33. Aria
Aria
I lie there for a while, staring at Roan’s peaceful face in the low light. Her breathing is soft and steady, lips parted in the faintest smile. She looks content and…fragile in a way I’ve never seen.
My chest clenches at the sight— fragile and Roan in the same thought shouldn’t fit, but it does now, because of me.
And that’s terrifying.
I bite the inside of my cheek, dragging in a breath that doesn’t settle anything.
I made her a promise. Don’t run off, Mouse. Promise me. I remember the way her voice dropped when she said it—quiet, but firm, like she was daring me to believe she might not survive it if I left again.
And I promised her I wouldn’t.
I meant it. I did.
But promises can change. Especially when they become too dangerous to keep.
Guilt gnaws at my insides, warring with the tender warmth that still lingers from the feel of her arms around me, her whispered confession. I love you. The words echo in my mind, each time piercing me a little deeper. I never thought I’d hear those words from anyone. Never thought I’d want to hear them.
And I do. I want them again. I want her.
That’s exactly why I have to go.
I thought I’d rather die free than live under my mother’s rule. But now…now I have Roan to think about.
My breath shakes as I peel her arm away, inch by careful inch, hoping she won’t stir. She’s beyond exhausted—between travel, fighting, letting me feed, and sex. I take advantage of that weariness now.
Slipping from beneath the blanket, I press one last kiss to her temple, letting my lips linger on her skin for a heartbeat too long. Then I force myself to stand.
One hand twitches in her sleep, like she’s reaching for something. Reaching for me …
I turn away before I can be tempted to crawl back into that bed and pretend I’m not already breaking her heart.
I gather my things in silence, biting back tears that threaten to blur my vision. My chest feels hollow, a dull ache settling in as I realize this is the last time I’ll see her like this— peaceful, unguarded, safe . The corners of my mouth tremble, but I can’t let myself cry.
Not yet.
On the bedside table, I find a spare scrap of parchment and a stub of charcoal. I write:
Roan,
Sorry to spoil everything. Turns out I’m just a mouse after all—skittish, darting away when danger’s near. But I can’t let you risk your life because of me. Forgive me. You deserve a mercenary’s life with less fuss.
Thank you, for everything.
—Mouse
I reread the note, wishing there were some way to make her understand this isn’t a rejection. That I care for her, more than I should. But I know Roan—it’ll sting. Still, I pray she’ll see the truth shining through the words: I’m doing this to protect you.
I leave the note by her half-finished mug of ale, gently propping it against the tankard so she can’t miss it.
Then, swallowing the tightness in my throat, I slip through the door.
My hand lingers on the wood a beat too long, but I don’t look back. I can’t.
My heart pounds as I descend the stairs, each creaking step louder than it should be. The tavern’s night crowd has thinned, most of the tables empty now, only a few half-drunken patrons still murmuring over mugs. None of them glance up. None of them notice me leaving—and why would they?
I’m just another woman with a hood pulled low, vanishing into the night.
Except one person does see me.
The innkeeper stands behind the bar, drying a mug with the same rag she’s probably been using all night. Her eyes flick up as I pass. For a heartbeat, our gazes meet.
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t ask questions. She just gives me a slow, subtle nod.
Like she knows.
Like she’s seen this before—someone leaving behind more than just a warm bed upstairs.
I nod back, throat tight, and keep walking. Out the door. Into the chill air. Away from the warmth I promised I wouldn’t run from.
And I don’t let myself look back.
***
The moon slicks the cobblestones in silver, making it easier to navigate the winding lanes. The roads are mostly empty, only the faint rattle of a shutter or the bark of a dog keeps me company as I walk. Each step echoes too loudly in my ears.
The night smells like wood-smoke and damp earth, but all I can taste is dread.
The old Miller house. That’s where they’re staying.
The thought of walking straight into my mother’s grasp sends my pulse skittering, but I cling to the memory of Roan’s sleeping form. Her whispered I love you still clings to my skin like a balm—and a wound.
