Chapter 32: Dawn Decisions

Dawn came slower than ever.

Emeric had noticed when the first grey light crept through the curtains.

He got up from the bed, moving quietly, not wanting to wake her. He dressed and went to the study.

He sat in the dark, staring at nothing as light slowly came into the world.

His mind had been restless all night.

The dream had felt real. More real than anything he’d ever experienced. He could still feel her grip on his wrist. Still hear that voice. Still see the flames consuming everything they’d built.

He looked down at his hand. For a moment, he thought he saw blood.

He blinked and it was gone.

He closed his eyes and breathed.

The duel had proven he could fight. But what if the enemy wasn’t a man with a sword? What if it was something he couldn’t parry or deflect?

What if the voice in his dream was right?

It called him weak and slow.

He couldn’t let that thing— whatever it was, be right.

He opened his eyes.

He needed to be stronger. Not a little stronger. Strong enough. Strong enough to face whatever had cursed her. Strong enough to tear it apart with his bare hands.

His devotion alone wouldn’t save her.

His actions would.

He needed more.

---

Isolde found him an hour later.

She wheeled into the study, her eyes searching his face. He was sitting in the same spot he’d been in for hours. The morning light had shifted from grey to the gold of sunrise, but he hadn’t moved.

She’d noticed but decided to let him have time to himself.

"You’re up early," she said.

"Couldn’t sleep."

She studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders. The dark circles under his eyes told a story.

"You’re worried."

"Yes."

"About what?"

He was quiet for a moment as if weighing how much he could tell her. Then he spoke.

"I want to find you a healer."

She blinked, surprised at his suggestion.

"A healer."

"A physical therapist. Someone who can help with the —"

He pointed at her chair but trailed off.

"Someone who knows what they’re doing."

She was silent for a moment, searching his eyes for something. Anything.

"Emeric. My family tried everything. Every healer, every specialist, every quack who promised a miracle. None of them could do anything."

He was taken aback. She barely called him by name.

"No. I’m not asking for a miracle."

"Then what are you asking?"

He met her gaze, afraid to broach the thought he’d been harboring for a while now.

He didn’t trust her family. Sure, they may have tried but he didn’t trust that they exhausted all the possibilities.

"Did they really try? Or did they give up the moment they realized you couldn’t do anything for them?"

The accusation hung in the air, his tone as soft as he could afford it to so it didn’t land wrongly for her.

She opened her mouth, preparing a counter but she had none.

He could see it in her eyes. The resignation that he was right. Maybe she always knew that they didn’t try enough. But it was out in the open now.

Her family had stopped caring the moment she became inconvenient. They’d made a show of trying. But they hadn’t really tried. Not the way she deserved.

She looked away as if the hurt was registering for the first time for her.

"That’s not fair," she said quietly.

"Maybe not. But I’m not them."

She was silent but she couldn’t look at him.

"I’m not asking you to believe in a miracle," he continued. "I’m asking you to let me try. Let me find someone who actually cares. Let me do this for you."

She looked at him. Her eyes were bright.

"Why?"

"Because I — "

He quickly stopped himself. He couldn’t tell her how he felt. Not now. She may not believe him and he wasn’t sure he could take the blow of her doubt.

The truth was this woman has permeated his entire being and he was becoming hopeless without her. It was a truth that was too early to let go of.

He sighed inwardly, catching her eyes.

Her brows raised in an expectant fashion for him to finish what he was saying.

He let the pause sink in.

"I refuse to accept that there’s nothing we can do."

She held his gaze for a few seconds and he could see the war behind her eyes. The hope she was afraid to feel.

"Just let me do this for you," he said softly.

She nodded. Just once.

"Okay."

He had not expected her to give in this early. Isolde was stubborn. He had for sure thought he would have to try a few times.

"Thank you." He said, meaning more than she knew.

"Now what?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment. Another plan he had concocted during the sleepless night needed her awareness.

"I want to get my Vessel license."

She went still.

"Your Vessel license."

"I could earn money. Real money. Enough to afford a healer. Enough to pay for whatever you need."

"Emeric—"

"I know what you’re going to say. It’s dangerous. I know. But I finally awakened, Isolde. Seven years later than everyone else. I’m already behind. I need to catch up."

He moved closer, kneeling in front of her chair.

"Please. Let me do this. Let me take care of you."

She stared at him and he could see that her eyes were wet.

"You could die."

"I could. But I won’t. Because I have too much to come back to."

She reached out, touching his face.

"You’re impossible."

"I know."

She laughed, wiping the wetness in her eyes.

"I don’t like it," she said. "But I won’t stop you."

"That’s all I ask."

She traced the line of his jaw.

"Just don’t die."

"Not a chance."

She pulled him into an embrace. He felt the tension in her shoulders, the fear she was trying to hide.

"You’re going to be insufferable now," she murmured.

"Probably."

"When you come back rich and famous."

"Definitely. And I just went two for two." He said, letting her go to see her face. "Not bad huh?"

"You’re annoying, you know that?" She said, punching him lightly on the shoulder.