Chapter 32 - Meryn
MERYN
Days pass. We share meals. We stop for water and supplies.
We turn in for night after night on uncomfortable cots.
The weather gets warmer the farther south we go, and eventually Elias has to venture into the city of Dawnspire to get lighter clothing for all of us.
It’s a welcome relief, and yet still not enough.
I’ve never experienced heat like this before, and the way my body is responding is just… rude.
Sweat. Constantly. Without any exertion involved.
Throughout it all, I keep my wrist covered, even in the lighter clothing. I don’t need the Siphons to know about the engagement bracelet—at least not yet. Maybe I can get answers for its removal here. But I want that conversation to be on my terms.
Every once in a while, though, I swear it tightens. And my brain turns unwillingly to Killian. In my daily check-ins with Siegrid, she tells me that we’ve heard nothing from him since the Phylax defection, and I’m on constant edge.
The landscape throughout our journey continues to transform around us, becoming increasingly arid.
The lushness gives way, replaced by long stretches of dusty path and withered bushes.
The flora changes, too, growing more vibrant—sharp-petalled and burst in shades of reds, oranges, and yellows like resilient flames.
The small towns we pass through are increasingly elaborate and ornamental in their architecture. The building material changes, shifting to red clays, bricks, and tiled roofs.
Stark and I avoid each other entirely, except for when we sleep. It’s been massively uncomfortable, and everyone has noticed. Venna stays by me, and Noemi goes everywhere with Stark.
I wonder if she’s relishing his attention entirely on her, and then I kick my own ass for caring so much. And I wonder what she thinks of the two of us sleeping together. Does she care?
Venna catches me staring at them together and says, “Sheesh, what did Noemi do to you? You’re looking at her as if she mutilated Anassa.”
“She would never get close enough,” Anassa sniffs. “Do not drag me into your unreasonable human drama.”
I make an excuse—sand in my eye, nothing to do with Noemi—and try to shore up the defenses around my heart.
But, of course, I can’t help caring. Not now that I’ve had a glimpse of everything we could be together.
Stubborn fucking man. Control freak.
Thinking about Stark and control makes my insides twist all over again, the heat building inside me worse than the constant onslaught of the sun.
At one stop, I stumble upon Saela sitting with our father in a quiet corner of the courtyard of the outpost. They’re curled up side by side on a low stone barrier that divides the courtyard from the building shoved up alongside it. They’re deep in conversation, bent toward each other.
I watch them interact, unmoving.
Saela speaks with him openly, her hands fluttering as she talks. Our father listens raptly, nodding occasionally. Saela seems almost like her old self.
Or, at least, as close as I’ve seen her since Killian.
I try to understand the exact composition of the awful swell of emotion inside me. I’m still furious at our father. But there’s something else beneath it, watching them together.
It glints like fresh snow. There’s potential. There’s weight. There’s beauty. There’s quiet.
Saela’s never truly experienced a parent’s undivided attention and interest. Our mother’s mental illness prevented Saela from forming the kind of maternal bond I shared with Mother when I was young, before it all changed.
She could never trust our mother and gradually learned to stop going to her for much of anything.
And I tried, but…
It’s just good, seeing this. She’s happy, and it’s my job to protect that, even if it also makes my heart heavy.
There’s a shuffling sound, and I glance over to find Noemi passing by. She notes what I’m observing and says dryly, “Fathers, am I right?”
I let out a tight laugh.
She bites her lip in hesitation and then says, “Look, we don’t know each other well. But from one damaged daughter to another, I can tell that your father is trying. Don’t forgive him if you can’t, but just… keep that in mind.”
Her counsel loosens something inside me.
As Noemi walks away, Saela notices me watching them, and her expression instantly closes off. Her shoulders lift, she ducks her head, and she scoots away from Fredrich as if she were caught doing something forbidden.
It hurts. I don’t want her to feel guilty for finding happiness, regardless of my own complicated relationship with him. It isn’t about me.
“I’m going to see if the wolves want to be brushed,” Saela says to the ground.
They really, really do not. But remarkably, both Anassa and Cratos have given in to Saela’s adoring ministrations. Saela has taken to brushing them daily with horse-grooming tools she snagged from one of the outposts, and so far neither of them has bitten off her hand.
“Primping time,” I warn Anassa, and she growls in my head.
