Chapter 44
Dagen returned home. He looked awful. I would’ve chalked it up to the fact that he’s been at war with the demons at our borders, but I found him in the memorial room. Sitting by Mother”s statue. He let me sit with him. After a while, I asked what was wrong. He told me Kathreen really wants children, but a healer confirmed he isn’t capable of bearing them. Of all the problems I’m capable of fixing, I really wish I could fix this one. Because if anyone deserves to be a father, it’s my brother.
I climb the steps of my tower, and Liha surfaces as I reach my door.
She nudges my cheek as I close myself inside. Gold-and-black tendrils are still dancing at the edges of my sight.
“How did he know about the necklace?”
She halts midair, fear leaking through our bond.
I rack my brain. The only person who knew about it was Preysee.
Until Preysee mentioned it in the bathing chamber . . . When Liha was with me. If Preysee was so loyal to King Dagen and his people, I can’t believe she’d tell my father.
“How did he know about the necklace, Liha?”
She darts around me, nervous.
The day I bonded with her feathers into my mind. It was Father who suggested her.
Then, I remember being on the dance floor with Kazem. She left my shield right before—
“You”—I fall to my knees—“you are his spy.”
She does not speak, and it is confirmation enough. My hand shakes as I point to the door. “Leave me.”
“You do not understand—”
“Leave!”
She zigzags through my shield. “I can’t leave you, or you’ll be in danger from his spirit.”
My hand goes to my dagger—a stress reflex. Golden trails of light move through the room like rivers.
“What are you talking about?”
“I have the gift of protection. I’ve been shielding you from both your caster shield and his. She will kill you if she discovers what you are.”
“Then don’t tell her.”
“It is not that simple. Once you discover your lineage—”
“What lineage are you talking about?”
Liha hums in a nervous tone as if she’s trying to decide what information she’s allowed to give me.
“You have power. I know you’ve felt it. But once you make the decision to tap into it—”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It will,” she says softly. “When it does, gods, creatures, and souls will hunt you like the last ray of hope in a dying world. They will snuff you. And you are not strong enough to withstand it.”
If I had any energy left, I would scream. My mind should be digesting, analyzing, and shooting questions, but all I can say is, “You are his.”
She nudges me, and I stiffen at the contact.
“I have been his from the beginning, but I care for you both.”
“You told him about Palko.”
“I did, but it was the dark spirit who killed Palko. Not your father. He is fighting a losing battle, Nizzara.”
Something clicks, knowing Liha has listened to almost all my conversations. “Where is Soriah?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
“Why? Because you are more his than mine?” I snap.
“Because I don’t want you to get any dangerous ideas! My whole purpose is to protect you, Nizzara.”
I stand up and swipe the tears from my cheeks, the red, spiteful cord snapping through me. “I want you to unbond me!”
“You may hate me. You may never love me as you did, but I will not leave you unprotected.”
I jerk my vesseled hand out in front of me, and try to claw the wretched thing off, despite how useless it is to do. It’s burned into my flesh. The only thing that will sever it is—
I yank my dagger out from my leg sheath and snap it to my middle finger, pressing its razor edge to my finger.
“No! Nizzara please. I’m begging you. I am only here to protect you.” Her voice breaks like panes of glass. I feel her agony and love bleeding through our bond.
My hand trembles, poised to slice my vessel off.
“Please do not get yourself killed out of spite. I will give you space. I will not bother you, but please allow me to continue protecting you. Despite what you think of me, I love you, Nizzara.”
My heart cracks because I feel it in our bond. My rage is building, that familiar lava rises, filling my ears, my chest, my hands. I throw the dagger so hard it buries itself hilt-deep into the solid wood post of my bed.
“I only have to be in your shield for a few hours to weave the protection.”
“How can you care for him when he hurts me?” I ask because, deep down, that’s what’s really fueling my rage.
She is quiet before saying, “You have not seen his past nor his heart. You do not understand the battle he fights every minute.”
I slump onto my bed. “You said you’d give me space. I need you to do that.”
A crack of hurt seeps through our bond, but in a matter of a breath, I am alone.