Chapter 29 #2
Without hesitation, Daed mounts him, just as the sound of wings snapping open fills the air.
One by one, the others shift, and I find myself surrounded by true Fae.
Tall and commanding, with wings stretching wide, runes burning bright across skin that gleams like starlight.
Power radiates from them in pulsing waves.
“I will see you soon,” Daed says.
Ashen opens his jaws in a wide yawn or a complaint; with him it’s always hard to tell. I smile despite myself, reaching up to cup his jaw, brushing my nose against his.
We’ve been through too much, he and I, and though the void may live inside him, he is no demon, not to me.
Sometimes, I think he would rather trade it all for the quiet of my Grove. Sleep all day. Roll in the grass. Chase birds and dream beneath the sun.
Daed gives the word, and Ashen unfurls his wings and leaps into the sky. The others follow in perfect formation, slicing through the dim shafts of sun, blotting out the pale light as they soar toward Baev’kalath.
I watch them go until they blur into shadows against the clouds, and then, until they vanish altogether.
I know they’re right. I remember Baev’kalath well enough to know its walls should be lined with Blades, and if they are not… something is deeply wrong.
But there’s no force more capable of facing it than the one I just watched disappear into the sky.
Still, I wait.
I stand there far too long, the silence growing heavier with every heartbeat. Daed does not return. No one does and nothing stirs on the wind but stillness. Ominous, choking stillness.
My eyes sweep the cliffs. There is no path to reach the fortress. You must fly. One thing I cannot do. But even if I could find a way, I could not take her with me and I will not leave her behind.
I begin to pace, the ship’s timbers creaking beneath my feet, my thoughts spiraling with impossible plans. None of them work. Every one ends with the same truth: she must be protected.
And then, like lightning slicing through fog, a thought strikes.
It’s absurd. Reckless. Infinitely foolish.
But it’s the only option I have.
I turn from the helm, make my way across the deck, and descend into the ship’s underbelly.
Ronin is still chained to the central beam.
When he looks up, I frown. “You look dreadful.”
He arches a brow. “Your words wound me.” He gives a theatrical sniff and grimaces. “But I assure you, the smell is fucking worse.”
Then he lets his head fall back with a dramatic sigh. “I take it we’ve arrived? Do I die now?”
I tilt my head, considering him. “Not yet. There’s something I need first.”
He eyes me with cautious amusement. “You want a favor... from me?”
“They’ve been gone too long,” I say quietly. “I need to go after them. But I can’t take the baby.”
His brows pull together. “So?”
“So,” I breathe, “I need someone to stay with her.”
The words feel even more foolish out loud. Like tossing a match into dry grass.
Ronin blinks. Stares. Then narrows his eyes like he’s sure he misheard me.
“You want me to… babysit?”
I lift my chin, refusing to waver. “Yes.”
He lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’d entrust your child to the prisoner in the brig?”
“If I believed you meant her harm, you’d be ash by now.”
He studies me. “And what makes you so sure I won’t take my chance and run?”
I meet his gaze, steady. “Because I think, just maybe, there’s a sliver of something left in you that still understands what it means to protect something precious. And because,” I add, softer, “there is a part of you that does not want my daughter to come to any harm.”
Silence stretches between us.
Finally, he glances at the shackle on his ankle. “Well, then… you’ll have to unchain me. Unless you want the little one nestled in filth beside me.”
I nod, because he’s right. Of course he’s right and yet, the weight of what I’m about to do twists low in my stomach. This could be the best decision I’ve ever made or the one that ruins everything. I’m not sure which yet.
My eyes fall on the chain.
Maybe I should just stay put. Do what my husband asked. Be safe. Be still.
“No key?” Ronin asks, mouth curving in a lazy pout. “They don’t trust you that much?”
I frown. “I don’t need a key.”
I move toward him, kneel by his side, and wrap my fingers around the chain.
It’s cold beneath my skin, but not for long.
My magic answers instantly, green light threading up through my veins, pulsing just beneath the surface.
The metal begins to shimmer, glow, then burn.
I keep my hold even as the heat grows unbearable, until the chain melts away in a hiss of smoke and light, leaving only the cuff around his ankle.
And then it hits me. I didn’t do it for strategy or mercy. I did it to prove I could. That I wasn’t afraid.
Too late, I realize what that kind of pride invites.
He’s already on his feet, looming over me, chest heaving, fists clenched as if he’s fighting something inside himself. The room seems to shrink beneath his presence, the air pulling tight around us.
The fire still simmers at my fingertips, humming with warning. This isn’t what I wanted and I was a fool to ever believe this man could be anything but danger. My enemy.
But then, slowly, his hands ease open. He exhales through his nose, and lifts one toward me, not in anger, but in offering.
We don’t speak. We just look at each other, the moment stretching quiet and long between us. His eyes, usually so sharp, so cold, have gone still, their blue softening to a summer sky. As if they’re asking me to trust him. Just this once.
The fire fades. The light in my skin flickers and dies.
I place my hand in his.
His fingers close gently around mine, warm and sure, and he lifts me to my feet.
