26. Chapter Twenty Six #3
I sank into the chair, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“She must have hidden it,” he continued. “So did your father. Probably even from you, to keep you safe.”
The weight of it settled like a stone in my chest. I’d spent my whole life believing a version of the truth so carefully built that I hadn’t seen the cracks. My breath hitched. A tear slipped free before I could stop it.
Drake crossed to me in two strides, brushing the tear away with his thumb. “You and I will age slower, too,” he said quietly.
More tears followed—hot, frustrated, aching. “I’m so tired of being lied to,” I whispered. “Of being kept in the dark. I think… I think my father hiding the truth finally broke something.”
He knelt in front of me, voice low and certain. “I won’t lie to you. Not about this. Not about anything.”
I nodded, but the ache didn’t fade. He kissed my forehead and pulled me into his arms without another word. Just held me. No pressure. No questions. It felt warm- but my hurt wouldn’t fade.
That evening, training passed without incident—sword drills, footwork, the usual patterns—but my mind wasn’t in it.
Every strike, every parry felt dulled, my movements weighted with the secrets burning behind my eyes.
Dinner was much the same: the table spread wide with food, rich and fragrant, yet every bite tasted hollow on my tongue.
Later, when the lamps dimmed and quiet took the ship, Drake fell asleep curled around me, one arm slung over my waist, his hand twitching faintly with dreams. His long hair draped over his eyes, and he let out the occasional soft snore—quiet and strangely comforting.
Gods, even unconscious, he was trying to keep me close.
But I couldn’t stay still. My thoughts wouldn’t stop unraveling.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my mother’s handwriting.
I saw the lie I’d lived wrapped in love. I saw how easily it had become a truth.
Slowly, I slid out from under Drake’s arm. He muttered something, shifted, then sprawled dramatically across the bed like he’d always owned it. I bit back a smile.
“Sleep well, Captain,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. I laced up my boots, wrapped my cloak around my shoulders, and slipped out the door.
The fire had burned low. The sheets were tangled. My mind felt louder than the silence around me. I’d flipped my pillow three times, hunted the cool side, and begged sleep to come. But how could I rest when my entire life had just tilted on its axis?
Not only had my mother lied about who she was—what she was—but suddenly nothing felt safe. I’d been thrown into this strange world with the fate of thousands pressing down on my shoulders, every step dictated by choices I hadn’t made.
The corridor greeted me with its usual hush, the ship deck thunking beneath my boots. The two guards stepped aside without questions. It made me grin just a bit, at least I’d earned their trust and respect.
Outside, Riftreach slept, but it wasn’t dead.
Its silence pulsed, alive and listening, as if the cavern itself breathed with me.
I stepped into the stillness and felt it wrap around me—not oppressive, not hollow, but vast, reverent.
The hush of Riftreach wasn’t absence; it was a presence, a watchfulness, as though the city had been waiting for me to notice it properly.
I’d realized I’d been so wrapped up in every detail of Drake, I hadn’t given the city nearly enough of my attention.
I followed the main causeway, the hanging bridge leading to a cobbled path dipping gently downward before curving between two towering stalagmites.
What had once been natural rock columns had long ago been coaxed and hollowed out into towers.
Balconies jutted outward like ribs, each marked with ironwork railings in intricate patterns—spirals, knots, the outlines of wings.
Ropes of ivy and flowering vine cascaded from them, the plants bioluminescent, glowing with a pale green-gold as though moonlight itself had decided to root here.
Tiny blossoms opened despite the darkness, their petals catching and reflecting Riftlight with a delicate brilliance.
I continued down the path marveling at the Riftborn engineering.
Lanterns swayed in unseen drafts, suspended from carved iron hooks and rope pulleys.
Their light was warmer than the coolness of Riftlight—amber and gold, pooling across flagstones polished smooth by generations of feet.
Here and there, the lantern flames flickered against mosaics pressed into the walls, shards of broken glass salvaged from the surface world and arranged into scenes of nature or windows looking over landscapes.
I slowed, letting my fingertips graze one of the visages, its surface uneven and cool.
