Chapter Forty-Three
Love will be the end of us all.
Tabitha Wysteria
‘Lift your arm higher,’ Hagan instructed, demonstrating with precise, fluid grace.
Ash tried. He truly did. But the ache from where his father’s blow had landed flared sharp and unforgiving, halting his motion. Hagan must have noticed. The annoyance in his eyes gave him away as he let his own arm fall back to his side.
‘Don’t,’ Ash murmured, his voice barely audible.
He knew Hagan was about to speak of the king’s cruelty again, to let his rage unravel.
Ash couldn’t bear to hear it, not now. Turning from him, he strode across the training yard and slid the sword back into its rack, its hilt clicking into place among the others.
But just as his fingers left the blade, Hagan’s voice came quiet, firm, final.
‘I’m leaving.’
Ash stilled. Slowly, he turned, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He said nothing at first, only stared, confusion scrawled across his face.
Hagan exhaled deeply. ‘I’m going to Fireheart. I’ve been accepted into the Red Guard.’
It felt as though the ground beneath Ash tilted, shifting the world off its axis.
‘Why?’ he asked softly, almost childlike.
Hagan’s hands clenched into fists. ‘So I can become strong enough to protect you.’
Ash’s jaw tensed. ‘I d-don’t n-need pro-protecting.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Hagan stepped forward, closing the space between them. He took Ash’s arm, the one bruised by another’s cruelty and held it, his grip gentle but unrelenting. ‘We swore to protect one another. I’m keeping my promise.’
‘Don’t.’
‘You can’t stop me.’
Ash’s gaze dropped. He couldn’t meet those familiar brown eyes, the ones that had watched him stumble and grow, that had seen too much and judged too little.
‘What about Alina?’ he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
‘She’ll survive,’ Hagan said with a sigh. ‘But… perhaps it’s best if she doesn’t know. Not until I’m gone.’
Ash stepped back, shoulders tightening. ‘If you g-go…’
‘It’s only a year, Ash. You’ll survive without me.’
But Ash shook his head, and something in him, something raw and vulnerable betrayed the lie. Hagan must have seen it too because in the next moment, he reached out and pulled Ash into him, arms folding around him in a tight embrace.
‘You’re my brother, Ash,’ he said, voice low and sure. ‘Remember that. No matter what happens, in this life or the next. We are brothers. Not by blood. But by soul.’
Ash opened his eyes, banishing the memory to the shadows of his mind as he crouched before one of the many fires flickering beneath the night sky.
Across from him, Adriana sat serenely, a glass of wine cradled between her palms. She caught his stare and, with a faint smile, said, ‘Someone unearthed crates of stolen wine in one of the old homes.’
Ash gave a nod, his eyes drifting back to the fire, watching its amber tongues dance against the dark.
‘The crops are doing well,’ she added.
Another nod.
To Ash, the place held a certain quiet beauty.
It was wild and worn, yet brimming with potential.
Marshes stretched out not far beyond, their mirrored waters dotted with small wooden boats used by soldiers to navigate the twisting waterways.
Around them, the forest had begun to regrow, tall and lush, vast enough now for the wolverians to hunt freely once more.
Though the village was too small to house them all, it had become a sanctuary of sorts. After so many weeks trapped in the witchland, the army had pushed outward, seeking ground that could offer hope; soil to till, rivers to drink from, trees to fell and build anew.
Ash had chosen to remain behind, though he knew Bryn Wynter had ridden out with a contingent of wolverians to explore the land beyond.
The houses served well enough for sleep, but by day, few lingered indoors. There was too much to do like tending crops, repairing shelters, bringing life back to a land left cursed and forsaken for over a century.
At night, they gathered round the fires. They drank and they ate, shared silence and laughter, until the embers faded and they drifted, one by one, into slumber.
‘Speak what’s on your m-mind,’ Ash said at last, having long since noticed the way Adriana kept casting furtive glances his way.
She huffed softly, brushing a hand through her short black hair and tucking it behind her ears. ‘If you know absolutely everything—’
‘I’ve never claimed to know e-everything,’ he interrupted gently.
Adriana rolled her eyes. ‘Then tell me this, do you know why? Why Hagan began all of this?’
Ash let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to his hands.
Hands he had come to know in too many forms. Through vision and dream, he had seen them young and unmarked, seen them aged and trembling, weathered by time and sorrow.
It was strange, seeing his life laid bare through something so simple as his own fingers.
