Chapter 22
Amara
None of this feels real. Not being free of Anethesis. Not being back in Daed’s arms. Not staring down at this tiny, perfect being who curls her impossibly small fingers around mine, as if she already knows me, as if she belongs to me in a way no one else ever has.
She is flawless. And I should know, I have checked every inch of her.
Ten fingers, ten toes. Two ears, their tips delicately pointed.
Eyes gray as the storm. A head thick with dark hair, so much like her father’s.
She is more of him than me in features, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will grow into the same impossible beauty.
But her skin… her skin belongs to the Grove.
To the ancestors who know the forest as well as they know their own heartbeats.
And I will take her home.
I will lay her beneath the old trees and wait, and I will pray that the Souls will speak to her, that they will claim her as their own.
She may be a child of two worlds, but I will make sure she knows mine first. The only one that ever loved me.
The only one I still trust. Because the Fae…
the Fae have given me nothing but pain, and I will not let them do the same to her.
Even her father, for all the love I have for him, has not changed that.
She stirs, taking a deep breath, wriggling against her bed of soft furs in her barrel crib. Her grip on my finger slackens as sleep pulls her under, her tiny belly full and round with milk. Carefully, I tuck her in, smoothing my palm over her silken hair.
I shift, stretching to ease the stiffness in my back from being hunched over as I fed her. It’s the only pain I have. I don’t remember how I did it, or why, but I’ve healed myself. Somehow, I spared my body the agony most women endure after bringing life into the world.
It feels selfish.
I stole that suffering from myself, and part of me wonders if I should feel more grateful. Who wouldn’t want to recover from childbirth in moments instead of days or weeks? Still, guilt lingers beneath the relief. A quiet whisper that says I didn’t earn this the way others have.
With my daughter asleep, I wander across the cabin, taking a seat at a dresser in the corner.
I let out a slow breath and reach for a comb, dragging it through my hair, untangling knots and thoughts alike.
The ship rocks gently, the waves slapping against the hull in an endless, soothing rhythm.
This quiet, this normalcy, it feels foreign.
After Driftspire. After the torment. After him.
Ronin.
The name slithers into my mind, unbidden, unwelcome. When did I start calling him that?
The Golden Son was easier. A title steeped in hatred, something impersonal, something monstrous.
Something undeserving of sympathy. But somewhere between freeing him and Daed pulling me from the void, the title lost its power.
It no longer fit. He had shown me another face. And that face had a name.
It still feels strange on my tongue, and I spit it out as much as I speak it.
But he is not the stranger he once was.
It seems no one is.
I don’t mean to dwell on the way Solena and Daed looked at each other. It was nothing. Or at least, it should be nothing. He is mine, and I am his. But still. The way she wouldn’t meet my eyes. The way his name sounded on her lips.
The comb snags on a tangle, yanking me back from my spiraling thoughts. I tug sharply, as if I can pull the unease from me the same way.
Just as I have been with Ronin all this time, so has Daed been with Solena.
And where just a moment ago I’d brushed off Daed’s jealousy as foolish, now I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall in the cabin next door.
I tell myself not to stand. Not to leave my cabin. Not to go next door. But I do.
I tell myself not to press my palm against the doorframe. Not to slip the door open just a crack, breath shallow, praying the wood doesn’t creak. But I do.
Not to look inside.
But I do.
Daed lies stretched out on the table, his shirt discarded, a bottle of rum dangling from his fingers. Solena leans over him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other carefully inking runes into his back.
I don’t know how long I stand there, the wind pressing at my back. Maybe I’m waiting for something. No, I am waiting for something. A confirmation. A betrayal. The tilt of his head toward hers. The brush of her lips against his. Something.
And when nothing happens, when I feel something dangerously close to disappointment, I turn away.
But I do not return to my daughter.
Instead, my feet carry me below deck, to the dim, damp belly of the ship, where water sloshes in thin rivulets over old wood and the beams groan like restless spirits.
In the corner, shackled to a beam by his ankle, Ronin sits with his back against the wall, arms draped over his bent knees.
“I really wish you had just left me in Driftspire,” he sighs at the sight of me. “I’m just chained up somewhere else. At least in the tower, my ass wasn’t wet.”
A smirk tugs at my mouth. “It could be worse. You could be dead.”
His brow furrows. “You know what it smells like down here, right?” Then, more thoughtful, “Besides, you are only delaying the inevitable.”
