Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
T wo days later, we approach the outskirts of Sturmfrost in the early afternoon.
Stark has been quiet the whole journey, but it’s not the quiet I’m used to. He’s less surly than before. He maintains a respectful distance. During our stop at Linsfall on the way back, we had two rooms, on opposite ends of the inn. He’s behaving as though nothing has changed between us.
I tell myself nothing has, but it sounds like a lie. Guilt prickles the edge of my mind every time I think of Killian.
But I didn’t actually kiss Stark, I remind myself for the dozenth time. It was just a thought—a momentary urge driven by the need for human connection in the aftermath of wartime brutality. I was devastated that we didn’t find my sister, and demoralized by the hours of brutal torture, all for nothing. I was in a vulnerable place—and he licked me.
I might have felt the urge to kiss just about anyone at that moment. It didn’t have to be Stark.
It meant nothing.
I have nothing to be guilty about.
Sinking my hands more deeply into Anassa’s fur, I let my head fall heavy in front of me, cushioned by the soft warmth of her neck. I press my face into her fur, inhaling deeply. Her familiar scent calms me, the rhythm of her huge paws striking the ground beneath me soothing me, slowing my erratic heartbeat.
I just wish I could stop seeing that look in his eyes when he licked me the second time. And then when I grabbed him by the hair…
And when he bit me…
Did he actually want me to kiss him?
No. That’s fucking crazy. It was a fluke—a freak occurrence. He probably felt the same kind of post-brutality need for human connection that I did. I take back every thought I’ve ever had about wanting him to be nicer. I liked him better when he wanted me dead.
Anassa’s amusement ripples to me through our bond. I ignore it, shoving all thoughts of Stark away.
We’re almost home. Killian will be waiting for me. The thought lifts my spirits considerably.
But he’s not the only person I suddenly ache to see.
As we skirt around the edges of the Southern Quarter, I turn to Stark.
“Can we make a quick stop?” I ask. “I want to update my mother about Saela.”
I know there isn’t any real progress to report, but I want my mother to know I’m still searching. That I’m not giving up.
Stark glances at me, face expressionless. “Fine, just keep it brief. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that the Unity Trial is a week away. All the other Rawbonds will have been training without you these past few days. You need to catch up.”
I nod, grateful for the reprieve. I don’t feel right, after everything that’s happened the last few days. This person who rides a direwolf to the front lines, who tortures Siphons for information—I’m losing track of who I was before.
The thought of seeing my mom, of hugging her…
Shit. Maybe this is less about giving her an update and more about me needing to feel human again. That ache for physical contact is still lurking.
When we reach the Eastern Quarter, however, the sight of my childhood home stops me cold. Every window is dark, shuttered.
I know before my feet hit the ground—before I wrench the front door open and rush inside—that nobody’s home.
The place is dark, cold. Utterly still.
Stark peers down at me from Cratos’ back when I rush back out of the empty house, his brow furrowed. But I’m already running, peeling away down the street towards Igor’s house.
The rough door shudders under my pounding. A moment later, Igor opens it.
His face softens out of its usual gruffness, into something foreign. No, that’s not right. Not foreign.
I’ve seen him make this face before, the night Saela was taken.
Panic sweeps from my head to my toes, hot and dizzying.
“Meryn,” he says gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I whisper, stepping back as though I can remove myself from the ghastly truth painted across his features. “No, it can’t be. Where is she? ”
Igor draws me into the house, his wrinkled hands gentle on my upper arms. I catch sight of Prina in the living room behind him, her plump figure wrapped in a faded dress, her eyes wide and welling with tears of empathy.
“Your mother had another episode,” Igor continues quietly. “A bad one. We didn’t know… she was doing so well until then.”
No.
My mind spins, scrabbling for purchase. For escape. As though I can avert reality by refusing to hear the words.
“Three days ago, she wandered into the city square and… got into some kind of altercation with the guards,” Igor says, his words halting. “They… subdued her. Forcefully.”
“Stop!” I rasp, frozen in desperate denial. “Don’t ? —!”
Igor’s face crumples with grief. “She’s dead, Meryn. I’m so sorry. They killed her.”
My ears start to ring. Igor keeps talking—something about her body being taken to the morgue. About him and “Lee” handling the preparations for her funeral.
But I can’t hear him. Something strange is happening. A horrible pulsing thrum gathers behind my eyes. The shadows crouching all over Igor’s house start to pulse in answer.
They deepen and solidify, writhing with inexplicable life.
Igor doesn’t seem to notice. His face is tight with concern. He reaches for me and I stumble back—directly into Stark.
