That night had passed quietly, no more demons, no masked watchers, no cryptic proclamations from holy knights. Just stars overhead and the wind howling softly over the cliffs.
The next morning, Yvain sat alone at the edge of the sea cliffs, his cloak wrapped around him as the wind pulled at his hair. The waves rolled in and receded, tireless and eternal, crashing against black stone far below. The scent of salt and sea filled his nose, and for a few moments, the world felt still.
Celeste and Minerva had gone down to the beach below, the former eager to stretch her limbs, the latter still recovering but insisting on breathing fresh air. Darien had taken off at dawn to run errands for his master.
Yvain sat with his elbows on his knees, watching the tide. There was a strange comfort in the repetition of the sea. Sometimes, he wished life could remain like this. Untethered, overlooking the world instead of being swallowed by it.
But wishes were for children, and he had too many debts to pay, too many paths still to walk.
He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Darien jogging up the cliffside path, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his brow. The young man reached him, panting, hands on his knees.
"Fuck, it's a long way up here," he spat, trying to catch his breath.
Yvain raised a brow, mildly amused. "Morning to you too, Darien."
Darien grinned sheepishly. "Right, sorry. Morning." He straightened and exhaled sharply. "I just got back from the city gates. There's a lockdown—city-wide. No one in or out. Chevaliers all over the place, rounding people up. They're saying it's about cultists."
Yvain's expression darkened. That complicated things. He'd hoped to leave the city by tomorrow, preferably before more Inquisition knights arrived. Now, he was trapped.
"Did your master say anything useful?" Yvain asked.
Darien gave a dry laugh. "Master Lome? He rarely says anything directly. Says it's 'the burden of knowledge.' Personally, I think it's just his excuse to seem enigmatic."
Yvain allowed a faint smile at that. He'd heard the phrase countless times. The burden of knowledge. Every master used it, as if reciting scripture. It wasn't a rule written down anywhere, it didn't need to be. Every apprentice learned it by heart. The more you know, the more what you know begins to know you. Knowledge changes what is known, and what is known changes the knower.
That was the danger of true sorcery. That was why the mysteries were hidden.
"Still," Yvain said, rising to his feet and brushing off his cloak, "you should inform your master anyway. I'll tell the girls."
Darien nodded, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, no doubt he'd hoped to find Minerva and be the bearer of important news himself. But he didn't argue. With a quick wave, he turned and began the descent back toward the tower.
Yvain took the opposite path, the one that led down the winding trail to the beach below.
Yvain walked along the coast, boots crunching softly against the sand, following a scattered trail of footprints. Small, light, likely Minerva's, and the more assured stride he recognized as Celeste's. The breeze carried the brine of the sea, the occasional cry of gulls overhead, and the hush of waves caressing the shore.
The trail led farther than he expected, curving around an outcrop and toward a cluster of sea caves carved into the cliffside. Shadows pooled at their mouths like open throats. He hesitated briefly, then stepped into the first.
The air inside was cool and damp, touched with the scent of salt and something else, faintly human, and intimate.
Then he heard it, a low sound, not quite a moan, not quite a gasp. He paused, uncertain. He should have turned around then, but curiosity urged him on.
He rounded a stone curve and found them.
Celeste and Minerva lay entwined on the cave floor, half-dressed, their garments strewn carelessly across the sand. Sweat and dirt streaked their skin, and their mouths moved against one another with a hunger that bordered on animal. Limbs tangled, hips pressed. The rawness of it, the intensity, struck him like a stone to the chest.
For a long heartbeat, he simply stood there, stunned into stillness, not out of prudery or shame, just pity for Darien.
He turned to go.
Then Celeste lifted her head, breathless and smiling, meeting his gaze with that glint of mischief that always danced behind her eyes.
"There's space for one more, cousin," she teased, her voice low and sultry.
Minerva froze beneath her, then turned. Her cheeks went crimson at the sight of Yvain, but to his surprise, she didn't pull away. She didn't even protest the offer.
Yvain paused, gauging her, gauging himself. He could not deny a flicker of temptation, it pulsed in his blood, quick and warm, but the weight of the city's unrest sat too heavily on his shoulders. This wasn't the time for petty pleasure.
"Not today," he said, voice cool, but not unkind.
He turned and left the cave, the wind meeting him again like a whisper. Behind him, the sea went on crashing, relentless and vast.
In time, Celeste emerged from the cave first, brushing a strand of hair from her face as though nothing unusual had transpired. Minerva followed closely behind, visibly more disheveled, her face still flushed with the soft pink of shyness and the deeper red of embarrassment. Her gaze flitted anywhere but toward Yvain.
"I won't tell anyone," he said gently, hoping to offer some comfort. He kept his tone light, but the words only seemed to make her blush deeper.
"I—I know you won't," she stammered, voice barely above the whisper of the wind. It took her a few tries to get the sentence out.
Celeste, naturally, looked far too pleased with herself. She leaned casually against a weathered stone, the picture of smug amusement. "Why did you come looking for us?" she asked. "Or did you just miss me too much to stay away?"
Yvain rolled his eyes and motioned for her to walk with him, a silent signal that the jesting had to end for now. She fell in beside him, still smirking.
"Darien brought news from the city gates," he said in a low voice once they were out of earshot. "Full lockdown. No one enters or leaves. The Chevalier are all over the streets. They're hunting cultists."
Celeste's smirk faded, though her expression remained unconcerned. "We could sneak out," she offered.
He gave a small nod, considering it. "We could," he agreed. "But if we slip up, that Inquisitor will be on us like fire on tinder. He'll take one look and decide we're with the cult, and then it's a chase that could reveal more."
"Then we wait it out," she said with a shrug. "If no one can get in, then Vaelha's dogs can't reach us here anyways."
"It's not Vaelha that worries me," he muttered, glancing back toward the distant city.
"The masked man?" she guessed, and for a heartbeat, her tone shifted. "You worry too much, Yvain. There isn't a single knight or sorcerer in this city who could touch us, and you know it."
"Violence can't always be the last resort."
Celeste grinned. "Quite right," she said. "I always make it the third."