Chapter 38 #2
“I agree,” I say quickly, and the admission startles her.
“I tell myself that every day. I wish I had never laid eyes on Amara Tyne. Never heard her voice. Never breathed her in. Never felt her touch.” The words scrape my throat.
“Even though she made me a better creature than I ever deserved to be. If it meant she could have stayed here, with her people, untouched by the horrors beyond these trees, I would take it all back. I would have gladly drowned in my own darkness, lived a thousand years in despair if it stopped her from boarding that ship. Before I could love her. Before I could ruin her. Before our fates were tangled, only to be sundered to ash.”
I meet her burning gaze. “So yes, Keeper Erania. I never should have had her. Does that ease your ire?”
Her jaw tightens. The runes on her staff blaze bright. “No. It does not, Prince of Lies.”
Smoke stirs under my skin, shadows whispering for release, but I hold them back.
She is owed her anger.
Slowly, her fury cools. The runes etched into her staff dim, fading to nothing.
“But you brought her home,” she says at last. “To her people. To the Souls and the earth, so she might once more feel the sunlight on her face and the soil between her toes. That is the everlasting wish of all Tenders before the end.”
I stiffen. “This is not the end.” My voice is low, hard. “Mirael said the earth will heal her.”
Erania lifts her gaze to the treetops. I follow, finding Mirael high among the branches, staring toward the bruised sky and the pale moon rising between the leaves. Even from here, I can feel her sorrow, the shimmer of her tears, the heaviness of her thoughts.
“The Souls give the earth power,” Erania says softly. “But Mirael knows, as do I, it is not guaranteed.”
I bow my head. “She told me. About her sisters.”
“Lira and Saren fought bravely,” Erania replies, her voice threaded with strength and woe. A tapestry she weaves like no other. “Their sacrifice saved many lives. We laid them in the soil quickly, and we waited. But after a time, we knew they would not rise.”
The question catches in my throat, barely a whisper. “When did you know?”
Her expression softens, the first trace of sympathy she’s shown me. “When the flowers wilted, we knew they were gone.”
Relief surges through me, fierce and bright. I remember the lavender blooms that blanket the earth where Amara lies. The blossoms are still sweet, still vibrant. Still alive.
My wife is not lost.
I clear my throat, masking the swell of solace in my chest. “Thank you, Keeper Erania, for allowing my people to remain here in the Grove.”
Her frown deepens. “We weren’t given much of a choice.”
For a moment, I brace for the runes on her staff to flare again, but they stay dim. “Still,” she concedes, “your people are proving useful. The Grove suffered greatly under the Legion’s attacks, so we welcome your warriors’ aid as we rebuild.”
Her gaze drifts past me, toward Solena, who appears to be lecturing a group of villagers on the proper way to stack firewood. Erania sighs. “Even if that one is a little… overzealous.”
I almost smile. “Do I need to post my Blades along the forest border?” I ask, straightening. “To intercept any further Legion strikes?”
Erania tilts her head, considering. “With our numbers so few, we would not refuse some scouts, especially ones with wings. The Souls do their best to protect us.” A faint, wry smile tugs at her lips.
“Those who dare venture too deep into the woods soon find themselves devoured by the forest. Swallowed by sinkholes, mauled by bears, gored by stags.”
Her words shouldn’t unsettle me, but the pleasant curve of her smile makes them far more chilling than they should be.
“Still,” she continues, “enough have survived to leave their mark, but it’s been quiet lately. We’ve neither seen nor heard anything from the Legion since your arrival.” Her tone turns thoughtful. “Perhaps your presence keeps them away?”
I know better. This silence has nothing to do with me or my Blades.
Zyphoro and the Golden Son reached the Legion’s encampment the same day we arrived here. Perhaps he holds them at bay, restrains them from inflicting more harm on these people. Perhaps he’s done exactly what I asked of him.
But then why hasn’t Zyphoro come to the Grove to tell me just this?
I must find her.
I bow low. “Thank you again, Keeper Erania. If you’ll excuse me, I need to debrief with my Blades.”
I step past her, careful to keep my distance. Smoke coils from my skin until my wings unfurl, vast and shadowed, wisps of dark vapor curling from their edges like breath.
Erania’s eyes widen. “I have not seen wings like that before.”
I glance back over my shoulder. “They’re… new.”
My boots grind into the soil as I ready myself to leap skyward.
“Wait,” Erania says, her voice halting my ascent.
I pause mid-motion, wings half-spread.
“Why would Amara risk her life? What was she protecting?” Her mouth hardens. “Not you, I hope.”
There’s a glint beneath her scowl, a faint curve of a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I find myself matching it.
“No. Not me.”
Then the truth hits me like a blade through the ribs. She doesn’t know.