I turn in a haze of soul-cracking grief to see the Daemos Alpha towering in the open doorway, his shoulders almost touching the jamb on either side. His aura envelops me like a storm cloud, radiating something fierce and… almost protective .
“What’s going on here?” he demands.
Igor repeats what he told me. I barely hear him, trying not to panic as the shadows pulse all around us, like something alive.
“I sent word to the castle immediately,” Igor says, “but clearly, the message never reached you. Someone sent back word you’d gone to the front.”
I shake my head, whether in denial or simply rejection of the moment, I don’t know.
I wasn’t here. She needed me, and I wasn’t here.
I’m distantly aware of Stark demanding details about my mother’s death, but I can’t focus on the exchange. All I can think about is her.
Did she suffer? Did she know they were killing her? Did she call out for help?
I hear myself make a terrible strangled sound.
If I’d been here… if I’d been closer… Helplessness and rage threaten to drown me.
The storm of grief inside me abruptly spirals into a single point of focus.
Killian .
Igor said he was helping with the funeral arrangements. Killian knows what’s happened. And he loves me.
Killian will know what to do.
The world rushes by me in strange fits and bursts as I rush out the door, mount Anassa wordlessly. She doesn’t need to communicate with me, just immediately starts back toward the castle. My overwhelming need, my sorrow, must be plain enough that she needs no explanation.
Shadows follow in my wake, dancing behind us.
I squeeze my eyes shut, melting into Anassa as she races through the streets, narrowly dodging residents as she runs. She uses one of the Bonded entrances at the side of the castle, bursting into the wide corridors and bringing me straight to his door.
Killian’s in his study. He rises immediately from his desk when I enter.
The way his expression falls when he sees me—I look away, unable to process his grief on top of my own.
“Meryn…” Killian says softly, “I’m so sorry. I received word about your mother yesterday?—”
“I wasn’t here.” The words rip out of me like a sob. “Every time, every fucking time my family needs my protection, I’m gone. It’s all my fault…”
Killian wraps a firm arm around my shoulders, guiding me to a small couch against the far wall.
“No,” he says with intensity. “Meryn, you can’t blame yourself. You know I’ve been visiting regularly, bringing food and supplies. I saw her just last week. She seemed a little disoriented, but not in a bad place. You couldn’t have possibly known. Nobody could have predicted this.”
I lean into the protective circle of his arms, desperate for that warmth.
Desperate to believe him that it isn’t all my fault.
That I’m not a complete failure, responsible for the death or abduction of everyone I love most in this world.
I taste salt on my lips and realize that tears are streaming down my face. Killian studies me, eyes sympathetic. With a jolt of irritation, I look away. I don’t want his sympathy, or anyone’s.
Not when I deserve to experience every bit of this pain.
Killian brings a hand up to my chin, wrenching my face back toward his. “Look at me, Meryn. This isn’t your fault. There was no way to predict that she’d have another episode. And from what I heard, it happened fast. There’s nothing you could have done about it, even if you were here in Sturmfrost.”
His voice is rough with emotion, his eyes bright, piercing into mine.
“Mer… If there had been anything that anyone could have done, you know I would have…” His words falter. The genuine anguish in his eyes stabs at me, cutting right into my heart.
That’s when it really hits. The loss. The reality of it.
Saela will never see Mother again. She won’t be there when I finally bring my sister home. If I bring my sister home. My failures pile one atop the other. My whole family… I couldn’t protect them.
And now she’s gone. Forever.
Killian’s presence guides me like a beacon of light through the avalanche of my despair. I fall apart against him, burying myself in his chest. The heat and solidity of his body against me is the only point of stillness, of comfort.
When the storm inside me finally subdues, he hands me a gold-embroidered handkerchief and strokes my hair, running his thumb across my cheek to catch a few tears that I miss.
I can’t bring myself to look at him, though I stay tucked against his chest, unwilling to relinquish the comfort of his closeness. His hand moves from my hair to my back, still stroking, his fingers firm, moving in circles down my back. His heartbeat is slow and steady under my ear.
He’s the only one besides Igor who’s been here for me and Mom. He’s done so much to protect and care for both of us.
The shadows are back, climbing slowly up Killian’s walls, darkening his room. I shut my eyes to block them out.
Goddess, I almost forgot how devastating grief is. How it leaves you husked and raw, but never numb. The pain is like a gaping wound—one no dressing can cover, no shield can truly protect. The agony of it might lessen, but it never truly leaves.
