25. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
I recount the storm wall to Lanneth, describing how we broke through the rain’s relentless assault. I fill my words with the island’s vibrant beauty—the gleaming castle, the replanting of the garden, the warmth of shared dinners. But I make sure to avoid anything from the night of the Lover’s Eye.
Yet as I speak, her gaze remains distant, a shadow lingering beneath the surface that my stories can’t reach. No matter how vividly I paint the scene, she stays unmoved.
“Amara,” she says, her voice tinged with a soft edge, “I believe there should be no secrets between us. We are bound now—by family, by blood. There’s no need for walls.”
Her words are deliberate, calculated.
Family. The term feels foreign, even wrong, coming from her.
“I agree,” I reply, keeping my tone steady. “Secrets only breed mistrust.”
“Then you understand why I must ask,” she continues. “How did Daed behave in Pariseth? Especially under the Lover’s Eye. I’d expect him to act as any man would, but I need to hear it from you.”
“Daed behaved… as Daed always does,” I answer curtly, the memory of those nights stirring emotions I have no intention of sharing with her.
“You’re being evasive, Amara,” she presses, her smile polite but her eyes sharp. “There’s no need to hide from me. I only want what’s best for you—and for him.”
“It’s not something I wish to discuss,” I say firmly, though tension coils inside me.
Her smile doesn’t falter, but a flicker of anger crosses her gaze. “I understand. But as his mother, I hope you can trust me. After all, I raised Daed, nurtured him. He is who he is today because of me.”
The words hang between us, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “He told me you’re not his real mother.”
Lanneth’s expression freezes, genuine surprise flashing across her face. She quickly recovers, clasping her hands over her lap.
“I see Daedalus has spoken out of turn,” her voice trembling slightly. “It’s true—I didn’t give birth to him. His real mother died when he was just a baby. But I have been the only mother he’s ever known. I raised him, cared for him through every trial, every wound, every mistake. I am his mother in every way that matters.”
Lanneth stands, regaining her composure. “Remember, Amara. You and I share more than just Daed—we share the responsibility of this kingdom. I have given everything to protect it, and I hope you will do the same.” Her eyes sweep over me, and even fully clothed, I feel exposed under her scrutiny, as if she sees more than my skin—more than I even understand of myself. “You look better. Pariseth clearly agrees with you. Let’s hope Baev’kalath does not drain this renewed light. We need you strong.” Her smile stretches, thin and strained, before she bows. “I’ll leave you to settle in. I’m sure we’ll see each other tonight, when Kaelus and Daedalus depart.”
The mention of Daed leaving twists the knot in my chest tighter. If Lanneth’s presence hadn’t already unsettled me, her reminder of the departure I’ve been trying not to think about only deepens the ache. She turns, her gown sweeping behind her as she exits the room. The door closes with a soft thud, but the tension lingers, heavy in the air.
I fall back onto the bed and wish I could sink—deep enough to escape, deep enough to disappear, deep enough to reach the bottom of the world.
I can't bring myself to face the door. If I step through it, if I watch him leave, the last week will dissolve into a distant memory, like some fragile dream I can never get back. I need it to be real. If it isn’t—if this feeling between us is just a fleeting illusion—then I don’t want anything at all.
I sit stiffly in the chair by the fire, staring at the flames as they dance, the heat creeping across my skin until it stings. But I welcome it. The burn is easier to bear than the fear curling inside me—the fear of losing Daed.
The familiar sound of wings stirs the air behind me, followed by the heavy thud of boots on stone.
“I told you,” I mutter, not turning to look. “I prefer when you use the door.”
“So domineering, wife. Are we still in Pariseth?” he teases, the smirk evident in his voice. “Should I take off my boots? Dig in the dirt with you?” His hands slide over my shoulders, and despite myself, I melt into his touch, my eyes closing as warmth spreads through me. His voice drops lower, closer. “Can I make requests, too? I prefer you wearing only moonlight.”
His fingers trail down my arms, gliding toward my breasts, and I lose myself in the warmth of him, laying my hand on top of his and holding it still, because if he moves an inch I’ll fall apart.
“Daed. Stop,” I mutter somberly, clutching his hand tighter than I mean to.
The room falls into an uncomfortable silence. I can’t look at him. My gaze stays fixed on the fire, each flicker of flame reflecting the frustration twisting inside me.
After a long pause, his voice breaks the quiet. “Have I done something to upset you?” His tone is softer now, unsure. “Or... do you really just want me to use the door?”
I exhale slowly, struggling against the pull of his playfulness, the pull of him. But I can’t let myself surrender to it. Not when it will only lead to more pain—the kind he promised me from the start.
