Chapter 36
Daed
The night bleeds into dawn, an orange haze gnawing at the infinite dark, chasing shadows from the edges of the world.
I step up from the cabin to find a modest company of Blades, those that survived the horrors of Modok, working the ship.
Meanwhile, Orios hauls the ropes, sails snapping against the brisk wind, and beside him, muscles straining, burning with every ounce of effort, is a figure I am still unaccustomed to seeing unshackled and unmasked.
The Golden Son pulls in time with Orios, grunting in unison until a final, hard thump secures the sail.
They tie off the rope, and Orios, silent as ever, gives only the sharpest nod, a wordless acknowledgment, the closest this human will come to thanks from a Reaper.
Above, Zyphoro stands watchful in the crow’s nest, eyes fixed ahead, fingers weaving through the air as she summons smoke into waves that churn the water, joining the wind to carry us faster toward land.
I approach Orios, slapping him hard on the back. He straightens with a groan, towering, long hair matted and soaked with sweat, knotted atop his head.
“Solena is tired but refuses to sleep,” I say.
He grunts, a sound that says he understands exactly what I mean.
“I’ll take care of it,” he murmurs. One last nod to the Golden Son, then he wipes the sweat from his neck and heads for the cabin.
The Golden Son wipes his hands on his trousers, wincing at the raw blisters and scratched skin.
I spot a waterskin on deck and, in a rare moment of consideration, toss it to him.
The leather strikes his blistered palms, and he winces again.
I study the way his scarred face contorts and find the sight… interesting.
He nods at me, the same wordless gratitude Orios would offer, then lifts the waterskin to his lips and drinks long and deep. When he finishes, he exhales, wipes the last drops from his mouth, and looks up at me from beneath his shaggy blond hair.
“How is she?”
I hesitate, weighing the truth, but he has earned my honesty, even if I will never admit it aloud.
“She is no better. No worse. For now, Reon holds her in time.”
His gaze drifts to the horizon, and both our ears prick at the distant cry of seabirds. “We’re close. Then you will take her to the Grove?”
I nod.
“You must take me first to the Legion camp. They must know you mean no harm. If they see you unannounced, they will attack.”
I bark a mocking laugh, the sound lost to the wind. “If they dare attack me, it will be the last thing they do. I will show no mercy. Amara must reach the Grove.”
“What of the beast Ashen? I could ride him if you are not willing,” he offers.
Another laugh bubbles inside me. Who does this human think he is that he could ride a demon of the void like it’s a fucking pony? But that lunacy is least of my thoughts. I square my shoulders. “Ashen has not been seen since Baev’kalath.”
The Golden Son narrows curious eyes at me. “Can you not summon him? Do you not control demons?”
I dislike the way this human presumes to know anything about me. Still, I answer.
“He does not answer me.”
“Does that mean… but isn’t he immortal?”
“Demons die as easily as humans do. As easily as Fae do. If he died protecting Amara, then he served her well. What do you care anyway? He was a demon, after all.”
The Golden Son leans on the railing. “Demon or not, I saw bravery. I saw loyalty in the beast.”
A flash of feathers and smoke, and Zyphoro descends from above, landing deftly between us. “Then you and Ashen are alike in that sense,” she says with a grin. Her gaze sweeps over the ripples of his sweat-slicked muscles, and I roll my eyes, stomach churning.
“I will take him to his Legion,” she says abruptly. “You do not need another pair of hands to get Amara to the Grove.”
I eye her suspiciously. “And why are you so eager to escort this human, who hates us, to his army?”
Zyphoro shrugs. “Curiosity, insanity, boredom. Take your pick, Daedalus. Regardless, I’ll be happy to see him delivered.”
I shake my head. “I did not promise him safe passage.” I inhale, letting the weight of it settle. “I promised him death. A promise already overdue.”
Zyphoro laughs, sharp and wild, and both the Golden Son and I are caught off guard by it.
“Then stop going on about it and kill him already,” she says.
Her taunts fuck me off to no end. I should kill him just to show her I’m not bluffing. But perhaps that’s a little childish. So I do not. I stand there, brow furrowed, fingers twitching as if summoning Death Singer. Yet my sword does not come forth.
Zyphoro sighs, mocking my frayed patience. “He has done all you asked. He protected Amara and your daughter to the best of his ability.”
“And he failed,” I growl.
“So did you. So did we all,” she retorts sharply, yet her words cut like a dull knife. Slow and agonizing.
I release a low rumble from my chest, grudging acknowledgment in my throat.