She trusts me. She loves me.
And I love her, too.
If they catch her—if they use her to get to me—I won’t survive that, and neither will she.
No. This ends tonight.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to no one. To Roan.
The town falls away behind me, and the lane narrows, curving through a patch of trees that have long since surrendered their leaves. The Miller house looms ahead—tall, half-rotted, the edges of its silhouette softened by lantern light spilling through warped windowpanes.
The voices inside are low, sharp-edged. Familiar.
Clan.
I cross the threshold of the weed-choked property, heart drumming so loudly I’m sure they’ll hear. My stomach lurches. Every instinct screams to turn around, to run back to her. But I keep walking.
Because I’ll trade myself for her a hundred times over if it means she stays free.
Because love, real love, doesn’t always mean staying.
Sometimes…it means walking into the dark alone.
There’s no chance to knock, no chance to hesitate—two enforcers slip from the shadows like wraiths, their hands closing around my arms in the same breath. I don’t flinch, but my breath hitches, a startled cry rising in my throat before I bite it down. I have to do this. For Roan.
One of them leans in, breath hot against my cheek. “Didn’t think we’d see your pretty face so soon,” he sneers.
Damaris. His voice drips with familiarity, twisted now with cruel amusement. The other one is silent, but his grip bites into my elbow hard enough to leave bruises.
They drag me through a battered door that creaks and groans like it’s protesting my return. The scent hits me first—mildewed curtains and splintered wood, but underneath it, that thick, metallic tang that pierces my senses. Blood. Fresh. My stomach knots.
I’m paraded through a grand foyer that’s barely clinging to its former glory. Dust hangs heavy in the air, lit by slivers of moonlight through broken windows. What furniture remains is splintered, torn, or bloodstained. It’s as if the house itself has been feeding.
They shove me forward. Not rough enough to bruise, but firm enough to remind me who is in control.
The enforcer on my right—Tallen, I think—peels off and disappears down a long hallway. His boots echo against the cracked tiles as he goes to fetch her.
My mother.
That word claws something raw and buried from inside me.
When Damaris finally releases me, I don’t stumble. I stand still. I keep my chin up, even though my palms are clammy and my stomach twists like I’ve swallowed stones.
Damaris stays behind, lingering a few paces away. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. He just watches. Always watching.
I’m back in the den.
The center of the web.
And this was always going to happen, wasn’t it?
But I didn’t expect it to feel like this—like every cell in my body is screaming for Roan. For her arms. Her voice. Her steadiness.
I told myself I had to protect her. That walking into this place meant keeping her safe. Now that I’m here, caged and alone, I realize just how much of myself I left behind in that bed.
Damaris shifts slightly, arms crossed, weight resting on one hip like a bored vulture. His expression is unreadable—apathetic, maybe. Or patient.
He’s my mother’s favorite. That loyalty’s carved into every inch of him.
I wrap my arms around myself. Not to protect. To contain.
Because every instinct is screaming to run once more.
But I won’t.
Not this time.
Not while I have even an inch of strength left in me.
The house groans—an old, aching sound that rattles somewhere deep in the bones of the walls. Damaris glances toward the hall, then back at me, and I swear I see the ghost of a smirk.
“Didn’t think you had it in you,” he murmurs.
I don't respond, don’t give him the satisfaction. I just keep staring forward, hands clenched, waiting.
And the air shifts.
She’s here.
I turn to find her—my mother.
She stands in the doorway, dressed in dark finery, hands folded with an almost regal poise, as if she appeared out of thin air.
Her eyes meet mine—piercing, unblinking—and suddenly, I’m a child again. Small. Uncertain. Desperate for the smallest scrap of approval. My knees threaten to buckle under the weight of her gaze.
She regards me with a disdainful little tilt of her head. Her eyes flick to Damaris and a faint flicker of satisfaction ghosts over her features.
She’s not surprised to see me. Of course she isn’t. She knows me too well. She knew I’d give in, come back. She planned for this.
