Chapter 15 Where the Price Is Paid Incorrectly
875 Words
The Collector accepted the offer with grace.
That was how Amihan knew it was lying.
The bone-light did not strike Silvan down. It did not drag him screaming into the hollow beneath the court. Instead, it folded around him slowly, reverently, as if noting a relic.
Agreed, the Collector said. Your wanting, in exchange for hers.
Silawán did not flinch.
Amihan did.
“No,” she said, stepping forward, hands shaking. “You said you would take his future. You didn’t say—“
Wanting is the future, the Collector replied gently. You humans insist on separating them.
The light receded.
Silawán remained standing.
For one breath, relief flooded her.
Then she saw his eyes.
They were still dark. Still sharp. Still very much king.
But the way they looked at her had changed.
The hunger was gone.
Not desire. Not affection.
Hunger.
Silawán blinked once, as if orienting himself in a room he no longer recognized.
“Is it done?” he asked.
The sound of his voice broke something in her.
“Yes,” Liraya said quietly. Too quietly. “It is done.”
The Collector drifted back toward the void in the floor.
Balance restored, it said. For now.
“Wait,” Amihan cried. “You cheated.”
The Collector paused.
I concluded the transaction as offered, it said. You did not specify which wanting.
And then it was gone.
The court sealed itself as if nothing had happened.
Silence fell.
Silawán turned again, eyes passing over Amihan, Kisê, Liraya.
“Why are you all looking at me like that?” he asked.
Kisê made a strangled sound.
Amihan stepped closer. “Silawán… do you feel… different?”
He considered the question carefully. Too carefully.
“I feel,” he said slowly, “functional.”
Her chest ached.
Liraya exhaled through her teeth. “You should not stay here.” she said. “Not yet.”
Silawán inclined his head. “As you wish.”
He did not look back at Amihan when he left.
She folded in on herself, breath hitching, grief blooming without permission.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the floor.
“Easy,” a familiar voice murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Ilyaon.
He had no right to be there.
And yet there he was.
His hand steadied her back, warm and solid and real. He didn’t pull her close. Didn’t make it dramatic. He simply stayed.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said. “But you looked like you were about to disappear.”
She huffed a broken laugh. “That’s becoming a habit.”
He helped her sit, crouching in front of her so she didn’t have to look up at him like he was towering over her fate.
“I don’t understand half of what just happened,” he said honestly. “But I know when something’s wrong.”
Kisê sniffed loudly nearby. “Everything is wrong.”
Liraya watched them both with narrowed eyes.
“Bring her,” Liraya said. “Now.”
The world shifted.
They were no longer in the formal court, but in one of its lungs. A grove suspended between roots and sky, where Liraya’s law softened but did not release.
And there, standing by a still pool, was Tala.
Amihan’s breath left her in a sob.
“Mama,” she whispered.
Her mother turned.
She looked thinner. Older. Not weak, but sharpened, like something honed by absence.
Amihan rushed to her, burying her face in Tala’s shoulder. Tala held her tightly, fingers threading through her hair as if counting her.
“I felt the trade,” Tala murmured. “I came as fast as I could.”
Amihan pulled back. “You knew?”
“I feared,” Tala said. “That is not the same thing.”
Her eyes flicked to Ilyaon. Measuring. Then to Liraya.
“You allowed this,” Tala said.
Liraya did not deny it. “I contained it.”
“At what cost?” Tala demanded.
Liraya’s gaze slid, briefly, toward the path Silawán had taken.
“Ask the king,” she said.
Ilyaon cleared his throat awkwardly. “For what it’s worth,” he said to Tala, “I tried to keep her out of trouble.”
Amihan shot him a look.
He shrugged, unapologetic. “Failed, obviously. But I’m here now.”
Later, when Tala sat beside Amihan, braiding her hair with familiar hands, Ilyaon lingered nearby.
He handed Amihan a cup of water without being asked.
Adjusted her shawl when it slipped.
When her hands trembled, he placed something solid in them. A small carved charm. Rough. Human.
“I made it,” he said. “On the way. It’s not enchanted. Just… held together.”
She closed her fingers around it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them. Not love. Not yet.
Attention.
Choice.
From the trees beyond the grove, a branch cracked.
Liraya straightened.
Tala’s hand stilled in Amihan’s hair.
And from the shadowed path, Silawán stepped back into view.
His crown gleamed.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
“I believe,” he said evenly, “the Collector took more than it claimed."
- Writer
