Night Triumphant

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE SONG OF THE STARS

Moira sat in the familiar quiet of the library.

The plush couch, the blanket draped around her shoulders—they were small comforts against the lingering chill that clung to her bones. Rhys had provided them, along with a simple meal and a steaming mug of tea. She had taken small sips, her gaze drifting out the window towards the darkening sky.

The echoes of his touch, his whispered words of protection, were a balm against the raw ache that still lingered from the memory.  Her eyes flickered towards him. He sat with her on the couch, gazing out at the stars. He was only a few feet away, but it felt like a gulf separated them.

Cassian and Amren had come and gone.

Rhys spoke with them only briefly, listening to their reports and sharing what they discovered in her mind. Cassian managed to flash Moira an encouraging smile before he left. Then, it was just the two of them and the silence once more.

Something was gnawing at Rhys, an unspoken tension she couldn't ignore. But after what they'd just ventured through together, she hesitated. Did either of them have the strength for another difficult conversation?

"What's wrong?" She finally asked, unable to help herself. He had been there for her, reached out even when she was terrified of it–of any sort of connection. She wouldn't let him suffer alone.

Rhys jolted as if from a trance, that mask of stoic composure slipping for the briefest moment. His violet eyes, weary but still piercing, met hers. "Why do you think something is wrong?" he countered, deflecting with unparalleled skill.

Her gaze lingered on his face, studying him. "You're being awfully quiet. And..." she hesitated, the memory of that terrible scene too fresh in her mind, "...you haven't spoken to me since...since then."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it." His avoidance stung. The gulf transformed into a chasm between them now, born out of the shared trauma he seemed reluctant to face. He looked away, the starlight catching the edge of his profile, highlighting the unspoken tension in his jaw.

"Have I done something...wrong?"  She forced the words out, a wave of panic threatening to overwhelm her. Was he... was he regretting helping her after seeing that memory? Had the sight of those past horrors changed his mind? Finally convinced him that she was, in fact, broken?

His face seemed to crumple at her question, and his answer, when it came, was both devastating and unexpected. "I broke my promise. It won't happen again."

Her mug clattered against the table as she set it down. "Wait – what are you talking about?" Confusion warred with a desperate hope that he wasn't withdrawing his support.

His gaze met hers, and in that moment, the shadows of the High Lord seemed to crumble away.  What remained was a man bearing a weight far heavier than his title. "I promised you...," he began, then halted as if the words themselves were a burden. Finally, he continued, "I said no one would harm you. Not ever again."

He drew a shuddering breath, the vulnerability in his eyes mirroring her own. "And then I forced you back into those memories, to face her. I made you relive it."

Realization dawned, a wave of bitter amusement washing over her. He blamed himself for the horrors she'd endured in the memory? Moira wanted to laugh. He had done so much, given so much of himself to her. The guilt he clearly felt was absurd, even if she understood its source.

"Rhysand," she said softly. "That was a memory." She reached out, hesitant yet determined to break through the self-imposed barrier of his guilt. "Past horrors you can't undo."

His jaw clenched. "It doesn't matter. They were your memories, your pain. I should have protected you from that. I never should have let you..." he trailed off, those violet eyes darkening with frustration.