CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lyra’s pov

The cold air bit into my skin as I sat by the stream, knees tucked to my chest, the silence around me pulsing with the feel of something like… magic? I hadn't meant to fall asleep but exhaustion had crept on me before I knew it.

And then there was the dream.

No… not a dream. A vision?

I didn’t know.

But I remembered the way it felt— the weightless, eternal. The silver woman, covered in moonlight, her voice like a song I’d forgotten but had always known.

“Awaken,” she had whispered, brushing her fingers across my cheek like a mother bidding her child goodbye.

I didn't understand her words. Not fully. But I knew something important had happened. Was happening.

And I couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet. Not when I barely understood it myself.

When I jerked awake, it was Garrick who found me.

He came out of the trees like a he had been looking for me, his face creased in worry, calling my name trying to pull me out of my panic. He didn’t ask questions—at least, not right away. He simply knelt by my side and helped me to my feet, his hands steady and grounding.

We walked in silence.

The castle loomed ahead, glowing in the moonlight as everyone slept peacefully inside, unknown to the tremor going on inside me. Garrick stayed close but didn’t crowd me. Still, I could feel his eyes on me—watching, waiting.

When we reached the servants’ quarters, he finally spoke. “What did you dream about?”

I hesitated at the doorway.

The truth clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down.

“I don’t remember,” I lied.

I felt his gaze linger on me like a hand resting just above my skin—soft but weighted. He didn’t push. Just nodded slowly.

But just as I turned to step inside, his hand caught mine.

I froze.

“What are you—?”

He turned my hand over, his thumb brushing across the skin of my palm. Then he touched my wrist, my forearm, gentle but searching. A second later, his fingers were on my shoulder, then my cheek, his brows furrowed as if mapping something only he could see.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, heart skipping. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer. Not at first.

Just studied me like I was a riddle he was trying to solve.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with confusion. “The last time you were hurt—how long did it take to heal?”

I blinked.

The question hit harder than it should’ve.

I looked down. “Over two weeks,” I said quietly. “I was unconscious for the second… week or so. It was bad. You should remember, it was just a couple days ago after you told me about the war.”

He stilled. “Because of your dormant wolf?”

I nodded once.

An image of another memory settled in my chest like stone. That time I was still in moonstone… when I was barely hanging on, feverish and broken while the others whispered about how weak I was. About how I should’ve shifted already. How something was clearly wrong with me.

I hated remembering it.

“Why are you asking?” I muttered, not looking at him.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he said, “Do you remember what the king just did to you? In the kitchen?”

And suddenly everything inside me snapped taut.

My heart pounded as I took a step back.

His tone wasn’t cruel but the words felt like a slap.

I narrowed my eyes, jaw clenching. “Why? So you can mock me too?” I said, the bitterness slipping through before I could catch it. “Was all this just friendliness to get my guard down?”

His expression faltered—just for a second.

“Lyra…” he said softly, and I saw it—hurt.

Real, unguarded hurt flashing across his features.

“No,” he added, firmer now. “That’s not what I meant. Not even close.”

His voice carried something I hadn’t expected—disappointment. Like I’d wounded him.

“I just…” He stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Look at yourself.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“Just look.”

Reluctantly, I did.

My arms. My hands. My legs.

And then I stilled.

The blood was still there—dried and flaking, staining the fabric of my shirt and crusting beneath my nails.

But the wounds…

Gone.

No bruises. No cuts. No pain.

I spun, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling it down to where the King had slammed me into the wall—where I’d felt something crack.

Nothing.

Not even a faint mark.

“What the hell…” I whispered, breath catching.

Garrick took a step closer, voice hushed and urgent. “Do you feel your wolf?”

I shook my head instantly. “No. I—I don’t. I would know if I did.”

He looked unconvinced.

I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

Because this? This wasn’t normal. My body had never healed like this. Not even close. And whatever that vision was—whoever that silver woman had been—she had touched me like she knew me.

Like she was changing something.

I rubbed my arms, suddenly cold again.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I need to rest.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, questions dancing just behind his eyes. But something stopped him. He just pressed his lips together and gave a short nod.

I turned, stepping into the dark of the servant’s hall.

But sleep never came.

I lay curled beneath the thin blanket, staring at the cracked ceiling, heart racing.

What was happening to me?

Why now?

And what did the Moon Goddess want with me?

The silence offered no answers.

Only more questions.