Chapter 41 – Dain #2
“I’m done with the venom. The spats. The eyes, always watching, waiting for me to slip.
” Her hands shook, clenched at her sides.
“Done with the judgement that never stopped. Judged for not having magic. Judged for being a woman. Judged for being the only one in my powerful family to be the failure.” She let out a laugh, hollow and brittle.
“Judged for not having my father’s love.
Judged for becoming captain too early. For using artifacts like a cheater.
” Her voice broke on that word. “Because gods forbid I find a way to stand beside the rest of you.” Her eyes locked on mine, and it split something inside me clean through.
“That’s what I lived with, Dain. Judgement.
Bullying. From councilors. From recruits.
From my own squad. From Quinton—the boy who made my childhood a living nightmare. ”
I didn’t breathe. Just let her speak.
“So, this one time,” she said, softer now, voice trembling, “I let myself take something small. Just a moment. Just an ounce of softness. And what happens?” She gestured to herself—bloodied hands, torn leathers, hollow eyes.
“It gets ripped away. By the same hands that took everything from me. My body. My magic.”
“Az—“ I whispered, stepping toward her.
But the air around her was already sparking, static pressing at the seams of her control. “Don’t,” she said. And then—barely audible, breaking: “I’m tired, Dain. I’m so fucking tired.”
Her arms dropped to her sides. The fury, the grief, it didn’t fade. It folded in. Burrowed deep. And she started walking away.
Something inside me snapped. “No.”
She paused.
“I said no, Azaria.”
She turned just enough to look over her shoulder.
“You don’t get to do this again. Shut me out, bleed in silence, pretend this isn’t killing you. Not this time.”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes looked at me like I was the one who didn’t understand.
I didn’t raise my voice. That was the worst part.
“You’re right,” I said. “About all of it.”
She froze.
“They judged you,” I went on. “They watched you bleed and called it discipline. They took from you until there was nothing left they couldn’t justify. Your father let it happen. The council benefited from it. And I stood there and watched more than I should have.”
Her jaw clenched, fury sparking.
“So don’t you dare think I don’t understand why you’re angry,” I said. “Or why you want them dead.”
That made her look at me. Fully. For the first time since I’d found her.
“But here’s the part you don’t get to twist.” I stepped closer—one deliberate stride. “This isn’t justice. This is consent.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“You are agreeing with every voice that ever told you your life was expendable,” I said. “Every person who decided you were worth less because you couldn’t do what they could. Every man who thought your pain was acceptable collateral.”
She shook her head. “That’s not?—“
“You’re proving them right.” I went on. “You’re saying their world was correct. That you are only useful as long as you’re bleeding for it.”
The words landed like a blade.
I closed the distance. Five paces.
“You don’t fight like someone who plans to live,” I said. “You fight like someone who’s already written herself off.”
Her hands trembled.
“You wear those leathers like a challenge. Not to them. To fate. Like you’re daring it to finish the job they started.”
Her throat worked, but no sound came out.
“And don’t lie to me and say this is about control,” I said. “Control is choosing to come back. Control is knowing you’ll be alive tomorrow.”
Three paces.
“What you’re doing now is surrender dressed up as resolve.”
Her eyes burned. Tears gathered despite her fury.
“You think softness was taken from you,” I said. “It wasn’t. You buried it because it scared you more than any blade ever did.”
Her breath broke.
“Because softness means you still want to live,” I said, quieter. “And that terrifies you.”
I was close enough to touch her now. Close enough to see the hairline cracks forming where she’d been steel for so long.
“You don’t get to die proving a point,” I said. “Not when I’m standing here. Not when you’re still breathing.”
My voice roughened.
“They already stole your childhood. Your safety. Your belief that you were allowed to exist without earning it.” I swallowed. “I will not let them steal your future too.”
I held her gaze, unflinching.
“You want to kill monsters? Fine. But you do it with the intention of surviving it.”
“I was there when Eris died, Az.” The words scraped out of me. “I held you while you screamed. I pulled you back from the dark once, and I will do it again, because you were worth pulling back then and you’re worth it now.”
Her lips trembled.
“I’ve seen the softness you think is gone. I saw it when you let Quinton cup your face. When you reached for me without thinking. It’s still there. And it doesn’t make you weak—it means you haven’t given up yet.”
I took the final step.
