Chapter 90
“To think I would close my eyes on a day when peace has returned, with my daughters watching over me… I truly am a fortunate witch.”
Merga seemed to understand better than anyone that today would be her farewell.
The words please don’t go yet rose to Fay’s throat, but she swallowed them back. All this time, Merga had endured her failing body through sheer willpower—for her daughters, for Aldehallow.
Virelda knew that as well. That was why she had said they should let her go peacefully. They couldn’t burden her any longer.
“You deserve happiness. You raised two wonderful witches, after all.”
Fay forced the corners of her lips upward playfully, determined not to cry—determined to let her godmother depart without lingering worries.
“Virelda, don’t carry the world on your shoulders all the time. Loosen up sometimes. Ask for help when you need it.”
“Don’t worry. I’m already getting help from Fay.”
“Is that so? Good. You’re doing well.”
Merga smiled and nodded, then turned her gaze to Fay. A flicker of concern crossed her face.
“I’ve never heard of an invoked that imitates a human form of its own accord.”
She apologized softly.
Aside from the fact that he was clearly unusual, Alnazir was a creature whose true nature remained unknown. Fay had finally gained the first invoked she had long dreamed of, yet Merga could offer no concrete advice to ease her unease. That weighed on her heart.
“Still, Fay, do not fear your invoked. The moment he answered your call and came here, he became your subordinate.”
Don’t shrink yourself. There is no need for you to become his subordinate instead. Remember that, and you will be fine.
With the last of her strength, Merga gave Fay courage. Then she slowly closed her eyes.
* * *
Many wept at Merga’s funeral. Even Bilter—who always claimed men didn’t cry—sniffled, pretending his nose just itched.
Fay did not cry.
“You’re not going to?”
Alnazir asked, finding it curious that she alone remained dry-eyed.
“I’m holding up well.”
But her expression twisted, betraying her words. It wasn’t that she felt fine—she was simply enduring it.
Why lie? Why not just cry like the others and ease the pain? Alnazir didn’t understand. He let out a small, light laugh.
At the sound, Fay froze.
What was there to laugh about? Did human death, this scene of shared grief, look amusing to that monster?
Her anger flared from that interpretation.
Everyone told her not to treat Alnazir like something difficult. He was merely a subordinate, an invoked.
But she could not think of him that way.
She had believed that with time, the sting of betrayal would dull.
It hadn’t.
If anything, the distance between them had only grown.
She knew this wasn’t good for whatever future they might have. But she had no idea how to fix it.
Should they sit down and talk seriously?
Whatever the answer, she was too tired and too sad today to attempt it. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to push the enormous problem called “Lord Alnazir” to tomorrow.
“I’ll go help with the arrangements.”
As usual, she made an excuse and turned away.
Suddenly, a hand landed on her shoulder. Without thinking, she recoiled violently, knocking his hand aside and stumbling back.
Even she didn’t fully understand why. Something she had been suppressing for so long had burst out at a fragile moment.
Regret hit her immediately, but panic locked her tongue. No explanation came.
“I—I have something urgent to take care of…”
In the end, she muttered a useless excuse and fled before he could call her back.
Thankfully, he didn’t.
Alnazir stood frozen, his hand still suspended in the air where she had pushed it away.
He could no longer deny it. Fay was rejecting him. As if he were something dreadful. Something terrifying.
From a distance, Zynie approached cautiously, moving her lips without sound. She probably assumed he wouldn’t understand anyway.
Strangely enough, Alnazir felt he could almost hear her.
Are you sure you don’t need help?
There was no point in pride now.
Alnazir admitted it. He didn’t know how much help this young witch could truly offer—but he was in no position to be selective.
If there was even a straw to grasp, he would have to reach for it.
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