“I’m curious to see what he will do next,” Zyphoro purrs, amusement threading every word.
The Golden Son bows his head as Zyphoro’s gaze sweeps over him, then he straightens. “I appreciate your… kindness, and you need not fear me.”
Zyphoro’s laughter breaks loose again, louder. She slaps her knee, nearly tipping over. “Oh, darling, I am neither kind nor afraid. But how deliciously na?ve of you to think so much of yourself… and of me.”
She tilts her chin, eyes dragging over him, not just assessing, but devouring. A slow smile curves her mouth. “Perhaps I won’t return you to your army of traitors after all. Perhaps I’ll keep you for myself. Make you my pet.”
Her finger taps against her chin. “You can crawl at my feet, lick the mud from my boots. Hmm… yes. I think I’ll call you… Scratch.”
“My name is Ronin,” he replies. Calm. Unflinching. Not the usual reaction to Zyphoro’s teasing.
My eyes flash, eager for chaos to follow.
He squares his shoulders as Zyphoro circles, smoke curling between her fingers, a dagger materializing from the shadows in her hand.
They stand off for what feels like eternity, neither yielding, neither breaking eye contact, every breath thick with the possibility of violence or fucking, it could go either way with my sister.
“Ronin,” she says at last, voice a velvet whip. “Very well.”
The smoke swirls, then the dagger vanishes as if it had never existed.
“Not long to go now.”
Her wings snap from her back, catching the dawn light, and she ascends to the crow’s nest.
I turn to him. He does not relax. His chest broadens, fists clenched, body taut as a drawn bow, ready for whatever I might do and he should prepare.
He should anticipate. Gygarth is not hunting me, and I am free to call the void.
I could rend him into so many pieces there wouldn’t be enough for the birds to scavenge.
But Zyphoro is right. Somehow, impossibly, she is right. I will not kill him. It would bring me no pleasure.
“You’ve earned yourself a reprieve,” I say, voice edged with gravel. “But if you enjoy your head attached to your neck, don’t do anything stupid.”
“I want the same things you do,” he says, shoulders easing just enough to suggest a truce. “So, I will work with you until Amara is healed. But I will not bow. I am not yours to command. I have not forgotten.”
My jaw ticks, teeth grinding. A whisper of smoke unfurls from my back, wings stretching wide enough to blot out the rising sun as it paints the horizon in fire and shadow.
“Neither have I,” I rasp, each word heavy with warning and promise. “So on second thought, please… do something stupid.”
He doesn’t respond. Only takes a single step back, and the faintest sting of disappointment coils in my chest.
I lift from the deck, soaring upward before settling beside Zyphoro in the crow’s nest.
“Calm yourself, brother,” she says. “He has an army on land, which is more than we do. The thrall houses lie in ruins. Lords and ladies dead. The Blades’ ranks shattered. There may still be a use for him.”
I furrow my brow. “That is very fucking rational of you, sister.”
She exhales, a soft huff laced with amusement despite herself. “I may have lost fragments of my mind over the centuries, but I’m not a fool, brother.”
My gaze lingers on her, the eyes so like mine, the other half of the moonstone glinting at her throat, our mother’s moonstone. A reminder of blood and bond, of a past neither of us can escape. “Of course you’re not.”
Her frown severs the brief warmth between us. “Don’t get sentimental. Just help me move this ship faster, would you?”
I draw in a breath and let my fingers brush the frayed edges of the void. Smoke unfurls at my command, spilling into the waves until the sea itself blackens, alive with shadow. The ship surges forward, leaping as though the very currents bend to me.
My eyes cut to the horizon, the silhouette of the mainland sharpening with each beat of my heart. But the fate that awaits there is anything but clear.
***
It has been so long since I’ve worn my armor that it feels almost foreign now.
The leathers and boots creak as they mold once more to my body, the harnesses biting into chest and thighs, blades nestled in their familiar sheaths.
Iron plates rest on my shoulders, and the shrouded helm hangs heavy under my arm.
Beside me, my sister conjures her own war-garb, boot braced on the railing, tapping her dagger against a bent knee while the rolling green of the mainland stretches before us.
“It’s quiet,” she mutters, scanning the shore.
Kale Harbor is unnervingly still. No sails on the water. No cries of children racing the tide. No bustle of dockhands cursing under their breath. The silence clings thick to everything.
A breath rumbles in my chest. “I won’t walk into another ambush. Not with Amara’s life in the balance. Not when time slips like sand between our fingers.”