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?" Murtagh asked, his face flushed from the fire and the booze. Hal nodded, not even bothering with her usual quippy warning that whether or not she laughed was not really up to her. Murtagh glanced around them, something striking in his grey eyes as he took in the room. "I like it here," he said at last, carefully avoiding her gaze. "I expected to want to burn this place down. To hate it and all it reminded me of. But these last few weeks, with just you and Thorn…I don't know. But I don't think I hate it as much anymore."

Hal smiled, moving so that she could lay her head on his shoulder. "I don't hate it much anymore either. And I definitely wanted to burn it to the ground."

"You don't think I'm daft?"

"Of course not. Murtagh, we've been fixing up this old relic and exchanging these ideas for what we could add or improve. You've started to make this place your own."

"But why though? My home is on Illium, with you and the Tenari. I have no need for an estate that's too large for us to even maintain on our own."

"Well," Hal began, turning sideways to face him while propping her arm up on the settee cushion, "for starters, I think it's wishful thinking. No, you may not see it's full use just yet, but I think you are starting to see its potential. That means something, rider. There's nothing wrong with that."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What potential do you see?"

Hal blushed, staring at the deep red wine in her glass. "I don't quite know yet," she lied, lifting her gaze to meet his. "But I look forward to finding out."

…

For the first time in a while, Hal couldn't sleep. She was thankful that she had already told Murtagh she wanted to stay up for a bit longer and read — most nights they had fallen asleep together. If she had tried to move from his embrace then, she surely would have woken him up. But her familiar restlessness had made its quiet return and, assured that Murtagh was in deep sleep, Hal rose to her feet, her nightgown falling about her ankles.

She grabbed one of the spare lamps they had brought down to the library, lighting it the way Murtagh had shown her and covering it with the glass case so the flame wouldn't go out while she walked about on her own to clear her mind.

As she wandered the bare and empty halls, Hal saw the vision of the estate's potential reveal itself once more. Of course, she felt rather guilty for not being honest with him about such matters. In her defense, Murtagh had been speaking of the future in cryptic and unclear ways that made everything feel open — and she didn't want to misinterpret his enthusiasm to mean something that it didn't. Even upon their arrival, he had mentioned Hal being able to bring her sketchbooks here, that she would bring a touch this place desperately needed. She had dared to hope he meant…

What did she want him to mean, exactly?

She stopped by a small table set in the entrance hall, needing to place the lamp down while she tried to regain her composure. Her heart was racing at the thought. Hand on her chest while she focused on her breathing techniques from her lessons with Invidia, Hal examined the large space, imagining the chandelier lit, a sunny day in spring or summer, the blue sky visible in the glass ceiling above.

She felt her heart begin to slow.

Drawn in by her body's response to her own vision, Hal grabbed her lamp and decided to play this out. She walked past the open dining room and imagined their friends from lllium visiting such a large manor. They would act sheer fools over the hunting options in the Spine, and the catch would be the main entrée, the table neatly arranged as they sat around it, drinking and laughing. She grinned at the thought, missing her friends terribly for the first time in a while.

She climbed the grand, spiral staircase to the second floor. Morzan and Selena had slept here, but in separate rooms. Hal doubted she and Murtagh would follow in kind — she liked the warmth of him beside her. Liked how they would become a tangle of arms and legs by morning. She walked through the private common room connecting the two bedrooms. Murtagh had explained that it was for Selena to conduct whatever business she had with the house staff that day, as it was her role to maintain them. Hal snorted at the idea of having maids and servants. She wouldn't even know what to do with a house this size.

Toying with the idea, she pulled back the lavishly designed chair from the small desk in the center of the room, spreading her hands across the smooth wood as she imagined her paperwork. Would she sign documents, like the ones Morzan had kept in his offices? Would she be reviewing dinner menus and guests who might be arriving? She giggled at the thought, then quickly covered her mouth — the tiny noise still sounded like thunder in the empty space.

When she got to Morzan's room, she only stayed long enough to look up at the painting and say, "I will convince Murtagh to have Thorn burn you. I hope you're rolling in your grave, you demonic, dirty bastard."

Then she stuck out her tongue and left.

Living in the manor these last few weeks made its potential tangible, and Hal couldn't look away from that if she wanted to. Even the gardens brimmed with possibility, exploring the greenhouse that existed close to the alcove where Thorn resided, imagining the fountains trickling with water from the nearby pond. She saw a future here. One she wanted, more than she would have thought possible when they first arrived.