It’s not just one feeling, either. Grief has layers and layers: sadness, bitterness, guilt, regret...
At least this time I’m older than when my dad died. I’m not some lost little kid, wandering the streets hoping to vent my misery by fighting every shithead boy I encounter.
This time, I have to keep it together. I can’t get lost in the misery. I have to keep my guard up, my wits about me.
I’m still here in this bloodthirsty world, fighting for my life.
And Saela is still out there.
Saela.
She’s all I have left. I will not fail her. I will bring her home.
I rest my head on Killian’s sternum, exhausted and tremulous, thinking of the weeks to come.
The Unity Trial looms. The funeral will have to be quick, with all the training I still need to do to make sure I survive this long enough to get to Saela.
Quick and also cheap, I think, heart sinking. Rawbond training doesn’t pay, and Mom hasn’t been working in years. Surely, there’s no money left set aside in our house.
Igor and Killian may have started on the preparations, but it’s my burden to bear. She’s my mother. It’s the least I can do for her, now that she’s gone.
And Saela…
Fuck. My sister won’t even be there to say goodbye to our mother. When I bring her home, it’ll be to an empty house and more grief—on top of whatever horrors she’s gone through since she was taken.
Fresh tears well behind my closed eyelids as the weight of both their losses settles over me like a heavy cloak.
“I’m all alone,” I whisper, pulling from Killian’s embrace to stand. “My whole family. They’re gone, all of them. And Saela… if I don’t find her…”
Killian stands as well, taking both my hands in his. “Meryn. You aren’t alone.”
I gaze up at him through blurry eyes. Shadows move behind him, taunting.
“But my family…”
“Let me be your family now,” he says softly. Taking a step backward, he slowly lowers himself onto one knee.
The world narrows sharply. Time seems to slow.
“Killian?” I hear myself whisper.
“Let me take care of you, now and forever,” he says, the words reaching me slowly and then all at once. “You don’t always have to be the strong one. Let me help you. I—” he clears his throat. “I meant to do this after you’d graduated the Trials, Meryn, but you need to know you aren’t alone in this world. I talked to your mother about this, you know.”
I gasp, tears flooding my eyes anew.
“You aren’t alone,” Anassa growls across the bond. “You have me.”
It’s not the same thing; surely she knows that?
“She gave me her blessing,” Killian continues. “Let me be strong for you, Meryn. Be my wife. Marry me.”
I can’t speak. The air in my lungs grows thin.
Killian produces a bracelet—a band of brilliant gold that catches the firelight, blazing in his hand like living fire. It’s a thousand times more opulent than the simple silver engagement bracelet my mother wore. The band is made of elaborate gold filigree that wraps around dozens of small black diamonds. In the center is an enormous round ruby, red as fresh blood.
My own blood thrums loudly in my ears.
“Be my queen,” Killian implores softly. “Rule at my side and help me reshape our world, Meryn. Together we’ll make the world safer for people like your mother. We’ll get Saela back. We’ll make things right.”
Before I can draw breath to answer, another ripple of disapproval comes from Anassa.
“Meryn,” she hisses. “You are not in the right place to make this decision.”
But I’ve never felt more clear-headed. This incredible man kneeling before me is far more than I deserve. Me, a commoner. Me, who has no other family to speak of.
Me, who had traitorous thoughts of another man when Killian was here , taking care of my mother, helping Igor with preparations. Always steady, always by my side.
I will spend every day of my life trying to make him happy, if he wants me.
“This is not your choice to make,” I tell Anassa firmly.
In this moment, I don’t care about the politics, or the things that will come between us, the things we’ll need to do to right his father’s wrongs.
All I want is him.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Yes?” Killian’s voice is tremulous, a rare moment of vulnerability from him. My heart squeezes.
“Yes!” I pull him up into me, grabbing his face. My grief and surprise and elation and exhaustion combine into a single pulsing need—for comfort, for Killian’s mouth, for one damn place in this whole world where I can just relax and belong and not feel like a constant failure of a person.
He kisses back with equal desperation, his big hands cupping my face firmly, locking my mouth against his.
“Here,” Killian pulls back and reaches for my hand. “I want to see this bracelet on your wrist.”
The bracelet is hinged, and he opens it, then slips it onto my arm and closes it again. The gold band settles against my skin, almost as if it’s tightening against my wrist. I gently twist my wrist back and forth, admiring the winking way the candlelight catches on the depth of the ruby, the way it glints off of the cavernous black of the diamonds.
I will be Killian’s queen, and nothing has ever felt more right.
Finally, finally, the shadows disappear.