“I shall let Cratos know to go for a run. His patience for this has disappeared. She tried to tie a ribbon on him yesterday.”
As Saela heads off to find Anassa, I move swiftly toward my father. “I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer honestly.”
“Of course I will,” Fredrich says with a softness that pisses me off more.
I run my fingers through my hair and stare down at my boots. “Is there any possibility, any procedure or magic, that could reverse what’s happened to her? Could Saela ever be human again?”
Even as I ask the question, I know its answer. But a part of me just needs to hear it.
For the vibrations of the spoken words to shatter the resistance in my soul.
“I thought that… maybe in Astreona, where Siphons originated, there could be some unknown cure,” I say.
He’s silent. I know what I’ll see, but I lift my eyes anyway. And at the sight of him, my last fragile thread of hope snaps. It’s genuine, unfettered sorrow in his eyes.
“No,” he says. He shakes his head. “No, there’s no way to reverse the transformation. Once you’re turned, it’s permanent and complete. I… searched.”
I shut my eyes and let it kill me a little inside. Just for a few breaths.
And then, because I want to dig a knife into him, I say, “Perhaps you didn’t search hard enough.”
When I walk away, the pounding of my heart in my ears almost drowns out the ache in my chest.
The next day, we finally arrive at the city of Brightbane.
We crest the last hill, and immediately our party stops moving, halting in stunned appreciation.
Brightbane rises from the valley floor like something from a dream, constructed primarily of a distinctive pink-white stone that seems to glow in the sunlight.
Unlike the practical, dark buildings of Sturmfrost meant to keep out the cold and cling to what little sunlight we get, this city features sweeping arches, delicate spires, and ornate facades.
It’s all wide-open spaces meant to catch and channel breezes. There is so little rain here that there are buildings with open roofs. Vast green spaces are sheltered within the city, bordered by protective walls—trees to grant shade and relief from the stony heat.
Through the center winds a canal where people glide in small pleasure boats, the water glistening in the sunlight. The spires scattered around the city would snap under the weight of snow back home or crack off in our blizzards.
Here, they reach up bold and delicate and sew wisps of clouds in the blue sky.
Dominating the cityscape is the royal castle, built in the same white-pink stone as the rest of the sprawling glory before us. It’s perched atop the highest point, a winding road circling the hill it uses as a throne.
The magnificent structure is surrounded by terraced gardens. Its walls feature countless arched windows and open-air balconies. A moat wraps around the castle’s base, fed by the canal. Three narrow bridges connect the castle complex to the rest of the city.
As we approach the city’s outskirts, Venna blurts out, “This is insane.”
“Is that… a good thing?” Davide asks, a single brow raised high.
“I have no idea,” I reply, raising my eyebrows at my friend. She shrugs.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I ask Venna mentally.
“That Izabel would have loved this?” There’s a wistful note in her voice, and her lips purse, eyes glistening. “Cities have no right being this beautiful. I think if she’d seen Brightbane, she would’ve insisted on moving here permanently, bloodsuckers be damned.”
“It’s nice to think about it through her eyes,” I reply. “It makes me feel less like a hostage walking toward near-certain death and more like someone on a romantic adventure.”
Venna nods, and I wish we could stay on this hill forever. This is the first moment we’ve been able to reminisce in a bittersweet way since Izabel’s death. The first time we’ve shared a thought about her together and not just smarted at our loss.
“If I may suggest,” Elias interjects, shattering our peace, “it may be a wise idea to leave your direwolves in the wilderness beyond the city walls and proceed on foot. While the citizens of Brightbane are accustomed to many unusual sights, direwolves might cause unnecessary panic among the populace.”
I bristle immediately. There’s a difference between parting with Anassa in a small village. This is the seat of King Lucien’s power. I need my damn wolf.
Answering violence rises in Anassa.
But Stark speaks before I can. Forcefully. “We will absolutely not be parting with our wolves.”
Elias shrugs. “Very well, then.”
We make our way through the towering city gates and into the winding streets. Immediately upon entering, the air cools. The structure of the city works to ease the heat—the stone all around us, the breeze channels, the fruit trees planted for shade, and the sparkling water.
Beside us, Cratos emits a long, weighty sigh of relief. His black fur is probably worse than Anassa’s.