The very bones of the city were beautiful—an underground forest of stone and light, grown not by nature alone but by countless hands who had insisted on survival. Drakes pride made so much sense to me now.
I wandered past closed doorways tucked into stone alcoves, their archways softened with curtains of woven reed or dyed wool.
From behind some came the muted hum of life: a child’s giggle, stifled quickly; the scratch of a chair against stone; a lullaby sung low in a language I didn’t recognize.
Warmth seeped beneath one door, carrying the scent of bread baked earlier in the evening, lingering even now.
A market stall stood shuttered on my right, its awning rolled tight, but baskets of fruit still glistened faintly under the lantern glow, guarded by nothing more than trust.
Trust . The word curled in my chest.
A pair of guards leaned against a low wall farther ahead, their spears resting lightly at their sides.
When they saw me, they didn’t stiffen or demand an explanation as to why I was wandering around the alleys at night.
They only inclined their heads in subtle acknowledgement—enough to say, we see you, you belong here.
My throat tightened unexpectedly, and I returned the gesture before continuing on.
The air shifted as the passage widened, opening into one of Riftreach’s many plazas.
It spread before me like a cathedral: high stone ribs arching into a vaulted ceiling where vines dripped down like chandeliers, with hanging blooms that were each faintly glowing.
In the center of the plaza lay a pool and fountain, its water impossibly clear, fed by some hidden spring.
Riftlight shimmered across its surface, casting ripples of silver across the surrounding buildings.
I sank onto the edge of a bench nearby, breathing in the space. The cavern ceiling soared so high it was easy to imagine it as a sky, the vines as stars frozen mid-fall. The realization came slowly, as though the city itself whispered it into me: This is home now.
Not because I had chosen it yet, but because something in the stone and Riftlight had chosen me.
I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying myself.
Not only had my mother lied about who she was, about what she was, but every memory I thought anchored me had shifted, cracked and then reformed.
Nothing felt safe anymore. Nothing felt simple.
Instead, I had been thrust into this strange, glittering underworld, feeling as though the fate of thousands rested squarely on my shoulders.
I hated it. I feared it. But beneath all of that… I felt alive here.
At least I had been given one choice. Him.
I rose again, continuing through narrower alleys, where staircases spiraled up stalagmites into dwellings perched high above.
Gardens hung in tiers, overflowing with herbs and flowers grown in troughs of soil hauled from the surface.
I caught the scent of lavender, thyme, wild mint.
Somewhere, a cat mewed softly, its silhouette darting between shadows.
A laundry line stretched overhead, pale cloth fluttering like ghosts in the cavern breeze.
Everywhere, life had been carved into the stone. Life insisted on staying.
I passed another guard, who offered me a faint smile. I returned it, realizing with a start that I didn’t feel like an intruder anymore. A visitor, yes. But not unwanted. Not unwelcome.
The path climbed, winding toward one of the upper balconies that overlooked the cavern.
My breath came short by the time I reached it, but when I stepped out, the view stole whatever I had left.
Riftreach sprawled below me like a kingdom reversed, its towers rising downward from stalactites, its lights blooming upward from roots and vines.
The cavern walls pulsed with veins of Riftlight, turning the entire hollow into something that felt less like stone and more like a living body.
And in its heart, I realized, I stood not as a trespasser, but as a piece of it.
The silence here wasn’t silence at all. It was belonging.
I leaned against the railing, tears pricking hot at the corners of my eyes before I could stop them.
Home had always been a cramped inn, a life of tending rooms and pouring ale and never quite fitting into the lines my father drew for me.
Here, among stone and Riftlight and strangers who trusted me enough to nod instead of question, I felt something I had never let myself imagine before.
I belonged. For the first time, I wasn’t running from the lies of my past—I was stepping into something I wanted.
Belonging didn’t erase the weight on my shoulders, but it gave me the strength to bear it.
Now, I knew where I was going. Back to him .
Back to Drake. My choice . Whatever lay ahead, I would face it with him—not as a frightened girl clinging to borrowed strength, but as a woman who had found her place, and was finally ready to claim it.
By the time I returned, the fire had burned down to soft embers.