Sylas Sarraze ate more sweets than the staff could buy, and he munched on hot peppers like treats. Vampires can’t taste food unless it is extreme in flavor, and so I often found him in the library with a dozen new books, a plate full of the oddest delights, and an empty glass rimmed in red.

“You must be confused. Sylas died in the blaze that took Sarraze Manor,” I explain, though I cannot deny the hope blossoming in my chest like a budding flower on the first of spring.

“Yes, he had to die in that blaze in order to survive. Please, may we speak inside?” Harvey smiles, appearing genuine, but I haven’t been the best at judging people. However, the hope of Sylas surviving that fire, of seeing the first friend I ever had, stripped a part of me away without warning, urging me to step aside.

“Come in, but know that if you try anything, I am not as weak as I look.”

This makes him laugh. “Mr. Laywell, you are exactly as I hoped you would be.”

Dressed so finely, Harvey is entirely out of place. The vibrant designs and intricate working of the suit make the cottage look pale. My sofa isn’t as red as it once was and the floorboards creak beneath his shoes. The tapestries Mother stitched become tacky in the face of his grandeur. When he takes a seat, he is like a storybook character plucked from his world and placed in my disappointing reality.

“How lovely,” he says, setting one leg over the other. “How long have you lived here?”

“My whole life.” A partial lie. After the manor burned, I traveled to find work, but that certainly isn’t any of his business. Approaching the fire, I let the heat wash over me. My hands shake, now more from hearing about Sylas than my medicine. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. Explain how Sylas is alive and why I should believe you.”

“That necklace of yours,” Harvey nods toward me. “He made it for you.”

I grab the necklace, pinching the roped fabric between my fingers.

“It was for your twelfth birthday, wasn’t it?” Harvey taps his foot in the air, thinking. “Yes, twelfth, and he would have been thirteen. He has a matching piece. He almost didn’t make it in time, although he struggled with them for over a month.”

Only those working at the manor knew about my necklace. Less knew about how many nights Sylas stayed awake weaving braids for our matching set. A friendship necklace, he called it, blushing up to his ears when presenting the gift.

Harvey has an unfamiliar face. He could have been one of Lord Sarraze’s guests. There had been many, and Harvey’s age eludes me. He may look to be in his early thirties, but we witches age slowly and well. He could be centuries older. Harvey and Lord Sarraze could have been friends or may have worked together. Sylas wouldn’t have told that tale to just anyone, though. He had always been shy, quiet, at least around others. Together, we talked for hours.

“The two of you enjoyed playing in the creek behind the manor and workers knew to avoid that area unless they wanted a mud pie thrown at their face,” Harvey adds. The abrupt memory makes me laugh. “Your mother raised you and worked as a baker at the estate. She and you were illiterate, so Sylas taught you how to read and write. Do you believe me now?”

“I want to,” I answer, now clutching my necklace so fiercely my knuckles throb. This is what I have always wanted, but I’ve learned not to trust things that sound too good to be true. “If Sylas is alive, if he survived, how? Why did he never contact me? Why are you here?”

“I will explain everything, but please listen with an open mind,” he says, speaking slowly. “Sylas Sarraze was an alias to protect the boy. His mother was arranged to marry a cruel man. She married this cruel man and gave him children, but her heart eventually pulled her to another. The affair was discovered after Sylas’ birth, along with his true parentage. To save him, she sent the boy to a neighboring kingdom to live with Duke Sarraze, who she knew in her youth, and who could protect Sylas, or so she hoped. Even Sylas did not know who he really was. That night, the blaze was no accident. It was an attempt upon Sylas’ life that he survived and, prior to Lord Sarraze’s death, he learned the truth.”

At this, Harvey hesitates.

“What monster would seek to kill a child who did nothing wrong?” I ask.

“The late Undying King.”

I can’t contain my laughter. The surprise overflows, bubbling from my chest into a boisterous sound. Harvey sits poised, elegant, and utterly serious. I rest a hand over my lips, which struggle to withhold my amusement, but the longer Harvey’s silence runs, the colder my blood runs colder, like a creek in the dead of winter.

