Chapter 57: in the Long Vigil

Niegal and the healers who aided him worked tirelessly, taking turns applying medicine, channeling healing spells, and monitoring the wounded couple. The prognosis was grim; especially for Seamus. His body demanded constant attention. The head injury was far more serious than any of them had hoped. His breaths came unevenly, skin pale with blood loss. He lingered, but barely.

Elena, by contrast, was physically stable. Her body responded well to Niegal's healing magic…but her mind?

Her very soul seemed to have retreated somewhere far away. It was as if her magic, her essence, knew something her body had not yet accepted. As if it refused to return.

Days passed.

Word of the ambush spread through Puerto Cuidad like wildfire. The Church had made its move. But Lady Aurora, who, thankfully, had departed the night before the attack, made sure everyone who could hear it knew exactly what had happened. Knew what the Church had done.

Out of respect for Elena and Seamus, the war council paused their sessions. They followed Aurora's lead and gave the couple time to recover. Niegal sent updates every day on their progress.

But by week 2, there was still no sign of improvement.

Seamus was slipping.

Elena was lost within herself.

Her body lived, but she did not stir.

Niegal refused to rest. He sat beside them, unblinking, haunted by guilt and something else… something unspoken. The Behike came and went, tending to the unconscious pair and quietly monitoring Niegal's well-being too.

On Day 20, the Behike approached Niegal with a quiet proposition.

"Let me try. Let me reach her through her sleep," she said gently. "If we wait longer, it may be too late for either of them."

Niegal hesitated, but agreed.

The atmosphere in the sanctum was heavy, thick with worry and the scent of mana salves. The Behike laid herself between Elena and Seamus, blowing a silvery-gold powder over their faces. The couple breathed it in. She took both of their hands and closed her eyes, whispering an ancient incantation.

Floating glyphs of gold and silver shimmered in the air.

Niegal sat back, watching, worn down to the soul. He ran a hand through his hair.

He didn't speak the guilt aloud… but it bled from his every breath.

How inappropriate his attentions were; how often his fingers lingered on Elena's hand, how his eyes remained on her face longer than necessary. He had no right. None. And yet…

Seamus was lying here because of him, indirectly or not. And Elena, trapped in sleep, was slipping deeper every day.

All we can do is wait and see, he thought bitterly.

Elena floated.

A long, empty darkness stretched around her. She stirred at last when a familiar hand touched her shoulder. She turned and saw the Behike, eyes full of sadness, but also hope.

"I know you're tired," the woman whispered. "But your people need you. He needs you."

Tears welled in Elena's eyes. Her hand trembled as she reached for the Behike.

"Lead the way," she said softly.

Niegal's head shot up as soon as he saw it.

Elena's eyes fluttered open, a soft groan escaping her lips as her body, unused for weeks, struggled to move.

Niegal rushed to her side and gently helped her sit up on the cot.

"There now, take it easy, love," he murmured, pressing a glass of water into her hand.

Elena sipped slowly, blinking into the low light. Her voice rasped as she thanked him, a small smile touching her lips but not reaching her eyes.

Then suddenly, her head snapped to the side.

Seamus.

He lay breathing erratically, skin ghostly pale.

She tried to stand, stumbled, and collapsed to the floor as she crawled toward him, brushing off Niegal and the Behike's protests.

She knew.

Elena gripped his limp hand tightly, eyes wide and wild with fear. The Behike and Niegal each placed a hand on her shoulders. She leaned back against Niegal's chest, trembling.

"He's… not going to make it."

The words were barely audible.

Not a question.

A truth.

And then-

A faint squeeze.

Seamus's fingers curled softly around hers, then fell slack.

His chest stilled.

No more breath.

Elena leaned forward, placing a trembling kiss on his lips.

"Rest easy now, love," she whispered. "Please find our child in the afterlife. Kiss them. Never let go."

Her voice broke on the final word as tears streamed down her face.

She kissed his fingers, even as they began to grow cold. The Behike murmured a prayer in the old tongue. Niegal's hand tightened on her shoulder.

Elena gave a bitter laugh through her sobs.

"Worst part is… we never actually got married."

She broke. Fully. Openly. And wept with all the sorrow that had been gathering since the night of their ambush.

Niegal wrapped his arms around her, silent tears falling down his cheeks.

Elena sobbed until her body gave out. Her hand clutched her stomach, an ache blooming deep in her bones. With her other hand, she gripped Niegal's coat collar, burying her face in his chest.

The Behike gently placed a white linen cloth over Seamus's face.

Niegal stood and unsealed the sanctum's hidden entrance.

The black market's usual bustle had quieted to a reverent stillness. Word had spread.

All eyes turned as Niegal carried Elena up the spiral staircase, her quiet weeping echoing in the stone walls. Heads bowed.

They mourned not just Seamus—but the shattering of something holy.

Our Saintess… carried by the exiled Viscount?

Was she ever truly his wife?

Will he replace him? Was she meant for him all along?

Niegal ignored them.

Tears fell freely as he reached the top of the market and emerged into the fading daylight.

Elena had slipped into unconsciousness again, but her tears still glistened.

At the estate gates, Lady Aurora and Cheri were already rushing forward.

They froze, Cheri taking a few steps forward.

The sight of Niegal, tall and grim, carrying Elena wrapped in a dark cloak… broke them.

"I'm so sorry,"he said, voice low, raw with pain.

Aurora collapsed, still at first, clutching her chest, eyes wild. Then her scream echoed along the cliffs.

Cheri dropped to her knees, speechless. Tears blended with the mist.

Inside, the entire staff stopped what they were doing and bowed deeply.

Married or not, she was their Viscountess Matteo.

Niegal laid her in what was once their shared bedchamber. A place that would now belong to her alone.

She stirred, reaching for him weakly.

"He looked just like you,"she murmured."He loved you so much."

Her words shattered something in him.

Niegal stood abruptly, blinking fast.

"My lady, I… I must go now."

But she caught his pinky with shaking fingers.

"Don't leave me alone,"

she whispered.

"Please stay."

Something inside him broke.

He knelt beside her and pulled her into an embrace. Her head rested on his shoulder. She tensed, then melted completely.

"Use me,"

he murmured into her hair.

"Let me help you."

She clung to him, her tears soaking through his tunic.

Niegal said nothing else. Only held her.

And that night, they lay beside each other as only two people broken by grief can-

Clinging to one another not out of desire, but out of unbearable sorrow.

Elena slept in his arms, her breath steady at last.

Niegal watched over her, silver eyes full of mourning.

And he did not dare look away.