Silence stretches.
Her lips part, and a cruel smile slices across her face.
“Aria,” she says, my name dragged out like a weapon. Her voice is low, threaded with condescension—soft as silk, and just as cold. “So you’ve finally remembered where you belong.”
My stomach twists, but I force my chin up. I can’t let her see how badly my hands are shaking. This is it. No more running. Roan’s safety depends on this—on me.
Then I hear it—footsteps, soft but deliberate. The creak of wood, the rustle of cloaks.
Enforcers begin to spill into the foyer behind her, one by one. Tallen’s among them—his presence unmistakable. Beside him, a broad-shouldered woman I barely recognize, eyes sharp and cold. And others… too many others. Some I know by name. Some I’ve only seen in passing, faces blurred by memory. Some I don’t recognize at all.
They fan out behind my mother like shadows drawn to blood.
She steps forward slightly, her expression sharpening. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your place entirely.”
My throat constricts. Even after all this time, the urge to bow my head, to cast my eyes aside, creeps in.
Stay calm. Remember why you’re here.
I make my voice as steady as I can. “I came to end this.”
She lets out a low, mocking laugh. “You end nothing. If you had any power to speak of, you wouldn’t have slunk back to me like a whipped dog.”
Her words sting—because they’re not entirely wrong. But I don’t flinch.
“Tell me the truth,” she purrs, circling me like a viper toying with its prey. “You didn’t come back out of loyalty.”
She pauses, letting the silence stretch, then adds, “Maelric reported someone was with you. A mortal.”
My breath hitches.
“He said she fought like a soldier,” she continues, voice low and deliberate. “Swordswoman. Fierce. Protective.”
She steps back into view, tilting her head, studying me like I’m some curious puzzle she’s halfway through solving.
“You’re not alone,” she says, soft and certain. “So who is she, Aria?”
I bristle, jaw tightening. “Does it matter why I came back?”
“Doesn’t it?” Her smile widens, all teeth and calculation. “You brought someone into our affairs. Into my affairs. Did you fall for some backwater stray, Aria?” She tuts. “You always had a soft spot for humans and strays.”
The words land harder than they should.
I flash—unbidden—back to the old estate gardens, where I’d snuck scraps of meat to a half-starved cat that kept slipping past the guards. I was barely twelve. I thought I was being kind. When my mother found out, she had the creature killed in front of me. She said mercy was a weakness the world would punish. Then she made me bury it.
“You’ll care for a thing, and it will cost you,” she’d whispered, voice like a blade pressed to the base of my throat. “Let this be your first lesson.”
I suck in a breath, an ache knotting deep in my stomach. She’s always known exactly how to unnerve me. How to twist the knife.
“If you want me,” I say, forcing the words past the rising burn in my throat, “if you want your—your property back, then I’m here. You don’t need her too.”
Her lips twitch, suppressing a laugh. “Ah, so it is about a mortal. How predictable. You never did understand our superiority, did you?” She sweeps forward, her presence dominating the shattered foyer. “You never understood what it meant to be one of us. You threw away strength and station for... what , exactly?” Her gaze flicks over my scuffed boots and torn cloak, and the distaste in her expression deepens. “Honestly, Aria, you look…pathetic.”
My shoulders tense, jaw locked, but I stay silent. She’s baiting me. Poking old wounds to see if I’ll bleed.
I won’t give her the satisfaction.
When I don’t respond, her expression hardens—elegance turning brittle.
“Come.” She extends a pale hand, fingers rigid, ringed in silver like the promise of a cage. “We leave immediately. Back to the estate. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”
My voice breaks through the tension. “What about her ?”
Her eyes flick toward me, amused. “Your…friend need not be harmed, so long as you don’t make a fuss.”
I swallow, trying to quell the panic flooding my chest. I can’t let her or the clan near Roan—there’s no way she’ll spare her. If I press, I might lose any chance of protecting Roan at all.