‘I do,’ he said quietly.
Adriana straightened a little. ‘Was it for revenge, then? Is it really that simple?’
‘No.’
‘Well?’
Ash shifted his weight, lowering himself further, his knees drawing close to his chest. He stared into the fire, letting its light dance across his features.
Pain settled into him like a second skin.
Memories came swift and cruel. Flashes of what had been, of what could not be undone.
Each one struck him like a thunderclap, splitting his thoughts open.
‘Why did Hagan do all of this?’ Adriana pressed, her voice softer now.
Ash rose to his feet, his head pounding with a pressure that promised no peace. He longed for sleep. Not the restless tossing of nightmares, but something deeper, a forgetting. If only memory could be silenced like pain, if only regret could be buried like the dead.
‘Because of me,’ he whispered.
Adriana’s eyes, dark and sharp as obsidian, widened. ‘Because of you?’ she echoed, frowning. ‘What could you have possibly done to make him start all of this?’
Ash’s hands clenched into fists, the pain a vice around his chest as Hagan’s voice echoed through the chambers of his memory:
You’re my brother, Ash. Remember that. No matter what happens in this life or the next. We are brothers, not by blood, but by soul.
The ache bloomed anew, sharp and unforgiving, and he turned from Adriana, unable to face the weight of it. She must have sensed the shift in him, for she straightened, her voice gentler now.
‘Ash? What happened? What did you do?’
He paused, back still to her, shadows cast by the fire dancing along his figure.
Then he glanced over his shoulder, meeting the gaze of the young wyverian woman who, like so many of them, carried secrets stitched into her skin like runes.
That was the world they lived in now, one forged by silence and burden.
And yet, perhaps Ash was the worst among them.
‘It’s all my fault,’ he said, the words like stones in his mouth.
‘But why?’ she asked, bewildered. ‘Why would Hagan do all of this because of you?’
Ash swallowed, as though forcing down the last piece of a truth long left to rot.
‘Because… I’m the reason his mother took her own life.’
…
Ash woke with a jolt as something soft and unexpected struck him across the face. He blinked groggily, sitting upright on the modest cot, only to find Adriana lounging against the doorframe, arms folded and one brow arched in playful defiance.
‘Ah, marvellous, you’re awake,’ she said with a wicked little smile. ‘I need help with the crops. Chop-chop, then.’
And before he could even muster a protest or reach for something to preserve a shred of dignity, she had turned with a swish of her hips and sauntered off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, groaning softly, and sat for a while in the stillness of morning.
The sounds of the waking world filtered in through the thin curtains: birdsong, the rustle of leaves, distant voices.
A lone sunbeam crept across the room and landed warm upon his face.
He closed his eyes, savouring it for just a breath longer as if the light could chase away memory.
Until Adriana shrieked his name with the volume of a warhorn.
Ash stumbled out into the sunlight, where he found the goddess already on her knees, elbows deep in soil, tending the crops with all the delicate reverence of a priestess at altar. She didn’t look up, only waved a hand in imperious summons.
‘You’re a menace,’ he muttered.
‘Oh, hush, don’t start with me,’ she replied breezily.
‘You’re always so moody in the mornings, Ash Acheron.
Just like that husband of mine…’ She paused, lifting her head and glancing about the small field with mock theatricality.
‘Goodness knows where he’s run off to. Off committing unspeakable acts, I should imagine. ’
Her grin widened just as Ash pointed.
‘Isn’t that him, s-stuck in the mud over there?’
A few paces off, a very irate wyverian thrashed about waist-deep in muck, howling furiously while Cronan tried unsuccessfully to tug him free.
Adriana rolled her eyes with regal exasperation.
‘And to think he was once one of the most powerful…’ She turned back to her work, digging her fingers into the earth with renewed focus.
‘Now come along, then. Pull them up gently, by the roots yes, just like that or they’ll spoil. We’re replanting them over there.’
Ash obeyed her wordless guidance in silence, his hands working the soil while the morning passed in a gentle hush. But after a while, Adriana paused, her hands still in the earth, and turned to face him with narrowed eyes.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do.’
Ash squinted up at her, the sunlight slanting low and golden across his features.
‘Don’t you dare give me those puppy eyes,’ she warned. ‘You can’t just drop a line like I’m the reason Hagan’s mother died, and that’s why he started this entire bloody mess then walk away as though I’m supposed to be perfectly fine with it. Begin.’
‘Begin what?’