The first rays of dawn were just beginning to show in the eastern sky, and the only sound to be heard was Samson's faint snores. The fire had died down to a few smoldering embers. Moira sat up beside Kalian, as she had all night.

His condition had slightly worsened, evident by his perpetual shivering and the fevered sweat that beaded on his flushed skin. She could only hope that Bellamy was close to Levrune and would soon return. Kalian made a small sound, catching her attention. She leaned over him, eyeing his injury.

They hadn't wrapped his wing stumps, as Samson explained it was best if the wounds weren't entirely closed when a Witch arrived. If they were, they'd have to be reopened so she could extract the iron shavings. Samson was keeping the raw stumps as clean as possible, but he didn't use any of the healing herbs in his possession. Healing the wounds meant sealing the iron in Kalian's body, which would kill him even faster.

Moira bit her lip, smoothing a strand of dark hair from Kalian's face. This wasn't the first time he'd exposed himself to iron for her, she recalled. There had been times when he shielded her with his own body while she wore iron armor. It had undoubtedly burned him and still, he hadn't let go until it was safe.

He'd used iron shavings in the potion that counteracted the Witch's spell on her. Even breathing in particles of pure iron dust could be deadly to Faeries, but he'd risked it. He had done so many things that might've gotten him killed. He'd rather die himself than watch it happen to her.

Moira took one of his hands in her own. Gently, she rubbed her thumb over his scarred wrist. Because you failed your loved ones once before, she thought. And you didn't want to fail again.

He was a Faerie. She was Commander Moira Lev. Despite knowing who she was and what she had done, Kalian had fallen in love with her. She had fallen in love with him. Neither of them had thought it possible. It shouldn't be possible. Faeries had killed her family. Humans had killed his.

They were supposed to hate each other, and yet... She was angry, yes. She felt hurt and betrayed. Used and lied to, but she didn't hate him. She couldn't hate him. She loved him.

"Live," Moira whispered. "Live, Kalian. Live and we will work through this. I promise. You didn't abandon me, so I won't abandon you." She stroked his hair and squeezed his hand tightly as the sun rose above the horizon.

☽◦༻◦☽◦༺◦☽

Moira woke with a start, unsure of when she'd even fallen asleep. Kalian was still lying next to her, wincing every few seconds. She sat up and looked around while tucking a few loose curls behind her ear. There was no sign of Samson. Moira shot to her feet, her hand falling to one of her daggers.

"Easy, Commander," Samson called behind her.

She turned and found him standing beside Jasmine. An elderly woman sat astride the mare. Bellamy held her by the reins. Samson helped the Witch down and led her over to Kalian. Moira joined Bellamy while Samson explained the situation to the Witch.

"How did you make it back so soon?" She asked. Judging by the position of the sun, it was already late afternoon again. Bellamy shouldn't have returned until the next day, or late that night at the earliest.

"I rode without stopping," Bellamy replied, rubbing his eyes with a yawn. "How's Kal?"

"He's..." Moira sighed. "I'm not sure. Get some sleep. I imagine Samson will wake you if you're needed."

Bellamy nodded and led Jasmine over to her picket line. Moira hurried towards Samson and the Witch. The Witch was kneeling beside Kalian, her hands hovering over his wing stumps. Samson crossed his arms, a nervous expression written on his features.

    Moira's heart faltered. She faced the Witch, digging her nails into her palms in an attempt to ground herself. "Can you help him?" Moira asked.

"I can, but it will take time and the process will be grueling." The woman's accent was soft and rounded, very different from the heavy, sharp tone of those from Orphic.

"Where are you from?" Moira asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

The Witch looked up briefly. "My family immigrated to Valence when I was very young. I grew up there and studied with the Healers of Abbatia, before eventually making my way back here."

A guarded look entered the Witch's golden silver gaze. "I believed I could help more people here than I could over there, and it appears I was right." Her focus shifted back to Kalian. "If you wish to help, you may. Otherwise, leave me to my work. Your Faerie doesn't have much time left."

"Is there anything I can do?" Samson asked.

"Make it so he feels no pain during the procedure," the Witch replied. "Other than that, no. You won't be able to help until after I've drawn the iron out of his wings."

Samson bowed his head and touched a glowing hand to Kalian's shoulder. He drew back after a moment. "I'm going to check on Bellamy," he murmured, stepping around Moira.

She didn't answer. As soon as Samson was out of hearing, Moira sat down across from the Witch. Kalian lay between them, his features peaceful for a change. The Witch leveled her palms over Kalian's wing stumps. Green magic flared to life and the Witch's eyes rolled back.