But to make that future a reality…she would have to endure a present that she couldn't bear to face.

She was walking past Morzan's study when something gave her pause. It's not as if the room was off limits, but she had not wandered into it once without having Murtagh with her. It seemed like a space that still felt forbidden, for some strange reason. Holding the lamp out, she turned towards the strong oak doors, carefully detailed. Taking a deep breath, she reached for handle, half expecting it to burn or shock her. When nothing happened, she turned the knob and pushed.

Everything was exactly as they had left it, a few pieces of paper left out on the desk — they must've had some significance if Murtagh had not immediately discarded them. Hal circled the room slowly, unsure of what she had been looking for when she walked in here. Then, her eyes landed on the bookcase she had been sitting at the last time she was here, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she remembered what she couldn't believe she had even forgotten.

She rushed forward, setting the lamp down on the floor as she ran her fingers across the spines of the books until she landed on the one that had become the most interesting find within the entire manor. Something seemed to touch her just as it had before, and she felt her emotions unfurl in response. She opened the book and turned to the first page. Sure enough, the writing was still there:

Property of Selena.

So, she hadn't somehow envisioned it. The text was real. At least, real in that it existed. Could she truly believe that this was Selena's diary? And why would the woman have put it in Morzan's office? Perhaps she figured the added wards that kept others out would keep it safe. But why did something like this need protecting?

And why did it reveal itself to Hal?

Hal turned the page, guilt-ridden and curious as she began to read the first entry:

I must admit that when my brother gifted me this blank book, I had been tempted to chuck it at his head and tell him precisely where he could shove it. I never did handle pregnancy well, and this child is perhaps more pressing on my nerves than Murtagh had been. But then again…I had been so consumed by happiness before that perhaps I had willingly blinded myself to my reality, even then.

But now I face certain destruction, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. I have been selfish, cruel, arrogant, manipulative, and cold. I had become a level of evil I never thought myself capable of. Despite some of what I confessed to Garrow, I know there will be much more that I take with me to the next life, should it accept me. But I find myself drawn to this journal now, with perhaps only a month or so before my second child is born. Perhaps it is the nature of this pregnancy that has moved me to confession. If I am to continue down the path I am on, I wish to be free of my sins. However, I do not know if I deserve to be after all I have done.

Hal saw that the writing grew unsteady here, and she knew that Selena's hand had been shaking as she wrote this.

How silly of me to think that writing this down would bring enlightenment. How silly of me to think it would absolve me of my crimes. But I am so desperate to be free of them that I would do almost anything. And writing them down has forced me to face the ugliness of my existence in a way I have avoided doing so up until now. Regardless of what Brom or Garrow or anyone else says, my hands are stained. Tainted. And I cannot even blame Morzan for that. Only my foolish, bleeding heart that yearned for his affections, even long after I realized that he would never love me. Could never love me. And I hate myself for the ache that still leaves in my chest.

But this is not the worst of my crimes, I confess. And if anyone were to learn my truth, I fear I might die of shame. Perhaps, in time, I will write it here. Perhaps, in time, I will be able to face what I have done and correct my mistake.

I just hope I'm not too late.

Hal lowered the book to her lap, her heart racing in her chest. Reading this felt wrong. It was the ultimate invasion of privacy next to searching someone's mind without their permission. Hal had sensed just by staring at the painting how unhappy Selena was. But to hear of the woman's misery in her own words…it felt almost unbearable.

Although Hal could not explain it, she got the strangest feeling that Selena would have wanted her to read this. She could not fathom why. Perhaps she was making up her own excuses to condone invading this woman's privacy. But she felt this nagging sensation once again to keep this to herself for the time being. Even though the woman was long gone, only over her dead body would Hal allow Selena to once again ruin Murtagh's peace of mind from beyond the grave.

…

Unable to bear the weight of the secret on her own, Hal went to Thorn a few days later to confess herself. I don't know what I should do, she admitted, standing at his side to keep warm. The alcove that he had mentioned to her was perhaps better described as an overhang. It was made of stone, although it curved at the top in a way Hal had never seen stone curve before, forming a roof above Thorn's head to keep out much of the elements. It was fairly large, but Hal worried that Thorn would outgrow it in a few years. Should I reveal the diary to him after all?