“So don’t. Because if you keep going like this, Azaria, this doesn’t end with justice. It ends with you gone. And I can’t stand aside watching you walk into the dark looking for death to bring you peace, because it’ll kill me too.”
Her eyes shimmered. Unshed grief and fury braided together.
“Hate me if you have to,” I said, softer now but no less fierce. “But don’t push me away.”
For a long moment, she said nothing. Just stood there, trembling, staring at me like I’d cracked something open she didn’t know how to close.
Then, quiet as a breath: “I don’t hate you.”
Her voice broke. “I love you too, Dain.”
That cracked something in me.
I didn’t wait. I stepped in and wrapped my arms around her, tight and crushing, until she was pressed against my chest, as if I could hold all her broken pieces together with nothing but my body. Blood, dirt, the stink of iron—I didn’t give a shit. I needed her in my arms. Now.
And she didn’t resist.
She leaned into me like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Like she needed it more than air. Her head tucked under my chin, her breath shallow and uneven. Her shoulders trembled, and then I realized.
She was crying.
Not quiet tears, not the hidden kind she’d always tried to bury. It tore out of her, raw and unrestrained, and it split me open.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out.
Then again, louder. “I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry?—“
The words poured out, ragged, strangled through sobs. She clutched my jacket like she was drowning.
“I’m so fucking sorry. For Eris. For everything. I’m sorry.”
Her voice broke on his name, and it shattered something in me.
I kissed the top of her head, slow, lingering, as if maybe I could press some steadiness into her through sheer will. My hand slid to cradle the back of her skull, fingers tangled in her braid, holding her against me.
“Sweetie,” I murmured, low against her hair. “You don’t owe me an apology. Not for him. Not for any of it.”
Her body shook harder, sobs wrecking her, soaking into my shirt.
“You think I didn’t grieve Eris because of you?” My throat burned. “Az, no. I couldn’t grieve him because I had to keep you breathing. That was all that mattered. The only thing.”
Her nails dug into my chest through the fabric, desperate.
“I failed him. I failed you. I failed everyone?—“
“No,” my grip tightened. Another kiss pressed to her hair. “No, sweetie. You didn’t fail anyone. You survived. You led. You carried us when we should’ve carried you.”
Her sobs tore out louder, her whole body shaking against me. So I held her. Kissed her hair again. Whispered anything to anchor her while she broke in my arms. My chin pressed to the top of her head, eyes burning with every sound she made.
Because this was it—the cost of being Azaria Sylvenhart. And I’d hold her through it. Every time.
Her sobs faltered slowly. She still clung to me, fingers knotted in my jacket, but her breaths came shorter now, broken instead of heaving.
“Shh,” I murmured, rocking her gently. My hand stayed firm at the back of her head, keeping her tucked under my chin. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’ve got you.”
Her shoulders still shook, but softer now, as if the force of it had started to burn itself out.
“That’s it,” I whispered, pressing another kiss into her hair. “Breathe. Just breathe. You’re safe.”
Little by little, her body eased. The trembling slowed. Her grip loosened—not gone, but less desperate, as if she believed, just barely, that I wasn’t going to let go.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered again. “Always.”
She pulled back a fraction. Her face lifted, wet tracks cutting paths through grime; her eyes were raw and swollen, the blue dulled by tears.
My hands landed on her cheeks, and I brushed the corner of her mouth with my thumb gently, like I could wipe the grief off her skin.
“Are you with me, Captain?” I asked, voice low. The title felt brittle in my mouth, too formal for the moment, but it steadied her. It steadied me.
She blinked. “Yes. I—“ Her breath hitched. “I’m here.”
The tightness behind my ribs eased. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against hers.
“We will fix this, Azaria,” I murmured. “I promise.”
She let out a small, broken sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, and tucked her face back into my chest.
I didn’t want to let her go. Not because I needed her close—though fuck, maybe I did—but because something in me knew if I let go now, she’d disappear again.
Slip right back into the silence that always came before she bled, or shattered, or walked into something she didn’t think she’d survive.
So I held her tighter. Just a little longer.
I buried my face in her hair, breathing in lavender and something that was only her. The burning ache in my chest eased now that she was beside me.
The bounty groaned, low, wet, and weak. Azaria tensed in my arms, and I loosened my hold slowly. My hands lingered on her arms for one last heartbeat before I stepped back.