Chapter 21 #2
My hand reaches out to touch Amara’s cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding me, reminding me that I am not the monster I believed I was. I am her husband. I am the father of our child. I am worthy, because of them.
And I will never take this gift for granted.
I carry my wife to a small cabin below deck and tend to her while our daughter sleeps, swaddled and warm, in a makeshift crib Reon and Orios fashioned from a hewn barrel. Time passes, though I cannot say how much. Hours, perhaps. I have not left Amara’s side. I refuse to.
Slowly, the color begins to return to her cheeks. The ashen cast lifts. Her breathing grows deeper. The warmth of life creeps back into her skin, chasing out the cold that nearly stole her from me.
I cleanse her carefully, cloth and water in hand, wiping away the blood and sweat still clinging to her.
Her body shivers beneath my touch, the tremors of agony still echoing through her limbs.
I long to kiss away the hurt, to draw it from her bones and bury it in my own flesh.
But I can’t. I press my lips to her forehead instead, brushing aside the damp strands of hair that cling to her skin.
Her gown, which I imagine was splendid once, is ruined, soaked through in blood. I remove it with care, reverent in the way I slide the fabric from her limbs. My fingers graze her skin as I dress her in a soft linen nightgown.
She stirs faintly, her eyes barely opening. No words, only weak murmurs that seem to leave her more spent. She has endured enough. Let the world wait. She deserves peace.
A knock at the door draws a scowl to my face. When it creaks open and our daughter stirs in her crib, it takes everything in me not to rise in fury.
“What is it?” I snarl under my breath.
Reon clears his throat. His voice is quiet. “Daedalus. There is a matter above deck that requires your attention.”
I exhale, the sound rough and reluctant. I already know what he means. Still, leaving this room feels impossible. I have waited so long for this. To have them. To hold them. And now that I do, I would trade every throne, every crown, just to remain here.
Reon speaks again when I don’t answer. “We could kill him if that’s what you want.”
I believe he would, without hesitation. It would save me the trouble. The Golden Son does not deserve a trial. He does not deserve mercy. We could hang him from the mast for his crimes against the Fae and be fully justified.
But one question burns on my tongue, and I cannot let it go. If I let Reon take his life now, I will never have the answer.
I need to know what happened in Driftspire.
“No,” I say, my voice low but steady. “I’ll handle it.”
Reon leaves the door open, and I follow. I look back once, unable to help myself. I seal them in with a soft click of the door, as if the whole world might shatter if I close it too loudly.
Above deck, the storm has passed. The same storm my daughter’s birth summoned, scattered to the edges of the horizon. Dusk is near. The wind carries a sharper chill, and the sky burns gold and crimson as the sun sinks into the sea.
Reon and Orios stand on either side of the Golden Son, holding him fast. His arms are locked between their grips, but he does not resist. He stares at me with a slight tilt of the head, one brow raised, the one unmarred by scars, as if baffled to find himself still breathing.
He should be. I never meant for him to escape the void. I wanted to leave him there, suspended in nothingness, tossed around by the demons that feast on lost souls, his spirit torn from his body, dragged into the dark where it would be ripped apart again and again for all eternity.
But no. He had to have been touching Amara when I pulled her free.
A stowaway when I void walked. My anger stirs again.
The thought of his filthy hands on her, even in the smallest way, is enough to send me spiraling.
Then I remember the scrying mirror, and the image it showed me. Amara in his arms.
My hand moves before I can even understand the urge. A punch. A brutal, vicious strike to his jaw. The sound of flesh meeting bone, followed by the sickening spray of blood that bursts from his mouth and splatters across Reon’s boot.
“Brilliant,” Reon sighs irritably, shaking off what he can.
But the Golden Son doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t crumple. Instead, his eyes lock with mine, and that, more than anything, sets my blood alight. There’s something in his gaze, something defiant, something that dares me to do worse.
I take a step forward, my heart thundering in my chest as if it too wants to crush him. But not yet.
“Tell me everything,” I demand.
He doesn’t answer. Not at first. He just watches me, blood dripping from his swollen lip, eyes burning with something darker than hatred.
It claws at me, gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
Without another thought, I swing my fist into his jaw, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the silence between us.