“So,” he says once I’m upright, voice light, “where’s the little bundle of joy?”
I nod toward the stairs, already moving. He follows without question, his footsteps trailing behind mine like a shadow I’ve willingly invited too close. I glance over my shoulder more than once, not out of fear, exactly, but disbelief. That I freed him. That I trusted him.
And yet… something deep within me whispers that no harm will come to her in his presence. He’s had a hundred chances to kill me. To leave me broken and bleeding in the name of Anethesis’ dream. But he didn’t. He chose otherwise.
We leave the brig and step into the gray light of day, crossing the deck toward the cabin. I pause at the door, pressing my palms flat against the wood. If I’m going to change my mind, return to reason, to safety, this is the moment. This is the last breath of sense before the descent.
But then I lift my gaze to Baev’kalath, shrouded in unnatural stillness. The silence of it sings louder than any scream. There’s no sign of Zyphoro. No flicker of Orios or Solena. No Reon. No husband.
I grip the handle and twist.
The door creaks open, and Ronin’s heavy steps follow me inside.
“It’s nice in here,” he comments, gaze sweeping the space. “Much drier than my quarters.”
I ignore him, walking straight to the crib where she sleeps, small and perfect and utterly unaware of the war outside her walls. My hand hovers above her chest for a moment, drawn by the rhythm of her breath. Then, I look back at him, standing just inside the threshold.
“If you harm her,” I say, my jaw tight, “I will do to your limbs what I did to that chain. Burn them off, one by one and I’ll make certain you stay conscious to watch every moment of it.”
His brows rise. “What a visceral image,” he murmurs. “But unnecessary, Jewel. You were right. I wish her no harm.”
He pauses. A flicker of curiosity crosses his face as his gaze shifts to the sleeping child.
“Her,” he says. “What is her name? I’d rather call her by that.”
My throat tightens. I glance down at the crib again. The truth, thick and bitter, rises in my chest.
“You really haven’t named her yet?”
I shoot him a look. “The last few weeks have not been generous. I’ve had other things occupying my mind.”
Ronin exhales, not unkindly. “Well, she needs a name.”
His eyes catch on the ribbon tied to the crib. A soft red, faded with time and memory.
“You used to wear that around your wrist,” he says, almost gently.
I nod, surprised he remembers.
“It must mean something.”
“It does,” I say quietly. “It belonged to someone. A warrior. She died in the Betrayer’s Battle. Her name was Estra.”
“If the ribbon means that much… if she meant that much… why not give your daughter her name?”
Silence folds between us. I look up at him, my eyes darker now, the weight of memory rising like a tide.
“My friend, the one you killed that day in the fields. He was her father.”
Ronin stills. A beat passes. Then I hear the thick swallow, the shift of his stance as if he’s bracing against something that won’t stay down.
He straightens, ready to mask it with indifference. But this time… the regret clings to him. Lingers. Presses against his skin like sweat on a sweltering summer’s day, and unlike before, he doesn’t reach for an excuse. Doesn’t say I did what I had to do.
He just stands there.
Haunted.
“If things had been different,” he says softly, so softly I almost miss it, like he’s confessing to the wind.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have done what I did that day.
Maybe you wouldn’t have either. But the past is stone, Jewel.
Heavy, unmoving. It does not change, no matter how we wish it would.
All we can do is carry it and hope, one day, we’re worthy of forgiveness.
Even if the only one who ever grants it is ourselves. ”
He drifts closer to the crib, hesitant. His eyes flick toward her, but never settle. The smile that tugs at his mouth is nervous, unsure, a far cry from the man who once wielded fear like a blade. Still, he keeps his distance.
“She looks like she’d wear the name Estra well,” he murmurs. “There’s a warrior spark in her already. I can see it.”
I study him in silence, drinking in every shift of his posture, every flicker of expression, wondering how much of this is truth and how much is just another mask, another trick to earn my trust before the blade comes down.
“I’ll consider it,” I say at last, my voice cool but not unkind. “But for now…”
I untie the ribbon from her crib and instead gently loop it around her wrist, finishing it in a bow.
“To keep you safe, my darling,” I say with a smile. She smiles back, and warmth swells in my chest. I notice Ronin watching over my shoulder. My eyes rake over him. “Wash up a little before you touch her.” I raise a finger, voice clipped. “And only touch her if you need to.”
Before he can open his mouth, I turn away, dragging a cloak off the wall and fastening it at my throat.
I’m halfway to the door when he speaks again.
“Jewel,” he calls. “Are you sure? You don’t know what’s waiting in that place.”
I glance back at him, fingers on the handle. “Whatever waits there,” I say, “it can’t be worse than where I’ve already been.”
Then my eyes drift to my daughter, still curled in her sleep, and back to him once more. I fix him with a slow, pointed stare.
“Remember. A limb at a time.”
He sighs, exasperated. “Yes, yes. And I’ll be wide awake for every moment. You’re very poetic when you’re threatening.”
A smile curls at the edges of my mouth, sharp, fleeting, and gone by the time the door shuts behind me.