“I don’t want you to go.” The words slip out bluntly, raw, without any disguise. There is nothing else to say, no point in disguising. We are plain before each other now. He has seen me, all of me, in the day and beneath the moon, at his side and in his bed. There is no more to hold back.
His hands find my shoulders again, but this time I don’t push him away. Instead, I hold on, curling my fingers around his rough skin, leaning into him as if this is the last time I’ll feel his touch. It’s ridiculous, I know—he’s only going to Mor’Thravar. But there’s a heaviness in the air between us, something inevitable that I can’t explain or understand.
“Wife,” he whispers, then softer, “Amara.”
He moves around to face me, and when the firelight catches the angles of his face, casting flickering shadows over his skin, I can barely bring myself to look at him. His beauty feels like something too far away to hold onto, too otherworldly to keep. Daed drops to his knees in front of me, his grip firm on the chair legs as he pulls me closer with a sharp scrape of wood. He slides one hand between my knees, parting them just enough for him to settle in between, his hands trailing up my thighs before gripping my waist.
My heart flutters under the weight of his gaze, the gray in his eyes deepening, locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest ache.
“I don’t go because I want to,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges. “I go because I must. If it were my choice, I would stay by your side always, and nothing—” his gaze darkens as his grip tightens on me, “— nothing could drag me away from you.”
His words sink into me, each one sending a wave of warmth through my body. My heart swells, but I still feel the ache of what’s coming, of him leaving. I exhale a deep, weary breath. “I’m being selfish, aren’t I?”
He grins, a soft, crooked smile that makes my heart skip. “I don’t think you’re capable of such a thing. But if you are, then I’m flattered to be the cause of it.”
Despite everything, a smile tugs at my lips, softened by the way his hands grip me, how his touch is both tender and possessive. “How long will you be gone?”
“For a Fae, it’s less than a blink,” he teases, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Human years, on the other hand...”
I clench my jaw, narrowing my eyes. “Husband!”
He laughs, pulling me deeper into his arms, his warmth spreading over me as his embrace tightens around my waist. “Two days. Maybe three. As soon as I settle things, I’ll return to you. I swear it.”
I don't respond. I know he's telling the truth, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Daed watches me carefully, his brow furrowing, and then he tilts his head slightly, studying my expression. “Perhaps you need something to keep you company. Something to be here while I cannot.”
I raise a curious eyebrow, trying to understand his intent. “What do you mean?”
Daed extends his hand, and I watch as spirals of smoke rise from his skin. The wisps are dark and ethereal, twisting and curling in hypnotic patterns. I can’t help but be mesmerized by the way it moves, its magic undeniable. Then, with a soft breath, Daed blows the smoke into the air. It floats, curling and shifting until it descends, pooling into a cloud at his feet. I stare, wide-eyed, as the smoke solidifies, taking on the form of a sleek charcoal kitten made entirely of swirling shadows.
The tiny creature meows, and I gasp at the sound—a soft, echoed cry—and watch in awe as it slinks toward Daed, brushing itself lazily against the heel of his boot.
“Is it real?” I ask, barely believing what I’m seeing, unable to tear my gaze from the kitten's every movement.
“As real as I am,” Daed replies, “but infinitely better.”
He bends down and scoops the kitten up, his fingers sinking into the smoky form as it drifts around his hand. The kitten has no distinct features, only its glowing white eyes stand out from its shadowy body, like stars in a sea of darkness. For a moment, I feel unsettled by it, despite the soft cries it makes and the way its little legs kick helplessly in the air.
“Don’t hold him like that,” I chide, reaching out instinctively. “He doesn’t like it.”
Daed raises an amused eyebrow. “Oh? My apologies… and what should we call him?”
I gingerly take the smoke kitten from his hands, half-expecting it to dissolve right through my fingers. But it doesn’t. There’s weight to it, a form that feels solid, yet at the same time, wisps of smoke drift lazily from its body. The sensation is strange—a tingling that lingers against my skin, but oddly comforting. Black as the ash in the hearth, the little creature nestles against me as if it’s always belonged there. I scratch under its chin with a knuckle, and its eyes flutter closed as it purrs—a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through its shadowy form.
“Ashen,” I say, the name slipping from my lips as if meant for him. “His name is Ashen.”
Daed rises to his feet with a groan, brushing off his knees. “Ashen it is. I leave you in his capable... paws.”