His head jerks to the side, but there’s no grunt of pain, just another defiant spit of blood onto the deck.
“What did they do to her?” I take a step closer. My hands tremble, but not with fear. My fists are clenched, my breath coming harder with each word. “What did you do to her?”
“I did nothing,” he sneers, his voice dripping with bitterness. “I tried to help her escape.”
A mocking laugh escapes me before I can hold it in. “I don’t believe a fucking word you say.”
His jaw clenches. “Then why bother asking me? I’m telling you the truth. I wanted to help her.”
“And you deserve my thanks for that?” My voice cracks with fury, and without thinking, I strike again.
My fist slams into his face, and he reels back, this time with a grunt.
The satisfaction of the punch lingers, but it does nothing to still the ache inside me.
“You were the one who stole her from me. You sided with those Ithranor traitors. You are the reason I lost her.”
His swollen lips twist into a grimace as he spits more blood, but his gaze remains unflinching.
The spiteful glint in his eyes doesn’t fade.
“You lost her all by yourself,” he sneers, voice thick with scorn.
“You lost her when you married her, when you dragged her away from her own people. You made her leave everything she loved. You doomed her the moment you bound her to you. You destroyed her. How could you not see it? How could you, knowing what she was? How could you not see how the Fae would covet her, despise her, all at once?”
The words land like a dagger, sinking deep into the hollow pit of my chest. The accusation rings true, and I feel the weight of it crushing me. Reon and Orios, standing by, their silent questions heavy on me, their eyes too sharp. The quiet judgment presses against me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmur, barely more than a growl, but the words taste bitter in my mouth. How can I defend myself against this, against him? Against the truth I cannot hide?
His laugh is soft, low, almost pitying. “Maybe I don’t understand everything,” he says.
“But Anethesis, that bastard, loved the sound of his own voice. He told me what she is. What she’s capable of.
You married an Awakened. You put a child inside her.
” His eyes turn hard, cruel. “Did you really think you could have it all? You’re just another Fae parasite, aren’t you?
Selfish, pathetic. You don’t care what you destroy, as long as you have power over it. ”
Each word cuts through me, leaving a jagged wound, and though I want to fight it, deny it, I know in the deepest part of me that he is right.
I wanted it all. Amara, our life, our daughter.
And now, I see the cost. The price of it all.
My fists tighten, nails biting into my palms, but I can't move, can't stop the storm of guilt and rage building inside me.
For the first time, I wonder if he’s right. If I’ve destroyed everything I touched.
“Leave him, Daed.”
Amara’s voice cuts through the fury pulsing in my veins, and I turn to find her leaning against the doorframe. She is pale but standing, strong despite the exhaustion that must weigh on her limbs. My heart stammers, torn between relief and concern, and in an instant, I’m at her side.
“My love,” I murmur, bracing her with my hands, steadying her before she can sway. “You need to rest.”
She scowls, pushing me away with a stubborn frown that is so wholly her it makes my chest ache.
“I’ve had a baby, not lost a leg,” she grumbles, and it takes every ounce of my restraint not to kiss the irritation right off her lips.
But there is no time for indulgence, no time for the way my body sings with the need to hold her, have her, keep her.
Her gaze flickers past me, landing on the bloodied, battered form of the Golden Son.
“He tried to help me escape Driftspire,” she says, each word measured. “For that alone, he has saved himself from a death sentence.”
I shake my head, waiting for the punchline, for the fire I know lurks beneath her steady voice. “Amara. After all he’s done? After Arax?”
I regret saying his name the moment it leaves my mouth.
She wavers, like a candle caught in a draft, like a flower wilting beneath the weight of winter.
And I see it, the memories flashing behind her eyes, shadows of the past curling their fingers around her.
I can only imagine the depth of the pain lurking beneath her skin, the agony she keeps pressed beneath the surface.
But Amara is nothing if not unbreakable. She squares her shoulders, forces herself to breathe, and comes back to me, just like she always does.
“I said it saved him from death, not from punishment,” she says, her voice iron.
My jaw tightens, and I drag my gaze back to him, to the blood dripping from his mouth, to the smug twist of his lips that makes my hands itch to rip his head clean from his shoulders.