Chapter 5
VANN
They are going to give me my heart back.
I can hardly believe it. Sixty years without, and finally, I will be whole again.
Blood loss has made my limbs weak. I am able to open my eyes, but I am unsure if they remain open as my consciousness drifts in and out.
It helps to review everything I know. Everything I can remember after they decided to give me my heart back.
I remember being pulled onto some sort of structure made from vines and branches.
The feeling of being dragged across the uneven ground was painful.
It caused more blood to bubble down my skin in fresh rivulets.
Then suddenly I was laid prone upon a new stone slab, staring up at the twinkling lights of a million magically infused objects collected by these feral women, secluded in the middle of the ocean.
When my heart was taken out, it was my last memory of unadulterated physical pain and warmth. My being was torn apart, and the throbbing organ wrapped up in magic, severing its connection to my body so that it could slide out of the open cavity. It was grotesque, terrifying, though it left no scar.
This time, the magic is more overbearing. It doesn’t feel like crystal magic—there is no resonance to it. Instead, there is a bitter sharpness that cuts me open with precision, though each one leaves space for something else to linger. Something next to pain.
I try to focus on identifying what that thing might be rather than the sensation itself to distract myself. Is it darkness? Rot? Or simply the feeling of what it means to be touched by another god’s magic?
There is rhythmic chanting as the same witch who took my heart before stands over the table, her face covered as she holds her hands over her head. Above me floats a shining purple heart.
My heart.
The heart that made Arlet leave me here to appease the threats of the Elf King. The heart that had sung for her.
I look at it now like one might look at an estranged family member. Without it, my life has been cold, predictable, but lacking. Having it back…what will that even mean? What will that force me to do? To feel?
Deep in my gut, there is a fierce anticipation as I sense the heart near the icy cold hole in my chest. Half a century half dead. I decide it will be worth it to live. Even with all the uncertainty in my future, even without a promise that I will actually survive this.
The chance at life is better than the certainty I would die without this procedure.
The moment they put the heart back in my chest, I feel nothing.
And then, like a spark against flint, jolts of heat surge across the veins connected to my heart, running down, spreading heat like a wildfire.
I bow my back straight off the table, crying out to whatever god or creature will give me a modicum of mercy.
The moderate temperature of my skin is replaced with a scorching heat that makes me think my flesh will soon bubble and melt off my muscles and bones, but when I look down, I just see my open chest, the blood that pumps properly through my body once more, and that wretched, old heart.
I gasp at the sight just as the witch comes close again, hovering her hand in a straight, even line over the open incision. Bit by bit, the flesh begins to knit itself back together, and for the first time since I awoke last, my Fuegorra flares to life.
I’m curious about what they must’ve done to suppress the magic from my own gods, but I cease questioning as new sensations began to bubble inside of me. Gratitude strong enough to move mountains shakes its way through me like quaking earth beneath my feet.
A shame as deep as the ocean itself crashes over me.
And a love…a love fierce enough to draw the tides and keep the planets and stars in their eternal rounds begins to take over, to buoy my broken body.
The sound of surprise radiates above me as the Fuegorra sings louder. It is a song that I have never heard, despite the fact that it is as familiar as the backs of my hands, as my own mind.
The song sings out for a woman no longer here, and it weeps at her loss. The song tells me what Arlet already knew.
That I am mated.
That she is my mate.
That she has gone to sacrifice herself, and I want to slap her name out of the mouth of any person who would dare speak it out of turn.
None of this makes sense. The untenable need to hold her close and never let her go prickles over my skin.
Regardless of the still-healing bits of my body, I bolt upright, fuming, and swing my legs over the table.
“Easy,” one of the witches hisses.
“I need to get out of here,” I pant, still overwhelmed by the sheer mass of heat and emotion in my soul.
“We agree,” they respond without hesitation, as if they are as eager to be free of me as I am to find the woman I should be protecting at this very moment.
“Where is the dragon I brought here?” I ask.
“The golden one sleeps on the shores, waiting for her mistress to return,” one says. “It also seems that she might be attached to you. Goddess knows why.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you were injured, she brought me to your side, ensuring that we came for you. Even then, I was content to let you bleed out, but she…insisted.” Maelira shares a look with the others, and I can almost imagine the scene with the dragon.
A part of me smiles because it reminds me of Arlet. She was always one for insisting as well. She had a focus about her that could be infuriating, but it always led to so much more accomplished than I could’ve imagined. Seraph is the only piece of Arlet I have left. I want to go to her immediately.
Then Maelira says, “You should thank Elanina and her for your life.”
I stiffen. That woman. She ruined everything, but then she fought for me to live. The old woman steps forward slightly, and I stare at her for a long second.
Anger does not even enter my thoughts this time. It is so clear to me now that the only one who ruined my life was me. I shouldn’t have lied. Shifting blame to those without fault is pointless. The truth is that she did me a favor—she made me stop hiding.
Nodding deeply, I say, “I thank you. All of you, really, but especially you, Elanina.”
She nods back, but does not respond. More genuine gratitude flows through me. It is warm and pleasant.
Despite all of the magic pumping in and out of my body, when I try to stand, I sway intensely.
“You need to eat something before you walk,” one of the witches says, irritated.
Another comes through the group bearing a sliced stone fruit and a bowl of something that smells earthy.
It is set on the table beside me, and the women watch as I chew the juicy fruit.
It is sweet and slightly tangy, but the explosion of flavor on my tongue is unlike anything I have experienced while eating as far back as I can remember.
Was my taste also altered by the procedure?