I laugh softly, glancing down at the kitten. It's impossible to imagine how this tiny wisp of smoke could protect me in Daed's absence. But as Daed mutters something under his breath in Fae tongue, a string of words I don’t understand, Ashen lets out a low growl—so deep it makes me pause. For a brief moment, the kitten’s form flickers, its features sharpening into something far more dangerous, more ancient. But the shift happens so quickly, it’s gone in the blink of an eye, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it at all.
I’m so lost in Ashen, his tiny paws kneading against my chest, his smoky form curling into my hair, that I don’t notice Daed watching me. His gaze lingers, intense and quiet, and when I meet his eyes, a flush creeps up my neck. The warmth of his attention should soothe me, but instead, it feels heavy, like he’s memorizing every detail before it all fades away. I smile, trying to ease the tension, but it only seems to deepen the sadness etched in his face.
He swallows hard, his voice soft but weighted. “I have to go.”
The ache in my chest tightens as I run my fingers through Ashen’s smoke-like fur for comfort. “I know.”
Reluctantly, I stand, letting Ashen slip down to the floor where he curls at my feet, a loyal shadow. My hands find Daed’s waist, steadying both him and myself as his palms cradle my face. When he kisses me, it’s tender but filled with a passion that threatens to undo me. In that kiss, we say all the words we cannot speak aloud, a silent plea for time to stop, for everything to stay as it is. But when we pull apart, the absence of his touch leaves me hollow, like a part of me has been left behind.
Later, as I join him in the courtyard, I’m greeted by the familiar weight of Baev’kalath. The moonlight is dim, hidden behind the ever-present clouds, casting the world in muted shades of gray. Daed stands there, dressed in his formal attire, the dark fabric gleaming under the rain that always seems to accompany this place. His hair falls messily over his brow, and though he tries to hide it, the tension in his body is palpable. His eyes lock onto mine, and I can see it—the burden of what’s to come, the heaviness of his departure. Behind him, Arax, Orios, and the other Reapers stand like shadows, ready to follow him into whatever fight awaits them.
Rain falls, the cold droplets soaking into my skin, and it only makes everything feel heavier. The warmth of Pariseth, the soft grass, and the peace we found there feels distant, almost like it never existed. Now, there’s only the rain, the darkness, and the overwhelming fear of what might happen while Daed is away. He senses my hesitation, my heart faltering under the weight of it all, and his hand tightens around mine.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he murmurs, his voice rough but filled with sincerity. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling and in that simple gesture, I feel everything. It’s a promise, a farewell, and an unspoken fear all wrapped into one.
I close my eyes, trying to memorize the feel of him, the warmth of his presence, but there’s a knot of dread twisting in my chest. I want to cling to him, to keep him here, but I know I can’t. There’s too much at stake.
“Amara,” Daed whispers, pulling back just enough to look at me.
There’s something in his eyes, something raw and vulnerable, like he’s fighting to say something important, something that could change everything. But I can’t let him say it. I can’t hear those words… not now. If he says what I think he’s about to, I’ll never be able to let him go.
“You should go,” I say, the words escaping harsher than planned. I take a step back, putting distance between us because I need to keep the emotions from swallowing me whole.
His jaw tightens, and I see the flash of hurt that crosses his face, but he doesn’t argue. He takes a breath, letting his hand drop from my cheek. Daed has always known when to give me space, but tonight, I can feel the strain in his restraint, the way it tears at him just as much as it does me.
“It’s time,” King Kaelus calls from the edge of the courtyard, his voice cutting through the tension. The Reapers are already preparing to take flight, their forms dark and foreboding in the shadows of Baev’kalath.
Lanneth steps forward, her grip firm as she pulls me close, her presence as cold and oppressive as ever. I don’t move, my eyes still locked on Daed, who staggers backward, hesitant. With a sharp nod, he turns, his wings unfurling from his back in one swift motion. The powerful gust of air from his wings sends a shiver through me, but I remain still, rooted to the spot as I watch him join his father. Together, they take to the skies, disappearing into the inky darkness. The familiar ache settles deep in my chest, an ache that only grows the farther he flies from me.
“Do not fear, daughter,” Lanneth murmurs, her voice like a snake’s hiss as she leans in, her cold breath curling around my ear. “At last, you and I will be able to spend some much-needed time together.”
Her words coil around me, suffocating, but even her presence can’t stifle the sharp pang of regret that slices through me.
I should have said it. I should have told him.
The words linger on the tip of my tongue, words that feel too dangerous to say out loud but are too heavy to ignore. I wish I had screamed them into the night, sent them chasing after him.
My eyes burn, tears welling up behind them, not from the rain or the cold, but from the fear that I may never get the chance to speak them to his face. The fear that I may never hear him say them back.