"The oil has settled deep within him," she breathed. "I must draw all of it out. Even the smallest drop contains enough iron to take his life. It's a miracle it hasn't done so already." The Witch began to chant in a language unfamiliar to Moira.

The minutes dragged on without incident. Then, Kalian's body jerked. Moira tensed, but didn't reach for him. Not as a dark liquid bubbled to the surface of his gaping wing stumps. The oil leaked onto Kalian's back, bearing with it a few streaks of blood. Nausea churned in her stomach.

Moira ignored the sensation and tore a length of fabric off Kalian's old undershirt. They had already used most of it to clean him up. The rest would be used to bandage his wings when it was time. Moira wiped away the oil as it continued to rise from his wounds. Soon, small lumps of iron came with it. The Witch chanted on, and Kalian continued to flinch.

"I thought he wasn't supposed to be able to feel it," Moira said.

He doesn't, the Witch's voice whispered through her mind. It is a reflexive reaction.

"How are you speaking to me like that?"

It seems there is much you don't know about my kind, Moira Lev. The Witch kept working and said nothing more.

Minutes bled into hours and still, the Witch drew oil and iron from Kalian's wing stumps. Every time Moira was convinced they were finished, a little more spilled onto his back. Fighting down her nausea was growing increasingly difficult. She might've asked to trade out with Samson, except she hadn't seen him since Bellamy returned.

At last, the glow faded from the Witch's palms and she ceased chanting. "Is that all?" Moira asked.

"That is all of the oil and iron." The Witch wiped sweat from her brow. "The only thing left now is to treat the wounds themselves and wrap them."

She held out her hand and Moira passed her the last bit of clean fabric from Kalian's shirt. She watched wordlessly while the Witch's magic knit the raw flesh of Kalian's wing stumps together, sealing the open wounds. The Witch carefully wrapped each stump in clean fabric, then pushed herself off the ground.

"He should wake in a few hours," she said. "Try not to let him overexert himself. He's going to be very weak and off balance for a few days."

"Wait," Moira called as the Witch turned to leave. "Before you go, I need you to pass on a warning."

"To the King and Queen of the Night Faeries?" The Witch guessed. Moira nodded. "I've already sent messages to the Witches in their territory, as well as the Witches in the Day Faerie Lands. Bellamy Rame explained everything to me on the way here. The Faeries will be prepared, not to worry." The Witch narrowed her eyes. "Or perhaps that is why you are worried."

Anger simmered in Moira's dark gaze. "I am worried that Kalian risked his life needlessly."

"Have you had a change of heart, Moira Lev?"

"I care nothing for Faeriekind." Moira shifted her attention back to Kalian. Her chest tightened with a torrent of emotions. "Only for him. He risked his life for mine, instead of warning his people and getting himself to safety. When he wakes, I want to be able to tell him that the favor was returned."

"And what then?"

Moira swallowed hard. "I don't know."

"Will you leave him? Stay with him? Open yourself to the idea of accepting Faeriekind? Of forgiving them?"

"I don't know," she repeated. Moira lifted her head as the Witch stooped before her.

She tapped a finger to Moira's forehead, then her heart. "Soon you will. You cannot escape him, just as he cannot escape you."

"What do you mean?"

"There are bonds between souls that transcend all time and space. They are what draw people together. It is what drew you together. You can never sever this bond. Not even death can break it."

"Is it...magical?"

The Witch gave a knowing smile. "It is not. It is a bond that every living thing is capable of possessing." She straightened and dusted off the front of her dress. "It is the reason why Faeriekind will prevail while the Ironblades ultimately meet defeat. We fight for love and peace. Ironblades fight for revenge and hate. What will you fight for?"

Moira said nothing, and the Witch walked away. She allowed her thoughts to run their course, pondering the Witch's question and every possible response. Slowly, the answer became clear. She'd been fighting for seven years. Seven years of her life wasted on revenge and hate, and it had gained her nothing. The same could be said for Kalian. Two years of hunting Ivar Dagen, and he was left with nothing.

They were just two lonely souls who fought for the same broken cause and were left with nothing at all. Not even the release of death. All they had now was each other, and perhaps a chance to heal the damage they'd caused. Moira watched Kalian, allowing hardened resolve to settle over her.

Once, her name had been spoken in fear. Used as a warning and an example. It would be used as that again, only this time, she would defend those she had persecuted. She would make a difference. She would make things right.