“You cannot expect me to believe that,” I mutter.

“I expected some disbelief,” he replies. “However, I assure you I tell no lies. The late Undying King, Viktor Yarvelis, was a cruel man and an even worse husband, jealous and possessive. He did not take kindly to his wife’s affair. Even if Sylas had no right to the throne, even if Viktor had always been a cocky bastard, believing none of his children would make an attempt on his life, he considered Sylas an insult and a threat. He killed his wife when he caught her. I am sure even you heard about that.”

“Of course.”

Everyone had. The queen’s death happened when I was a child, but locals still spoke about Viktor Yarvelis’ malice. Stories say he paraded her through the streets, dragged her into the town square, and beheaded her himself, smiling all the while. Viktor courted many wars with neighboring kingdoms over the simplest slight. Even if he weren’t a vampire like every Undying King before him, Viktor Yarvelis was to be feared, and many celebrated his demise even here in the Gragoria Kingdom.

“After the fire, Sylas went into hiding. That is when I met him. Little bugger tried to rob me.” Harvey chuckles deep in his chest. “Long story short, Sylas sought revenge and he achieved it by slaying Viktor six years ago.”

“You’re telling me Sylas survived the blaze, killed one of the longest ruling Undying Kings, and has been ruling since then?”

Harvey nods, nonchalantly, as if we are merely recounting the day’s weather. “And sending you money. He was adamant I didn’t reveal where it came from, only that I ensured you received it and were comfortable and safe.”

I want to laugh because I haven’t felt comfortable or safe in a long time.

“Why are you telling me all this? Why are you really here?” Why did he never contact me? I want to ask again, but the question catches in my throat.

“Because, Mr. Laywell, I need you to help me save him,” Harvey answers.

I bark out another laugh. “He is the Undying King. How can I save him and from what?”

“Himself.” Harvey stands and sorrow sings from his tired eyes. “Sylas has been through a lot, and I understand how he has become the man he is today, but I fear who he will be a year from now, a decade. Mr. Laywell, believe me when I say we should all fear who Sylas Sarraze may become. As a friend, I have done all that I could, but I see him losing bits of himself more and more each day. I hope a friendly face from a time he misses could change the trajectory of his life.”

“That is asking a lot, Mr. Halbert. Sylas… the Undying King has not spoken to me, has not seen me since we were teenagers, and it is clear he did not ask you to retrieve me, so why would he care if I showed up now?”

“Why would he send money to you every month? Why was that the first order he gave me? He cares, more than even he knows, I bet.” Harvey’s gaze drops to the necklace I’m still clutching. He smiles. “And I know you still care a great deal, too.”

I’ve cared every day of my life. Nothing has been the same since the fire. Sylas gone. Friends taken. My stupid decision. My greatest regret. Mother’s passing. My lingering ailment from the same plague that took her life. Bit by bit, I’ve lost a little more. I’ve been standing alone on an island waiting for it to crumble beneath my feet because there has been nowhere else to go for a long, long time.

Harvey takes a step closer and holds out his hand. “Let me be blunt, Mr. Laywell. I am offering you a job. It will require moving to the Benait Kingdom, but I promise it pays well. Attend to His Majesty’s daily needs and I will be most grateful. What do you say?”

I peer at his hand. It reminds me of another, a man with a charming grin to hide his treachery. Then I look into Harvey’s eyes, an endless sea of desperation. I know the feeling.

I’ve felt it all these years, wishing for my life to be how it was before, to forget and even disappear. I’ve been stuck, lonely because it’s best, because I can’t trust my own decisions. They’ve led to catastrophe, but still I try to fill the hole in my heart with shitty company and it has done nothing. Now, the answer may be here, watching me with a hopeful gleam, willing to take me far away from what I’ve always known.

I grasp Harvey’s hand. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight.”