Not about Estra. Not about Gygarth.
My breath falters. My face drains of all warmth. How do I tell her something so monstrous?
My wings fold back, then unravel into slow, curling wisps of black smoke that fade into the air.
“There was…” My voice cracks, splintering apart along with my heart, my soul, everything I am. “A child, Keeper. Our child. A daughter.”
The air shifts. Cold. Sharp. Heavy as grief.
Erania’s skin pales, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You had a child together?” she manages.
Her hand trembles as she clutches her staff, as though it’s the only thing keeping her upright. I reach out instinctively, but she flinches from my touch.
“Amara has a daughter? Half human.” The words hang heavy between us, her voice softening only to harden a heartbeat later. “Half Fae.”
I see the conflict ripple across her face, the shock, the disbelief, the flicker of joy at the thought of a child of the forest still breathing somewhere in this broken world.
But that joy quickly fractures, fear seeping through the cracks.
Fear that this child is not wholly human.
That her blood carries the taint of the very beasts who’ve kept humankind beneath their heel for centuries.
I stay silent, letting her turn it over in her mind, letting her face what it truly means. Slowly, color returns to her cheeks, a faint warmth chasing away the pallor, and a whisper of a smile ghosts across her lips.
“A daughter,” she breathes.
I nod once. “Her name is Estra.”
Erania lifts her head, eyes wide, the hope fragile as a spider’s web. “Where… where is she?”
The tremor in her voice cuts through me.
I swallow hard, pushing down the storm clawing its way up my throat. “Taken. By Gygarth. The Father…”
Her hand abruptly slices through the air. “I know who he is.”
I still. “You do?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, so intense with anger and grief I can barely meet it. “Of course I do. I know all your gods. The good, the wicked, and the ones that should’ve stayed buried.” Her lip curls. “And you’re telling me that demon holds our child of the forest?”
“He does,” I rasp. “Amara tried to save her.”
“Of course she did.” The words crack from her like thunder.
“What else would our Jewel give her life for, if not her child?” Her spine straightens.
“Then why, Prince, are you still standing here? Why are you wasting time in that clearing when you should be tearing that child back from the jaws of death itself?”
Her words hit their mark, sharp and clean. “I didn’t want to leave Amara,” I admit, voice low. “I wanted to be there when she woke.”
Erania clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “I’m sure she’d rather you spend your energy saving her daughter than mourning her like she’s already dead.”
“Our daughter,” I bite out, because she’s left me out of this story one too many times.
She hums, the sound rough as gravel. “Then how do we do it? How do we bring her home?”
“We?” I arch a brow.
She mirrors the gesture, defiant as ever. “Your Blades might fend off the Legion, but against the god of death, you’ll need all the help you can get. Besides,” she exhales, the words almost breaking on her lips, “you’re not just Amara’s husband anymore. You are family.”
The word strikes deep. Family. It burns as much as it soothes. I never knew my mother’s touch. Spent my immortal life as my father’s weapon and the crone’s puppet. Even reuniting with my sister has done little to fill the hollow inside me. That guilt and emptiness runs deeper than the void itself.
Now, standing in this forest, so rich with life and song, so achingly alive, it feels impossible to breathe.
The air hums with growth and warmth, so unlike the roaring frozen oceans of my homeland, the lightning-veined skies that crown my world, and yet here, surrounded by green and gold, being told I am family chokes me as tightly as Mirael’s vines.
Do I say thank you? Or do I summon my wings and fly, far and fast, until the trees blur into nothing and this impossible kindness can’t reach me?
But I don’t. I stay.
The wall between Erania and me crumbles, one brittle stone at a time.
“Even with the Blades and the Tenders united,” I say quietly, “we’ll need Amara if we’re to reach Gygarth.”
Erania tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “Because of her power,” she finishes for me, fitting the pieces together. But she doesn’t see the complete picture, not yet, and even if she could, I’m not sure I want her to. Her brow furrows. “There’s more you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
If only she knew. If only she understood what truths I’ve buried, what horrors I’d keep from her, just as I tried to shield Amara. Yet somehow, this woman sees right through me. Through the armor, through the centuries. Straight into whatever remains of my heart.
It must be something in their blood, these Tenders.
They look past power and title, see through the divine and the monstrous alike.
They care nothing for the ancient blood that thrums in my veins, blood born when the first winged creatures rose from the mist and drank from the old founts of magic that birthed gods.
I exhale slowly, shoulders easing for the first time in what feels like forever. “You know much about the Fae, Erania?”
She nods once, the motion slow but sure. The space between us seems to shrink.
I reach out, resting a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch.
“Then tell me,” I say, voice low, “do you know what an Awakened is?”