I admit that both your reasons for and against doing so are sound. Like you, I am loathed to expose him to the inner thoughts and writings of the person who has perhaps caused him the greatest turmoil of all he has endured. His time with you and the Tenari had brought him ever closer to closure. Even now, I can sense him trying to make peace with his past so that he can focus on what lies ahead.

But…

But, it should not be up to us to keep something like this from him. I do not wish to deceive him, even at risk of hurting him. He at least should get to decide for himself if he wants to read it.

Hal sighed. She had been questioning more and more what to do. It had been one thing to keep the diary from Murtagh when she had first uncovered it. But now, having actually read several entries, Hal was beginning to realize the gravity of what she had discovered: Selena could have written why she left Murtagh behind. She could reveal whether or not she had cared at all for her eldest son. Or if she had truly neglected him, as Murtagh had always feared. If the former, it could change Murtagh's entire perspective. It could give him peace, a closure he had never known.

But if it was the latter…

Speculation, Hal knew, was one thing. Having the proof in writing could unhinge him entirely. And Hal could not bear being responsible for that. Not with everything else he was dealing with because of her.

Perhaps it is selfish, Hal began slowly, but I will choose to wait. I cannot, in good conscious, give him the very thing that could destroy him. I would never forgive myself if this diary revealed something cruel. I hope you can forgive me, Thorn. By unburdening myself to you, I have gotten you mixed up in my lie.

I don't like it, Thorn admitted, but I do understand. These are troubled times. Perhaps then, it is best that we do not overburden ourselves in the face of such adversity. Perhaps there is a better time, in the future, to tell him what we have discovered here.

Aye.

Speaking of, how are you holding up? You seem more well-rested as of late.

I certainly think having proper shelter is making much of a difference. Although…

What it is it?

I just…do you think we have been here too long? I can't help but notice that we haven't really done anything about our situation. And while I can't personally say that I mind it all that much, it does feel irresponsible.

You're right, Thorn agreed, clearly taken aback by her observation. I didn't even allow myself to notice. Truthfully, after what happened, these weeks of rest of been most welcome. You and Murtagh have been smiling more, at ease. I was so caught up in that, that I also allowed myself to forget why we are here. But you're right. It would not do to become complacent.

Hal nodded, although the thought of doing anything made her sick to her stomach. She could not deny that the idea of remaining hidden and hoping the problem would solve itself seemed very appealing at the moment.

How do you think Fate chooses its players? Hal asked Thorn suddenly. I mean when you think of it, what are the odds that we would be brought together under such circumstances? That we would be the descendants of such families, born in this shifting moment in time, with such expectations placed upon us. It seems almost fantastical, don't you agree?

Perhaps I would have five years ago, Thorn admitted, looking up towards the fading blue sky as the sun began its descent on another day. For all the places we've been and the people we've met, and it brought us to this exact moment in time. Hal waited patiently as the red dragon gathered his thoughts. She was eager to hear what he had to say. But I have seen and watched with rapt attention how you humans scoff in the face of fate. You are presented with choices and opportunities and use them to try and forge your own path. Sometimes those choices work in your favor. Sometimes they do not. And yet, still you press onward with strength all your own.

If you believe Fate has chosen us — and perhaps it did — then I believe we were chosen for a reason. And I believe that reason is because of our abilities to either make more right choices than wrong ones, as you do. Or, to make right choices when they matter most, like Murtagh does. Two seemingly different paths, and yet here we are.

Here we are, Hal agreed, smiling now. And I would not have it any other way, my friend.

Nor would I. So now that we have accepted that, it is up to us to decide what we must do next. And whatever we decide, we must be willing to fight for it.

Hal grew silent at his words. In the wake of all she had lost, and all she had left to lose, what was she willing to fight for? She laid a hand on the warm scales of Thorn's side. Thank you, as always, for your words of wisdom, Thorn.

It's been known to happen from time to time.

Hal laughed. Well then, thank the heavens I have borne witness to it on more than one occasion.

Thorn lowered his head so that his gaze was level with hers. You should head back inside now. Murtagh has let me know that he has returned from his hunt. He wants to see you, although he did not tell me that explicitly.

Oh, does he need something?

The dragon seemed to hum, nudging her gently again towards the manor with his nose. No. He just wishes to see you.

Hal blushed, pleased at this. And with a final look back and a grateful wave, she turned and hurried back inside.