Chapter 32 Xeni
Xeni
A million thoughts explode through my head as I try to process the bomb Nelly just dropped on my lap.
“What?” I breathe, my breakfast forgotten as I stare at her in stunned silence.
“It would seem the Fates put us in each other’s paths for a reason,” Nelly says, her smile wobbling.
“Bheera would share photos of this beautiful child with porcelain skin and tiny little horns nobs poking from his puff of white hair. He clung to her, following her around whenever she’d allow it, and she had all these wonderful stories of the mischief he’d get into.
So many times, she would come home late at night, laughing because he’d invented a new game to play. ”
Her eyes crinkle, and a newfound heaviness builds in my throat at the love that shines through her memories.
“They usually involved a giant mess of some sort,” she adds with a touch of teasing.
I open my mouth to say something, but how do you comfort the woman whose mate gave you your only glimpse of love in a childhood defined by hate? When she sacrificed her freedom for your happiness, and paid for her loyalty with her life?
“Do you remember the time you wanted to make snow angels?” Nelly asks before I can form a single word.
The long-buried memory surfaces, and I choke on a strangled laugh. “She read me a book about snow, but I had never seen it. I dumped flour all over the kitchen before she could stop me.”
She nods with a chuckle, the sound warm despite the sorrow threading through it. “You both were coated in it, and it took her two hours to clean up that mess when you were done.”
Guilt gnaws at my insides as I wring my hands. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize,” she interrupts sternly.
I purse my lips to hold it back. The instinct to take the blame is too ingrained to shake easily.
Nelly shakes her head, still with that sad smile on her face. “She wouldn’t have traded those moments for anything, Xeni. She loved you dearly.”
“And I her,” I respond quietly, the words slipping out on a breath that feels too heavy for my chest.
Despite the years that have passed, Bheera crosses my mind often.
Memories of sitting on the balcony, listening to faint music in the air. It carried from concerts in the park that I was never allowed to attend.
I think of the days helping her in the kitchen and sampling new recipes as she told me grand stories of adventure I could barely imagine, then the nights where she nursed my wounds in private after I stepped too far out of line.
She was the light in a house built for darkness.
The hope in a heart that learned too young to expect none.
The one who taught me that love could be soft and fierce all at once, without demand or condition.
I close my eye for a moment and let the ache settle. Bash scoots his chair closer and wraps an arm around my shoulders in silent support, and when I face the world again, even Cato’s expression has softened.
“It broke my heart when she disappeared,” I say, the words coming slower now. “I was never told what happened to her, but even as a child, I knew.”
“Did anyone take her place?” Nelly asks as she resumes eating, giving me space to gather my thoughts, but my appetite is gone.
“No. Father claimed he needed to replace the nonsense she’d put in my head, and for years, I never left the house.
” I sigh as I sink deeper into the chair, pushing the food around on my plate.
“He was determined to toughen me up, but his words and fists didn’t have the intended effect.
So I was sent to military school when I was twelve, but that didn’t help either. ”
I stare out the window, a darker reel of memories replacing the fond ones of Bheera. “He never publicly acknowledged me as his son. I was too weak, he said. Too easily influenced, and too soft-hearted. He tried to make me more like himself… something colder to carry on his legacy.”
I pause, shaking my head. “Sometimes I wonder if he might’ve succeeded.”
“Xen,” Bash scolds from beside me, his arm tightening.
Years of anger and shame form a ball in my chest, and the confession is like a lanced wound as it spills out. “You always say actions are what matters. Look at what I did. Top fucking scout for the Project. I made them tell me. Didn’t give them a fucking choice in the matter.”
My hands shove into my hair and tug, the sting giving me a moment of clarity.
“So many people, Bash,” I say, staring at the table. “They were pulled from their homes and shipped away to be locked inside those walls… all because of me.”
Silence falls in the room, making the alarms outside seem so much louder in the absence of other noises. I lift my hand to trace the edge of my eyepatch, and my hands shake as the thought of a razor’s bite steals my breath for a moment.
The guilt is rancid, charging my veins like sludge, and I wonder if it hasn’t rotted me from the inside out.
Wonder if it needs to be purged.
Bash repeats my name, too stubborn to leave me to my thoughts as he pinches my chin and turns my face to his.
