15. Where No One Can Reach Her #4
Kael lowered the parchment slowly, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and grim amusement.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. It wasn't cruel or mocking, but it was the sound of someone watching dominoes fall exactly as he'd predicted they would, horrified and fascinated in equal measure.
"The Canariae," he said, his voice low but carrying strange wonder.
"The one Surion so generously placed in my keeping.
She drugged the Silver Fox and fled. Now Malec tears across the realm like an Awyan possessed, hunting her shadow, leaving Surion furious because his trade deal burns alongside his cousin's sanity. "
He shook his head slowly, a trace of admiration flickering in his eyes. “She actually did it. She escaped him.”
Bolira arched a brow, studying him carefully. "And what will you do now, Kael? Now that your Canariae is gone and hunted?"
Kael set the letter aside, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the armrest. When he spoke, his voice carried genuine concern.
“Malec will find her eventually. The Commander is relentless when he fixates, and that soul-tether he bound her with gives him an advantage she cannot overcome alone.” His expression darkened, worry plain on his face.
"And when he does, he will bring her back to that fortress of his, lock her away, smother her fire with his need for control until there is nothing left of the Canariae who dared to drug an entire household and walk away. "
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his blue eyes reflecting the dying light.
"So I will wait. Watch Malec catch her and then let him show her exactly what his version of love looks like.
And when she realizes that his obsession is a prison she cannot escape, when she understands that he will never see her as more than property...
" He paused, conviction settling into his features.
"I will offer her sanctuary. A place where she is honored, protected, given every comfort and freedom within reason.
She will have books, education, respect.
A garden instead of a dungeon. Light instead of shadows. "
His voice softened, almost tender. "She will see the difference between an Awyan who chains and an Awyan who cherishes. And she will choose to stay."
Bolira watched him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "You truly believe she will simply accept another cage because yours has better furnishings?"
Kael smiled, confident and kind. "It is not a cage, Bolira. It is protection. The world is dangerous for someone like her. Her dark skin, exotic beauty that catches even the most stoic Awyan’s eye, that spirit—she is a target for every cruel Awyan who sees Canariae as property.
I can keep her safe. Give her a life of dignity and purpose.
She will understand that freedom without safety is just another way to die. "
He stood, moving to the balcony where the sea stretched endless and gold. "I am not Malec. I do not need to break her to keep her. I simply need to show her that there is a better way. A kinder way."
But the gods themselves would have wept at such certainty.
Because Kael, for all his genuine kindness and progressive ideals, could not see what Malec in his madness could not see.
Allora was not choosing between cages. She was not waiting to decide which captor treated her better, which prison had softer walls.
She was the storm itself, the Canariae impossible to cage, the flame that devoured every hand that dared reach for it, no matter how gentle the grasp.
And Kael, with all his warmth and good intentions, was about to learn that sometimes the cruelest prisons are the ones built with love.
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only sound in the cramped inn room until Kalemon's eyes snapped open.
The air had shifted.
She turned and saw Allora beside her, limbs convulsing violently beneath the blankets. At first, it looked like shivering. Then her body jolted, legs kicking, arms jerking, a strangled sound ripping from her throat.
"Allora!" Kalemon shouted, tearing the covers back.
She was on her knees in an instant, trying to pin Allora's flailing arms. Her eyes had rolled back, foam bubbling at the corner of her lips.
"Stay with me, girl, stay with me?—"
Across the room, Leira shot upright. Amusement vanished, detachment gone and was at the bedside in seconds, voice razor-sharp.
"Is this normal for Canariae? Some kind of sickness?"
"This isn't pregnancy," Kalemon barked, panic burning under her controlled tone. "It's the withdrawals, her body is shutting down?—"
Leira's brow furrowed. "Withdrawals from what exactly?"
Kalemon hesitated for only a second, then made her choice.
"Remember how we told you Allora received Malec's blood? It was a direct transfusion, raw blood, not diluted like the vials they give infected Canariae. Her body is craving it now, soaking up the magic desperately. She needs it to survive. We haven’t quite figured out why. "
Leira's eyes widened. "How exactly did he give her the blood? Tell me the precise method."
"Why does that matter?!" Kalemon snapped as Allora convulsed again.
"Because it matters! Tell me!"