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
He exhales, the sound almost amused. “Your husband will kill me the moment I step on land.”
I don’t correct him because I cannot be sure he’s wrong.
“I will talk to him,” I say.
Ronin taps his boot against the wet floor, droplets splashing. “Why?”
I shake my head. “Because I have no desire to see you dead.”
“Alright,” he says with a shrug. “Then set me free, give me a sword, and I’ll kill your husband instead.”
“No,” I breathe. “I have no desire to see him dead either.”
Ronin sighs. “Then we’re at an impasse.” He lifts his gaze to mine, eyes shadowed beneath his brow. “Is that why you came down here? To tell me you want us both to live?”
My frown deepens, confusion tugging at my features. “No.”
He shifts slightly, his eyes steady on mine. “Then why are you here? You’ve given me mercy, but you don’t owe me your time. Why aren’t you with your family?”
His question hits me harder than I expect as the water rises, soaking the hem of my nightgown. I exhale slowly, the breath catching somewhere in the middle.
“I… I don’t know.” My gaze flickers toward him, almost reluctantly. “I suppose… I’m used to talking to you.”
A scoffing laugh escapes him. “Getting sentimental on me, Amara Tyne?” His smirk is laced with something far more biting as he leans back.
“Should I fetch a chessboard for old times’ sake?
” He laughs again, but this time it’s mocking, cutting through the silence.
“I don’t ask for mercy. Never have. But I’d prefer to contemplate my fate alone, if you don’t mind. ”
His words catch me off guard, his coldness making me feel foolish. Like I’ve been reading far too much into every gesture. I nod quickly, eager to escape the sting of my own vulnerability.
“Very well.” I turn, almost fleeing, my wet hem dragging behind me as I hurry up the stairs.
“Does she have a name?” His voice halts me just before I close the door.
I hesitate. “No. Not yet.”
“She’s a pretty little thing,” he says softly. “What I saw of her anyway between the flashes of lightning. She deserves a name just as pretty.”
I pause, then reply quietly, “I’ll do my best.”
And with that, I shut the door.
I make my way above deck, the salty air biting at my skin like a harsh slap, but somehow it’s exactly what I need to shake me from the fog of my thoughts.
“Princess,” Orios calls as he drops from the mast, landing with a quiet grace that contradicts the share size of him. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you,” I smile. “You look… bigger.”
He grins, the movement quick and easy. “Perhaps.”
“I’m grateful to you and Solena,” I say. “It couldn’t have been an easy choice to go on this journey with Daed.”
“It was the easiest decision I’ve ever made,” he replies without hesitation, his voice steady and sure. “I go where my prince goes,” he gives a deep bow. “And where my princess needs me.”
Before I can respond, Reon approaches, his copper hair glinting like fire.
“Princess Amara,” he says with a wry smile. “I feel like we’ve never met under anything less than chaotic circumstances.” He takes my hand, bows and then straightens.
“I’m thankful to you as well,” I say, my voice sincere.
“Don’t forget me,” Zyphoro calls from across the deck, leaning casually against the railing. “I do enjoy the attention.”
I smirk at her, knowing full well that she’s not joking.
“I’m surprised you and Daed haven’t torn each other apart,” I remark.
“It’s been touch and go,” she sighs dramatically. “But I’ve returned him to you, mostly unspoiled.”
Before I can form a response, she throws her arms around me in a bone-crushing hug that steals the air from my lungs. Then shakes me as though I’m little more than a ragdoll.
“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” she exclaims, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
I frown, catching my breath. “Me too.”
When she finally lets go, I can still feel the pressure of her hands on my shoulders.
“So,” she says, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Do I get to meet my niece yet? Can’t wait to teach her how to use a dagger.”
“Zyphoro,” I sigh, but it’s mostly in fond exasperation.
“No, no,” she counters, shaking her head. “You’re right. She shouldn’t rely on a weapon. Throttling someone with her bare hands, now that’s a true skill and Aunty Zyph is an excellent teacher.”
I stifle a laugh. “Perhaps we wait until she can walk?”
Zyphoro frowns, disappointed. “Fine. But when she’s attacked in her crib, you’ll wish she’d learned to defend herself.”
I can’t help but glance toward the cabin where Solena and Daed are. I try to dismiss the thought, but Zyphoro notices immediately.