The River Nyx curved behind the capital city, dark and smooth as black glass. It was deep and cold, fed by glacial runoff from the northern mountains. Long ago, people said the kings of Sanctum tossed their secrets into the Nyx, trusting the water to carry them away.
Tonight, it was receiving a very dangerous secret.
Revas held Mirabelle until the water reached his knees. He had carried her from the loud, hot foundry, through the tangled royal gardens, and down the steep, mossy bank to a quiet cove hidden by weeping willows.
A full moon shone, sending silver light through the leaves and lighting up the steam rising from Revas' skin. He felt like a furnace. Where the river touched his legs, it hissed quietly and small bubbles rose to the surface.