The thought almost eases the tension of being watched as I finish the slices and then down the bowl of soup. The slightly minty aftertaste is pleasant, and when I put everything to the side and stand, there is no sign I might sway or fall.
The one called Maelira stands back, watching me with a host of witches lined up on either side.
“You should be swift with fulfilling your end of the bargain, for we intend to call upon your king soon,” she says.
I grit my teeth. There are no plans to return to Enduvida until after I find Arlet.
But…doubt enters my thoughts yet again. Technically, I would fly over the Enduar Mountains to reach Shvathemar. I will need to stop to rest.
I close my eyes, letting out a long breath.
To return to Enduvida before getting Arlet would kill me. But if I have to uphold my word and my duty to Teo, I would do it. But I wouldn’t stay long.
“They will know before the week is out. Send your message as soon as you’d like,” I say.
“Good,” Maelira intones. “We expect nothing less.”
I nod to each of the women and then head out of the cave, noting that Elanina has left, and then follow the only path I can see in front of me. Walking up the winding stone hallway, I am still watched.
Heightened sensations prickle over my skin, and I am uncomfortably aware of each and every flex of my muscles, every twitch of my fingers, every beat of the foreign body in my chest.
Should I be moving this fast so soon after the procedure? My wounds were closed, but I feel…off.
I take a second to consciously refocus myself on the purpose before me. The one that will require me to fly away from this place. In the depths of my sickness, I thought I would go straight to Arlet, but that will not work.
That realization is like nails over shale.
As I step into the sunlight, I look down at my ravaged clothes. I could mend them with ease, but I need my cleaver.
I consider turning back to the women, who are still deep in the cave, to ask if they know its location, despite knowing that they won’t be overly keen to see me again. Instead, something overhead draws my attention.
A flock of tropical birds flies away from the shore as quickly as possible, and a roar sounds in the distance. From the exit of the cave, which is elevated over the witches’ small town, I can see the glint of golden scales before the water.
Seraph.
I let out a long exhale, preparing myself for the fact that the last time I saw the creature, Arlet was tending to her. We were there together before my secrets were revealed, before Arlet made the decision to leave me forever.
The memories hurt to touch, like the worst of the wounds I received without a heart.
I make my way down the winding path that leads to the rocky edge of the beach. As soon as I pass the trees, Seraph looks up at me. Her golden scales shift in the light, creating rainbow prism rays that litter the ground.
Her deep amber eyes gaze in the direction Arlet went with the elves. My heart constricts. The woman she risked her life for.
I continue walking up to her until we are less than a wingspan apart. As she looks at me, I can see the question in her eyes that remains there, unfaltering. When I halt, and then neither she nor I move for a few minutes, I open my mouth, searching for the words.
A constricting pain in my chest comes again. It chokes its way across my heart, my lungs, and up to my throat.
Too many feelings.
I reach up, patting my bare chest where the fabric has long since been torn away by battle and procedure, and then feel something hot slide down the side of my cheek.
I clumsily wipe it away with my opposite hand, and look down to see a glistening tear.
Fuck.
All of the pain of the last half century had been felt halfway.
It didn’t all come down on me before, but I am overwhelmed now with its lingering presence.
I know the feelings are there, lurking. The loss of Adra, the loss of most of my people, my city, and almost my best friend.
And now, the loss of the other half of my soul.
I stare at my hand as I gather the strength to say that which I could not before.
“She…is gone. We have to help her.”
The only way I will feel peace is if I bring her back. I need to leave now, and I need to be quick in my visit home.
I will not let Teo draw me into complex plans.
It would be better to make it a one-man show rather than bring armies to fight a new war so soon after the last. We have allies for the first time, but if Arlet is still there, in close proximity to the king, then there is only a greater chance that she will get hurt.
There is no way I will let anyone or anything hurt my…
The word “mate” freezes in my mind. I haven’t earned that title, with her or myself. Not yet.
I clear my throat. And if, after Arlet is rescued, Mrath still wants to storm Shvathemar, then I will lead the battles knowing that Arlet is safe and sound in a home that I will make for her, knowing the king is no longer a threat.
In a place that will belong to the two of us. If she’ll have me back.
Until then…
I look up at Seraph.
“Are you ready?”
The dragon, who has been watching me break down, begins to move her tail, unfurling her long coil. Underneath lies my cleaver.
I stare down at it, thinking how I have lived my life clinging to its handle through both war and peace.
It has always sung in my hand with purpose, but the purpose it brings me now feels more personal.
It is mine—my burden. Not one laid on me by another’s danger.
And I will carry it well until Arlet is home.
I will cut through flesh and burn down the entire palace just to get her back before real fighting can break out.
Seraph dips down, her saddle still attached to her back, and a churning in my stomach almost overpowers me. I don’t like being on her back without Arlet, don’t like flying where my feet can’t find purchase on solid ground.
But this act is for the best woman to walk the face of this earth.
I take a deep breath, reaching for the strap to pull myself up, and then hoist myself onto the back of the massive beast.
Once firmly seated, I feel worse. My stomach drops to my ass but I know that this must be done.
I use the trick I learned in Dragonsreach to anchor myself appropriately in the saddle, adjusting the position of my cleaver in the strap around my waist, and then take a deep breath.
When I kick my legs, Seraph moves. Her wings spread wide, and she requires little prep before she launches herself into the air. I let out a startled cry.
The rush of air over my skin is painful, too cold, and overwhelming all at once, but I try my best to ignore the fear and panic climbing inside of me and surrender myself to the open sky.