“We aren’t defined by our mistakes, but by what we do when we realize we’ve made them. You did what you could to make their lives easier, and then you helped set them free. Everything you’re doing now is to help.”
“No, it isn’t,” I argue. “This is selfish, too, because I’m only doing it for you. The only reason I even came was to get you back.”
“I don’t believe that,” he whispers as he pulls me into his neck. “Not for a fucking second, okay? Stop punishing yourself.”
Nelly’s voice is stern as she speaks from across the table. “Do you think you’re something special, boy?”
“What?” I say, lifting my gaze to hers.
There’s no pity in her eyes, only fond affection mixed with a healthy dose of exasperation.
“I never met your father, but I heard plenty of stories. That was his power, was it not? Convincing others to do his bidding, regardless of their intention?”
“This is different,” I insist. “He didn’t command me to help him. There was no influence other than that of a father and the son who was desperate for his approval.”
She hums, the sound unconvinced. “An influence, I’d wager, that is more powerful than you want to believe.
Far older, more experienced people were caught in his webs.
They did it for different reasons, sure.
Fear or loyalty. Some have a hard time telling the difference.
Others might have been commanded by him, as you say.
Might’ve had their minds taken over by brute strength.
At the end of the day, that matters very little. ”
“Tell that to the people I’ve hurt,” I retort.
Nelly looks wholly unimpressed. “More words spoken like a child. He may have had a hand in shaping you, but that doesn’t make him your sole creator. It doesn’t mean he gets to rule you now. Stop granting him that power.”
If only it were that simple.
I’d give anything for it to be that simple.
My breath saws from my lungs in harsh, frantic rasps as I fight the wave of panic that grips me.
It’s like claws around my chest, squeezing until the world narrows to a suffocating tunnel.
I suck in a ragged inhale that catches and stutters, and the air becomes elusive like I’m trying to breathe through water.
Bash’s hand strokes my back in slow, firm passes, the familiar rhythm of his touch cutting through the chaos.
“Take a deep breath for me, princess,” he murmurs. “Let it pass.”
I nod but don’t dare to move as I struggle to get my breathing under control. The urge to dig my fingernails into my skin or pull on my hair is almost overwhelming, but Bash’s gentle touches and whispered words slowly bring me down.
Embarrassment replaces my panic, and shame settles heavy in my gut.
Nelly’s voice has lost its edge as she reaches across the table to place a hand on my forearm. “You escaped him once, dear boy. Don’t give him that space inside your mind.”
I force a rough swallow. “That’s harder than it sounds,” I finally say.
She breathes a sigh as she nods. “Indeed. Finish your breakfast. You’ll need the energy.”
I obediently pick up my fork and take a bite, though the flavor is lost to the caustic anxiety on my tongue.
“What’s our plan?” Cato asks from the sink.
Bash watches me for another few heartbeats before he gestures out the window. “Things will be tough while the city is on high alert. I don’t want to inconvenience Nelly for longer than necessary, so we need to come up with a plan.”
“Yeah…” Ego’s voice drawls from the doorway, and everyone turns to stare as she saunters into the kitchen. “Got some bad news for you, boys. These are plastered all over the city right now. Like, wallpaper level. Congrats, you’re famous.”
She hands Bash a small stack of papers, and the top one has a very clear picture of my face staring back, with an artist’s rendering of the patch over my eye.
“Wanted for high treason,” Bash reads out loud, “and multiple counts of murder. Fugitive should be considered extremely dangerous. Known aliases include Mikhail and Alexise. Last seen wearing military leathers. Extreme caution advised. Do not attempt to apprehend, only report sightings.”
“That’s… not ideal,” I say.
Bash grunts his agreement as Cato leans over his shoulder, way too close for my liking. Something ugly flares hot in my chest at how casually they touch, and I bite down on my lip, forcing myself to focus.
“They don’t mention Zadeus,” Cato points out.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I mutter. “With how secretive they are about their identities, they’ll never admit one’s been injured.”
Ego snickers. “We should make some posters of our own. ‘High Commander got his ass handed to him by his own kid’ has a nice ring to it.”
Bash flips through the stack, and Cato’s face pops up next.
Cato snatches it with a scowl. “What the fuck?”
“Watch the papercut, asshole,” Bash mutters.
Cato glares at his own smug portrait. “They’ve mixed me up with Gideon and slapped ‘escaped fugitive’ at the top of this laundry list of offenses.”