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The wind screaming through Caer Pelyn sounded strangely musical, almost like a distant palace waltz.
Inside the sheltered canyon, Eirika was caught in a bad dream, made worse by not getting enough sleep. The thin, high air up in these northern mountains plays tricks on tired travelers, making their minds show them what they want most, right there in the blinding snow. This "deep horizon delirium" completely swallowed the freezing darkness, replacing it with the bright, sunny rooms from her childhood. Lyon was standing at the end of a marble hallway, his light purple hair catching the sun. A soft tune seemed to follow his smile as he reached out his hand and called her name.
She just reacted. Reality completely faded away.
Eirika got up in her sleep. She didn't reach for her armor or her special sword; she just walked right out into the bright white, her bare feet sinking into the fresh snow as the strange light tricks of the mountains pulled her forward. The thin air burned her throat, but she didn't feel the bite of the ice because of the fake warmth of her vision. The hallucination led her along a path of make-believe white flowers. Lyon walked backward, waving her toward the edge of a huge cliff, a three-thousand-foot drop into the canyon below.
To her, it looked like a sunny courtyard. But in reality, her toes were curling over the frozen edge of a sheer cliff.
Then, something hit her hard, knocking the air out of her.
Saleh tackled her away from the edge, his strong body taking the hit as they both fell to the rocky ground. The dream of the palace shattered. The warmth of the sunny hallway disappeared, instantly replaced by the sharp cold of the frost and the terrifying roar of the wind.
Air rushed back into her lungs all at once. She struggled against the strong grip holding her down, her fingers scratching at his thick sleeves while her eyes still searched for the purple hair in the dark.
"Lyon! He was right there—let me go—"
"Look down, Eirika!"
Saleh’s deep, rough voice cut through her confusion like a physical blow. He held her down by her shoulders, keeping her firmly on the ground. The moon broke through the heavy clouds, lighting up his face.
In her panic, her eyes tried to make his dark violet curls look like the soft, silky hair of the dead prince. But the moonlight was too harsh. The silver light showed the sharp, worn lines of his jaw and the thick, wild braids held back with silver tribal wire. There was no softness here. Only the hard truth of someone who had survived.
The ghost completely fell apart.
"The boy in your head is dead," Saleh said, his words heavy with a fierce, protective anger. "The mountain used his face to try and kill you. That deep horizon only shows what you miss. Look at my feet."
Below them, his leather boots were covered in dark, frozen mud, gripping deep into the stone where the wind had swept the snow away. Stained with dirt from travel and the sharp smell of crushed pine, his robes had no clean palace gold or library dust.
"The prince you love was a shadow who couldn't handle the weight of a kingdom," the wind whipped his dark hair violently across his face. "I carry the burden of a whole tribe. I am bleeding. I am freezing. And I am holding you."
A clear understanding suddenly cut through her confusion. The difference was too stark to ignore; Lyon’s memory was fragile, but Saleh was like the mountain itself.
The fight left her body. She collapsed against his chest, her forehead pressing into the rough wool of his clothes. The metal of her headpiece clinked against his silver brooch. The struggle against the wind stopped. For the first time since the war began, she just let someone else’s strength hold her up.
"You're too warm," she mumbled, her breath fogging against his chest. "It makes the snow look ugly."
The usually serious Sage of Caer Pelyn showed a crack in his calm. His fingers pressed against her back, tightening his hold to make sure the mountain wouldn't take her tonight.
"Then don't look at the snow," Saleh replied, his hand holding the back of her head, making her feel the steady, fast beat of his heart. "Look at me."
Eirika tilted her chin up. The silver light of the moon caught the sharp, honest lines of his face. The fake warmth of the palace hallway completely disappeared, replaced by the real heat coming from his skin. Every breath he took was solid and real.
Saleh closed the last bit of space between them.
His lips met hers with the same fierce seriousness that guided his hands. The kiss was deep and firm, thick with the smell of crushed pine and winter air. It tasted of life, sharp and real, firmly tying her soul to the earth. She leaned into his strength, her fingers tightening on his sleeves as the last bits of the storm dissolved into the quiet comfort of his touch.