One Hundred and Twenty four

Kahlan

I didn’t look back as I headed for the docks, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs that felt entirely too loud in the stillness of the night.

If I slowed down for even a second—if I allowed myself the weakness of turning around and looking at Soren one more time—I wouldn’t be able to leave.

I knew that with a terrifying certainty.

I could already feel the pull, that dangerous, magnetic instinct to stay close to him, to sink back into the warmth of his presence and pretend for just one more night that our world wasn’t currently falling apart at the seams.

But pretending was exactly what had almost killed him, and I couldn't live with that weight on my soul again.

So I kept walking, my boots hitting the weathered wooden planks with a sharp, echoing purpose that masked the trembling in my knees.

My mind was already racing through the desperate, jagged logistics of the journey that lay ahead of us.

Distance was the first hurdle, followed by the precious time we were losing with every breath I took.

I thought about the water, the unpredictable currents that guarded the coast, and the jagged rocks of the island that had haunted my dreams since I first heard its name.

Then there was the spell itself—the dark, oily stain of it.

I wondered how long black magic could fester inside a human body, winding its way through the veins and anchoring itself to the spirit, before it stopped being reversible and became a death sentence.

Freya and Dylan were already waiting at the docks, their silhouettes half-hidden in the deep, shifting shadows cast by the nearby warehouse.

Dylan stood with a heavy care-package bag slung over his shoulder, the thick strap cutting diagonally across his chest and pulling at his coat.

I knew exactly what was packed inside without having to ask—bottles of fresh water, dried food that wouldn't spoil, heavy blankets for the sea spray, and the basic medicines he hoped would suffice.

They were the things he thought Freya and the baby might need if everything went horribly wrong and we found ourselves stranded.

His face was pulled tight, his features set in an unreadable mask that hid the turmoil beneath.

It was the look of a man who had finally accepted that fear was no longer an optional emotion, but a constant companion.

Freya met my eyes as I approached and gave me a single, sharp nod of acknowledgement.

She didn’t ask any questions about why I was late or what I had said to Soren.

She didn’t need to; she could see the wreckage of the conversation written in the lines of my face.

Then there was Tyler.

He stood by the tall mast of the small skiff with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack.

Irritation and a brooding sort of resentment were practically rolling off him in waves, thick enough to choke on.

He looked exactly like a man who had reluctantly agreed to the absolute worst idea of his life and was already mentally cataloging every detail so he could complain about it later.

I knew he only came because I had practically begged him to, stripping away my pride until there was nothing left.

I had found Tyler earlier near the stables, tucked away in the shadows and pretending to be intensely busy with a leather saddle that clearly didn't need fixing.

He had stiffened the very moment he realized I was standing there, his entire body locking up in a defensive posture.

He wasn't surprised—he had probably smelled my intent the moment I crossed the courtyard—he was just wary.

It was the look of someone who already knew that whatever words were about to come out of my mouth would be inconvenient, dangerous, or both.

“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and steady despite the lump in my throat.

He didn’t even bother to look up from the leather strap he was fiddling with.

“If you’re here to ask me for something, Kahlan, the answer is already no.”

I smiled anyway, though it felt brittle, and stepped closer into his personal space.

I rested my hand on the rough wooden beam beside him, feeling the splinters bite into my palm.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask yet.”

He finally glanced at me, his blue eyes unimpressed and weary.

“You only smile like that when you’re about to ruin my night and probably my entire week.”

“Wow,” I said, letting a bit of mock hurt seep into my tone.

“And here I thought you actually liked me.”

That did it.

There was a flicker—barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know him as well as I did—but his shoulders loosened just a fraction.

The white-knuckled grip he had on the strap in his hands relaxed, the tension bleeding out into the straw-covered floor.

“I do,” he said, his voice flat and resigned.

“That’s the problem.”

I tilted my head, studying the way the light hit the sharp angles of his face.

“You’re not even going to pretend you don’t anymore?”

He snorted quietly, a sound of genuine derision directed at himself.

“What’s the point of lying now? You’ve always known exactly how I felt.”

I took another step closer, closing the gap until the air between us seemed to hum with a different kind of energy.

I was close enough now that he had to look at me properly, close enough that the scent of the sea and the stables mingled between us.

“I need a boat, Tyler,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper.

He laughed once, a sharp and entirely humorless sound that echoed off the stable walls.

“Of course you do.”

“And I need someone who actually knows how to navigate through Skulls Bay without getting us all killed on the reefs.”

His jaw tightened instantly, the muscles jumping.

“Absolutely not.”

I didn't try to argue with him or throw his words back in his face.

I just let out a long, weary sigh and leaned back against the beam, folding my arms over my chest and looking out at the darkness.

“You’re right,” I said, making my voice sound small.

“I shouldn’t have come to you. It was unfair to ask.”

That made him pause, the silence stretching out between us like a physical weight.

I met his eyes again, making sure he saw the honesty there.

“I just thought… you always said you hated how everyone treated me like I was made of glass. Like I was fragile and couldn't make my own choices.”

His expression darkened, a flash of genuine anger crossing his features.

“That was different, and you know it.”

“How?”

“Because this—”

He gestured vaguely with one hand toward the black expanse of the sea visible beyond the stable doors.

“—this isn't a choice, Kahlan. It’s suicide.”

I stepped closer again, lowering my voice even further until it was just for him.

“I’m not asking you to protect me this time, Tyler. I’m asking you to help me.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“You don’t owe me anything,” I continued, my heart aching at the manipulation even as I pressed on.

“I know that better than anyone. I just… I needed someone who wouldn’t lie to me about the risks we're taking.”

For a long moment, he said absolutely nothing, just searched my face for a reason to say no.

Then, quietly, the question came out.

“You’re doing this for him, aren't you?”

I didn't even try to deny it; there was no point in hiding the truth when it was written in my every action.

“I’m doing it because if I don’t,” I said, my voice cracking, “he dies. It's that simple.”

That finally cracked whatever resolve he had left.

Tyler looked away from me, dragging a heavy hand down his face and letting out a ragged breath.

“You know this is exactly how you get people killed, right? You pull them into your orbit and then the world ends.”

I smiled sadly, the weight of his words landing true.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed that trend.”

He laughed under his breath despite himself, a sound of pure, exasperated defeat.

“You always do this to me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You look at me like that and suddenly I’m sixteen again and just as stupid as I was then.”

I reached out and brushed my fingers briefly over his wrist—nothing dramatic, nothing that could be mistaken for anything more than it was.

Just enough of a touch to ground him.

“I don’t need you to be stupid,” I said gently, meeting his gaze.

“I need you to be brave.”

Silence stretched between us, long and heavy with the things we would never say out loud.

Finally, he exhaled hard, the sound of a man surrendering to his fate.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I really do, Kahlan.”

“But you’ll help me anyway.”

He met my gaze, his eyes full of a weary resignation.

“I’ll pilot the boat. Through Skulls Bay. Once. And that's it.”

Relief flooded through me, loosening the tight knot that had been sitting in my chest for days.

“Thank you,” I said softly, and I meant it more than anything I'd said all night.

He shook his head, already turning back to his gear.

“Don’t thank me yet. If we die out there, I’m personally haunting you for eternity.”

As I turned away to leave him to his preparations, I could feel his eyes following me—heavy, conflicted, and full of a longing he knew would never be answered.

I can see the boat ready to set sail.