Still, I have to ask. “Why do you want me back so badly? You have an entire clan—”
Her eyes flash with anger, cutting me off. “You dare question me? You are my daughter,” she hisses, “and you carry our blood. There is no running from that. Your little rebellion has been…entertaining, but I’m done playing. You will return to your place. Or I will burn whatever hole you’ve crawled into.”
She signals the enforcers again, and they step forward to grip my arms once more. I freeze, panic rising hot in my chest.
This is it—she’ll drag me back, and Roan…
My mind whirls, heart pounding. I see Roan—sleeping, unguarded, back at the inn. I’d parted from her to protect her, to keep her out of this, but I was a fool to think distance would be enough. My mother could track a breath through a storm—she’s a master tracker. That’s how she followed us this far, isn’t it? Roan’s scent, the faint trail we left behind, every misstep I thought we’d hidden… all of it led her here. And if she wants to, she’ll follow it right back to the inn. Right back to her.
I suck in a breath. My voice comes out quieter this time, trembling around the edge of desperation. “If I come with you quietly... you’ll leave her alone? Forever?”
A languid shrug. “If she’s wise enough to keep out of my way.”
My eyes fall for a heartbeat—and that’s all she needs. She strikes like a snake, one gloved hand grabbing my chin, yanking my face up.
“You will obey,” she murmurs, her tone laced with chilling finality. “Because that’s what you were born for. You’re only here now because you can’t hide forever. Don’t lie to me, Aria. But you and I both know who holds the leash . I’m the only one who can grant your mortal a chance, flimsy as it may be.”
I want to scream. I want to tear her apart—but the thought of Roan in my mother’s path sets ice in my veins.
Instead, I say, “Yes.”
The word tastes like blood and surrender.
Damaris exhales sharply behind me. One of the enforcers nods. My mother’s smile spreads, triumphant.
I glance toward the door, as if I could see Roan from here. I can’t. But the echo of her warmth is still tucked beneath my ribs.
“I’ll go with you,” I say, voice low. "I'll obey."
And for the first time since I left that inn, I feel truly cold.
The silence shatters.
A crash—sharp, jarring. A muffled shout. And then a sound that turns my blood to ice: a wet, visceral tear, like flesh parting from bone.
My mother’s fingers jerk from my chin, and her head whips toward the noise. Around me, the enforcers go still, muscles taut and ready, eyes darting toward the hallway with sudden, silent panic.
Something’s wrong. Something’s here.
Something violent and immediate.
And then the door slams open, a gust of cold air bursting through the threshold.
My breath catches. The world narrows.
“ Roan… ”
She stands in the doorway like a storm in human shape, sword slick with fresh blood, face set in a fury I’ve never seen before. Her dark hair clings to her forehead, disheveled, damp with sweat, and her chest heaves like she ran straight here without stopping.
Oh gods, she came after me.
My knees nearly give out, a rush of something sharp and bright bursting in my chest—relief, disbelief, bone-deep terror .
Roan’s eyes lock on mine, and for a heartbeat, she looks at nothing else. Not the opulent rot of the ruined foyer. Not the enforcers tensing around me. Not my mother’s icy expression curdling into rage.
Just me.
Her voice cuts through the stillness like a blade.
“Mouse,” she says, low and furious, “what the hell were you thinking?”
The nickname lands like a fist to my chest. My vision blurs.
Gods.
I want to run to her, to throw myself into her arms and scream I’m sorry until I can’t breathe. But I can’t move. Not with my mother standing inches away, her wrath rolling off her in cold waves.
Roan takes a step inside, slow and measured, but her blade stays raised. Blood drips to the floor, one dark drop after another. She’s hurt—no, someone else is. She fought her way here.
For me.
Tears well, hot and helpless. She doesn’t know what she’s done, what she’s walked into. Or maybe she does. And it doesn’t matter. Because she came anyway.
Because she loves me.
A tear slips down my cheek as the silence in the foyer stretches thin, ready to snap.
Roan came for me.
And now, everything is about to break.