Kalemon's voice came fast and urgent. "Allora said he cut her hand, then his own. Pressed them together, palm to palm. But he also chanted something, some ancient Awyan spell while their blood mixed. She thinks that was why her body accepted it instead of rejecting it."
Leira went absolutely still, her expression shifting from concern to horrified realization. "Ancient incantation? He chanted words during the transfusion?"
"Yes! What does that?—"
"The blood rights," Leira breathed. "That idiot used the blood rights ritual."
Allora's back arched violently, a choked cry escaping around the wood in her mouth.
"I don't care what it's called, she's dying!" Kalemon shouted.
But Leira was already moving. Her hand went to her belt, and steel sang as she drew her dagger.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Kalemon's eyes went wide.
Leira didn't answer. She splashed alcohol over the blade with swift, practiced efficiency, then sliced her own palm open without hesitation. Red bloomed like a rose across her skin.
"No!" Kalemon lunged forward.
Leira's fist caught her in the throat with surgical precision. Kalemon crumpled against the wall, gasping and choking.
"Stay down," Leira ordered, her voice cold and focused.
Before Kalemon could recover, Leira grabbed Allora's convulsing hand and made a quick, clean cut across her palm. Then she pressed their hands together, palm to palm, blood to blood, and began to chant.
The words were ancient, guttural, flowing like water over stone. The same words Malec had spoken. The same ritual that had bound Allora to his bloodline.
Kalemon, still clutching her throat and coughing, watched in horror as Leira's voice rose and fell in the strange cadence of the incantation.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then Allora's entire body shuddered violently.
Her back arched one final time, her lips parted on a ragged gasp, and then the convulsions stopped.
Her heartbeat, once erratic and failing, found rhythm again.
Her skin warmed beneath the sheen of sweat, color slowly returning.
Her chest rose and fell in steady, shallow breaths.
The room fell silent except for the crackle of the fire.
Leira carefully separated their hands, examining the cut on Allora's palm as it began to close with unnatural speed. She wiped her own blood on her cloak and looked down at Allora's now-peaceful face.
“You—bitch—” Kalemon rasped, dizzy, voice raw. “You don’t know what that’ll?—”
“Oh, but I do,” Leira whispered.
Kalemon, still on her knees and clutching her bruised throat, froze as she watched Allora's vitals steady. Her mouth opened, fury ready to spill out, then it closed again. Because damn it, Leira was right.
"What did you do?" she hissed.
Leira watched with clinical precision and cleaned the wounds. Her voice was steel. "I gave her what she needed. A compatible transfusion. Same as Malec." She lifted a brow as she dabbed her fingertips with the corner of her cloak. "Didn't you ever wonder where he got that rare blood type from?"
Kalemon's lips thinned, swallowing the words she wanted to spit.
Leira's gaze lingered on Allora, soft now, breathing evenly, as though the storm had passed and left only a gentle breeze. "She's strong," Leira murmured. "Because of him and now because of me." A beat passed, then she added, "Now she will live."
Kalemon rose unsteadily, rubbing the spot on her throat where Leira had punched, fury simmering beneath reluctant awe. "You're a monster."
Leira's smile curved, faint and smug. "I know. But I'm a useful one."
An hour later, Allora stirred. Her face scrunched as if her soul had been trampled by a stampede, and she groaned low into the pillow. "I feel like dog shit."
Kalemon, already dressed and packing herbs into a satchel, looked up and smirked. "Good. That means you're still alive."
Allora cracked her eyes open, blinking at the warped wooden beams above. Her hand drifted instantly to her belly, still there, heavier than ever. Relief stung through her exhaustion. She glanced around. The room smelled faintly of sage, and the air was warm and still. Peaceful.
"Where's that she-demon?" she muttered, her voice rough with sleep.
Kalemon chuckled. "Out. Getting supplies."
Allora turned her head slowly, one brow arching. "She's still around?"
"You had a seizure," Kalemon said, crossing the room. "She acted fast. Cut her hand then yours and did the whole Awyan forced transfusion thing, then gloated about saving your life."
Allora blinked, dazed. "She what?"
"Yeah. Like mother, like son."
Allora groaned. "Great."
Kalemon sat on the edge of the bed. "Look, I didn't get a say in it and neither did you. You were out cold. But it worked, she saved your life. And once I saw that, I wasn't about to claw her face off for being right."